The sixth edition of PhotoKTM will mark a decade of visual storytelling and continue its role as a vital platform for photographers and visual artists to explore the politics of photographs and their role in shaping our histories and futures.&nbsp; The month-long festival across Kathmandu Valley features 18 exhibitions, slideshows, workshops, artist talks, panel discussions, portfolio reviews, and film screenings. While Nepal Art Council will be the anchor venue, the festival will go on the road in Mangahiti and Chyasal in Patan, Nigu Pukhu in Madhyapur Thimi, Nandi Keshar Bagaincha in Naxal and Tribhuvan University. The curatorial themes of PhotoKTM 6 Global South Solidarities draws inspiration from the historic 1955 Bandung Conference in Indonesia, which marks its 70th anniversary this year.&nbsp; The festival explores the political and cultural legacy of the Third World Project, exploring the history of global resistance and solidarity, and how they have shaped contemporary processes to reclaim sovereignty of regions battered by centuries of colonialism, exploitation, and violence.&nbsp; The festival spotlights the work and curatorial voices of artists from over 40 artists based in the Global South, from Santiago to Lubumbashi and Quito to Dakar, alongside Nepali photographers and filmmakers. “We hope this year’s coming together will deepen cultural understanding among artists and cultural communities across the Third World, strengthen reciprocal transnational solidarities through the sharing of our histories, stories, struggles and hopes, and open up pathways for more south-south collaboration and exchange across geographies,” says NayanTara Gurung Kakshapati, co-founder and festival director.&nbsp; Also featured are eight Nepali artists from the 2025 photo.circle fellowship cohort, whose works explore questions, challenges, and contradictions surrounding the notions of ‘development’ and ‘progress’ in contemporary Nepal.&nbsp; The festival comes two months after the GenZ protests, at a pivotal moment when Nepal is navigating significant political transitions. Says curator Diwas Raja KC: “From anti-colonial struggles to the Bandung Conference, to the non-alignment movement and revolutionary cultural exchanges, these histories continue to shape how countries like Nepal imagine their place in the world.”&nbsp; PhotoKTM6 is supported by the Shikshya Foundation Nepal, the Embassy of Switzerland in Nepal, as well as independent non-profit organisations FreeMuse and Cultural Workers Solidarity Front. “I think it is particularly relevant that these spaces are created and maintained because it is only if people meet and continue to do this important work, in which they think collectively, they work collectively, and they hold up certain values, that they will be capable of contributing to what I would call a ‘free world’,” says yasmine eid-sabbagh, who is the invited interlocutor to this year’s festival. &nbsp;&nbsp; <h2>Ji ta Newa Bhyaa Mawa (I don’t know Nepal Bhasa)&nbsp;</h2> Jyoti Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121124_0fbeb8abf122867f5d5294c6e4c7ef2a4e3785e2d4083fb663ebe543e9b8396d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251113121124_0fbeb8abf122867f5d5294c6e4c7ef2a4e3785e2d4083fb663ebe543e9b8396d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: JYOTI SHRESTHA</figcaption> </figure>  Jyoti Shrestha was born to Newar parents in Kathmandu but grew up without learning the mother tongue, Nepal Bhasa. ‘My parents, with the best of intentions, taught us English and Nepali—languages of success and survival in a world that had set ours aside... A Newar without language, I felt alien in the very culture that was meant to be mine,’ writes Shrestha in her testimony. Nepal Bhasa is in UNESCO’s ‘definitely endangered’ list. Shrestha has begun to learn her language with help from her parents, and in doing so, their relationship has shifted for the better. She adds: “No census counts the intimacy of a shared memory, the tenderness of language passed between generations, or the weight of an inherited silence.” <h2>The Land Remembers Our Name&nbsp;</h2> Rejin Purja  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_14b44a9e7a9d27c9ac5e893e59930d049d1be05401a42217c304a7d08c2e47e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251113121128_14b44a9e7a9d27c9ac5e893e59930d049d1be05401a42217c304a7d08c2e47e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: RENJIN PURJA</figcaption> </figure>  The Department of Mines and Geology has confirmed the presence of iron ore in Jhumlawang in East Rukum. Iron mining has not started yet but a Kathmandu-based private company is said to have won the bid at Rs40.3 million. If the project indeed takes off, most of the families will have to be evacuated. “Not only will they lose their houses, land, and forests, but their roots, culture, and autonomy are also at stake. How can this project be considered of national benefit when it forces the very people it should serve to live in fear of their future?,” Rejin Purja writes in his testimony. Economic development exploits the natural resources of native and indigenous communities. Such projects may boost GDP and corporate profits, but they rarely improve the lives of the people whose land is being extracted from. This work reflects the uncertainty felt by the local people about their village’s future. <h2>Fragmented Land and Me</h2> Sujata Khadka  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_f28f960361f822792d8e4442f61deaea71bdf6022b9906509b7e9258939fdbcb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251113121128_f28f960361f822792d8e4442f61deaea71bdf6022b9906509b7e9258939fdbcb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUJATA KHADKA</figcaption> </figure>  Sujata Khadka’s ancestral home in Godavari’s Jharuwarasi was destroyed in the 2015 earthquake, after which her family built a new house on a small plot of land nearby. In the decade since the earthquake, rapid land trade has turned the farmland surrounding her home into a housing development. For the past 10 years, Khadka has been watching natural and man-made events unfold on the plots from her window on the second floor of her house. The land has been witness to playing children, negotiating brokers, bulldozers, and prowling wildlife. But despite relentless hemming and hawing by buyers and sellers over the past decade, no houses have been built on the land. &nbsp;“This misshapen land feels like a stage where a cast of characters performs an ongoing act,” says Khadka. “Perhaps this land and I are spectators to this drama.” <h2>Why doesn’t home feel like home?</h2> Karma Tshering Gurung  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_c568cdf076247f8904b289e9108ed4e7b5187d86694913751123a6b5df663142.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251113121128_c568cdf076247f8904b289e9108ed4e7b5187d86694913751123a6b5df663142" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: KARMA TSHERING GURUNG</figcaption> </figure>  Karma Tshering Gurung was born in Manang to a Manangi family, where he was raised with his siblings. But in recent times, whenever he has visited his family in Manang, he has felt a sense of unease, like the place sees him as an occasional visitor, an outsider who no longer understands the aspirations of his people. As Manang becomes a tourist spot, Gurung’s brother thinks it is a good idea to tear down their ancestral house and build a snooker house in its place. But Gurung thinks the house is their Appa’s legacy, and worth preserving. The brothers’ ideas of home have diverged. &nbsp; &nbsp;“With a camera in hand, I am trying to rediscover my relationship with this place, with my past, navigating ideas of home and belonging tied to Manang,” he says. “Maybe home for me is no longer just a place, but this search for identity, memory and connection.” <h2>Life and Struggle of Garment Workers&nbsp;</h2> Taslima Akhter (Bangladesh)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_9447434bde6d70048768c33dda8001e4e3f8da0718c8fff8f96970c4d69139ef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251113121128_9447434bde6d70048768c33dda8001e4e3f8da0718c8fff8f96970c4d69139ef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: TASLIMA AKHTER@Taslima Akhter</figcaption> </figure>  This project focuses on the millions of workers who leave their villages and move into crowded worker barracks in the cities of Bangladesh, in search of a better life. <h2>Between Us, a Thread&nbsp;</h2> Ahmed Alaqra (Ramallah)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_805845728d6e1fd13539d5c0af35f202f72ffbfb8e7dd502cc3c44067e2b574f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251113121128_805845728d6e1fd13539d5c0af35f202f72ffbfb8e7dd502cc3c44067e2b574f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: RUBA ALFARAOUNA</figcaption> </figure>  A quiet gesture between photographers, image-makers, and those who hold memory like a fragile light. Palestinian, Arab, scattered — yet orbiting the same wound.&nbsp; <h2>Possible and Imaginary Lives&nbsp;</h2> yasmine eid-sabbagh / Rozenn Quéré  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_a30877e2c30764d5d29c0b0457e2722685138e968549dedd8803dee1299bc45c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251113121128_a30877e2c30764d5d29c0b0457e2722685138e968549dedd8803dee1299bc45c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo Courtesy: YASMINE EID-SABBAGH AND ROZENN QUÉRÉ(Photo: ) </figcaption> </figure>  An exhibition, based on family photographs and taped interviews, tells the story of four strong and feisty Palestinian-Lebanese sisters, exiled to the four corners of the globe. <h2>Martyrs, Saints &amp; Sellouts&nbsp;</h2> Siona O’Connel (South Africa)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_7b84f695bdd27353af1f35ff5f739283d739b4fa7594e4965ca1230d4d60940b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20251113121128_7b84f695bdd27353af1f35ff5f739283d739b4fa7594e4965ca1230d4d60940b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: BENNY GOOL</figcaption> </figure>  Comprised of photographs by Benny Gool, Zubeida Vallie and Adil Bradlow, documenting apartheid South Africa, this exhibition presents a vivid narrative of violence, loss and injuries that continue to reverberate under the rhetoric of the post apartheid landscape. <h2>Humo, Semilla, Raíz</h2> Isadora Romero (Ecuador)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121132_b01b94f340265fd42dcdffd98f39f58d3b1b3385718cb055d2b35e04fb1eda58.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20251113121132_b01b94f340265fd42dcdffd98f39f58d3b1b3385718cb055d2b35e04fb1eda58" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="798" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: ISADORA ROMERO</figcaption> </figure>  An alternate look into environmental issues through the prism of possibility, instead of catastrophic consequence is what this exhibition brings. Romero’s visual research engages with how the loss of ancestral memory and Indigenous knowledge resulting from colonisation, forced displacement, and racism is causing seeds to disappear at an alarming rate. <h2>First week schedule (selected)</h2> Friday, 14 November Bhandarkhal Garden, Patan Museum, 5:30pm -7:30pm Festival Opening + Award of Excellence Saturday, 15 November Yala Maya Kendra, Patan Dhoka 3pm-4pm Demounting Louis Agassiz – Artistic Renegotiation of Archive, Memory &amp; Place. Talk by Sasha Huber (moderated by Diwas Raja Khatri) 4:30pm-6pm Witness or Accomplice: Photography, Human Rights and the Question of Freedom. Talk by Prof. Siona O’ Connell (moderated by NayanTara Gurung Kakshapati) Sunday, 16 November Yala Maya Kendra July, Unfinished. Jaheen Faruque Amin in conversation with Sabnam Lama, 3pm- 4pm When The World is Blind – Images by Palestinians. Ahmed Alaqra in conversation with yasmine eid-sabbagh, 4- 6pm Manga Hiti, 7pm-8pm Slideshow – Who Does The River Belong To? Monday, 17 November Yala Maya Kendra, 3pm - 4pm Memory is an Inaccurate Place: Dialogues Across Time, Territories, and Histories. Isadora Romero in conversation with Tanvi Mishra 4:30pm-6pm Third Camera – a Film Series: Ernest Cole: Lost and Found Dir. Raoul Peck 2024 | 1h 46m | English Tuesday, 18 November Yala Maya Kendra Sustaining Art Ecosystems That Resist and Nurture – Part 1 Paola Farran in conversation with Jessica Lim, 3pm- 4pm Sustaining Art Ecosystems That Resist and Nurture – Part 2 Chelsea Chua in conversation with Tif Ng, 4pm:30-6pm Khapinchhen, Patan A Photographer’s Fifty-Year Journey in Nepal. A Slideshow and Talk with Kevin Bubriski, 7-7:30pm PhotoKTM Bhoé, 7:30pm-9:30pm Rs1,800 (early bird), Rs2,000 (door sale) Wednesday, 19 November Yala Maya Kendra 3pm- 4pm Sustaining Art Ecosystems That Resist and Nurture – Part 3 Andrea Thal in conversation with Diwas Raja Khatri 4:30pm-6pm We must refuse silence! Samir Eskanda, Shahidul Alam, and Tabara Korka Ndiaye in conversation with yasmine eid-sabbagh Thursday, 20 November Nepal Art Council, 4pm- 6pm Walk-thru at NAC with Enuma Rai, Jyoti Shrestha, Karma Tshering Gurung, Manoj Bohara, Manjit Lama, Rejin Purja, Sujata Khadka, Sushila Bishwakarma More details <a href="https://photoktm.com/photoktm6-schedule/">here</a>. PHOTOKTM6 14 November-14 December Kathmandu Valley All events free and open

The politics behind photographs

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Twenty-seven national and four international organisations including The Carter Center, ANFREL, and the International Republican Institute, will be observing the 5 March elections. They were selected from a pool of 49 applicants.

Election observers

Chitwan National Park bid farewell to elephants Khagendraprasad, 7, and Rudrakali, 6, as they head to Qatar’s Al Khor Zoo. They were gifted to the Qatari Amir in 2024 and will be accompanied by their mahouts and a veterinarian. The elephant pair were flown out in a special aircraft from Bhairawa on Thursday.

Elephants to Qatar

The opening of the Nagdhunga Tunnel has been delayed to April due to pending toll system, landslide measures, jet fans, and service provider selection. Nepal’s first tunnel will cut travel time on the Prithvi Highway by 30 minutes and distance by 2.5 km.

Nagdhunga tunnel

The past, the present, and the future are really one: they are today. -Harriet Beecher Stowe  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122609120_5c63a3201a7231b9334f98a3a1af867acfc1264e29fc3081810a565a270bde6f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024122609120_5c63a3201a7231b9334f98a3a1af867acfc1264e29fc3081810a565a270bde6f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2700" height="2700" loading="lazy" alt="Miss Moti #1241"> </figure>

The past, the present, and the future are really one

Prime Minister Sushila Karki is under pressure from GenZ activists and families of the victims to go after officials in the previous government responsible for the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-8-september-massacre"> murders of 19 youth at Parliament on 8 September</a>. But prosecuting the perpetrators and putting them behind bars risks street protests from elements in the previous government.
Former Prime Minister K P Oli is not making it easy for his successor. He is smarting from his downfall and itching for revenge. He is flexing his muscles with rallies, and has unleashed the attack dogs. UML’s newly-formed ‘Youth Volunteer Force’ is led by former Maoist Pushparaj Shrestha, who is accused of multiple murders and kidnappings, and former Bhaktapur MP Mahesh Basnet has been making incendiary remarks on social media on behalf of his boss.
Oli is obviously using the threat of street protests as a deterrent: don’t come after me, or else. Prime Minister Karki cannot risk escalation, otherwise <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/march-to-5-march">elections </a>may have to be postponed, or worse, cancelled.&nbsp;
The UML’s partner in the deposed government, the Nepali Congress (NC), is also suffering post-traumatic stress from the shock of the GenZ uprising. Its leader Sher Bahadur Deuba had stepped down as party chief, but has had second thoughts, and seems to want to prove his astrologer right that he can be prime minister seven times. (He has clocked five so far.) Meanwhile, his NC party is imploding with its no-longer-young-turks demanding a party overhaul before elections.
The Maoists are no longer Maoists. Former guerrilla commander and three-time prime minister Pushpa Kamal Dahal has joined up with seven smaller leftist parties to form the Nepali Communist Party by teaming up with two other superannuated former prime ministers, Madhav Kumar Nepal and Jhalnath Khanal. Maoist ideologue Baburam Bhattarai has also shed his Maoist tag and leads a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/party-time">new party</a> (PSP) that vows to ‘uphold the demands of the GenZ’.
The long and short of all this is that Nepal’s legacy parties have not seen the writing on the wall, they have no idea how much public outrage there is against them even after the carnage and conflagration ten weeks ago. And after all this, they are behaving exactly like they did before, sidelining internal rivals within their party, treating politics as powerplay and not about accountability and better governance to lift living standards.
Even a little bit of enlightened self-interest would have allowed them to see how sticking to their guns and not handing over the party to a younger cohort would mean certain ignominious defeat in March. But being gerontocratic authoritarians, they still believe their vote banks are intact, and are betting on the GenZ fervour fading by March.
Twenty years ago in this same space, we wrote: ‘Our politicians are not satisfied with being top dog, they want to be only dog.’ Nothing has changed, history is on rewind in slow motion. To take the canine analogy further: maybe you cannot teach an old dog new tricks.
The best indication of this is the shameful<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/election-countdown-4-more-months"> lack of remorse from the former prime minister </a>down the chain of command for what happened starting at noon on 8 September. Even if he did not give the order to shoot, being the head of government he should have taken responsibility for the death of 19 young Nepalis outside Parliament. Resigning that afternoon may have saved the nation from the scale of death and destruction the following day.
The Judicial Commission of Inquiry headed by former justice Gauri Bahadur Karki has another month to submit his findings. K P Oli has said he is not going to any deposition, while his Home Minister Ramesh Lekhak has indicated he will if asked.&nbsp;
Much of the evidence for the killings, arson and looting are in the public domain. There are videos and photographs of the Special Task Force commandos who knelt, took careful aim, and fired at the protesters outside Parliament. Many of the arsonists and looters on 9 September posted selfies and videos on Tiktok and Facebook where they can be easily identified as Maoist, RPP and RSP supporters.
What has angered the GenZ is that while the Home Ministry has been arresting some of those who set fire to Singha Darbar and Parliament, it has not deemed it necessary to track down the shooters. Home Minister Om Aryal says he is waiting for the Judicial Commission report to act.
Last week’s Human Rights Watch (HRW) report, <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2025/11/19/nepal-unlawful-use-of-force-during-gen-z-protest" target="_blank">Nepal: Unlawful Use of Force During ‘Gen Z’ Protest</a>, has a detailed timeline of what happened on the two days, corroborated with interviews with eye-witnesses. It found that the STF started shooting within five minutes of the curfew being announced, and most protesters did not hear any warnings. Some 34 protesters were detained inside Parliament, beaten and mentally tortured.
The wounded and dead all had high-velocity gunshot wounds on their heads, chests and abdomen. The arson and looting the following day appears to have been instigated by a mass SMS sent from a fake Myagdi account, after which Discord posts directed protesters to attack specific locations.
Many more questions need to be answered by the Judicial Commission: why did the Army not act sooner, who gave the actual orders to use lethal force with assault rifles, who attacked schools, hotels and businesses, who was behind the inter-party and intra-party attacks on the afternoon of 9 September?&nbsp;
Prime Minister Sushila Karki has to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/proper-polls-better-than-no-polls">tread a careful middle path</a> through this minefield till election day.
Kunda Dixit

Election vs escalation

This is the first instalment of our new series Nepal Made, where we profile world-class Nepali products and the people behind them. The Himalaya is the home to Ayurveda, the preventive and curative medicinal practice that relies on the tremendous diversity of plant life. This is where Hanuman is said to have come to find a specific rare herb when Ram was wounded in battle. When he could not find it, he tore off a whole mountain and hauled it down to Lanka. Since then, herbal medicines and care products have been steadily modernised in India and Nepal. Now, one Kathmandu-based company, Herveda, is going global with an all-natural skincare brand that blends traditional knowledge of medicinal plants with modern technology. Originally a Sanskrit word, Ayurveda literally means ‘the science of life’ and promotes physical and mental wellbeing through a holistic knowledge system that is 4,000 years old. Ayurvedic products have gotten more popular as global demand rises for all-natural, chemical-free cosmetic and wellness products, instead of wasteful fast fashion and beauty trends. Herveda was founded by Prativa Pandey, a scientist-entrepreneur and mother of two. She did her PhD in nanotechnology chemistry from Northwestern University in the United States and returned to Nepal in 2015 after the earthquake, staying back to explore the market and launch her brand.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_b699e74ee82333951b99b22648705dc916deb8eef3d425c77c1e2f3b1058a64d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251218141216_b699e74ee82333951b99b22648705dc916deb8eef3d425c77c1e2f3b1058a64d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  “I wanted to do something in Nepal, but didn’t want to be a doctor or engineer,” says Pandey at the elegant Herveda showroom in Jhamsikhel. “Whatever knowledge that I had gathered, I wanted to spread it in my own country.” Nepal is rich in traditional medicinal herbs and Ayurvedic plants, but proper utilisation and mobilisation has always been lagging. Most of the benefits are reaped by large companies and not local farmers. Pandey wanted to change that. To ensure that it gives back to the community, Herveda collaborates with farmers and local traders for fair trade. “I have always been fascinated by the medicinal herbs found in Nepal, and wanted to create high value products with them. It was a way to combine valuable indigenous knowledge with my academic research background,” adds Pandey. “I did not require a huge investment, just a proper marketing strategy.”  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_350f6eb1511523ea54a8aba468f20a7dffcb5def3fade4dcced30324417f83bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251218141216_350f6eb1511523ea54a8aba468f20a7dffcb5def3fade4dcced30324417f83bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  According to the Trade and Promotion Center under the Ministry of Industry, Nepal’s import of cosmetic products is increasing every year, driven by demand from a younger population. These younger customers are also more conscious about the products they use. For brands like Herveda, it is important that customers engage in wellness and skincare in an ethical and sustainable manner. Apart from being all natural, Herveda’s flagship store in Jhamsikhel has a reuse box where consumers can drop used bottles, which are then recycled. The store also displays products from 35 local businesses. Pandey believes that Nepali brands should cross-promote and complement each other: “Rather than competing, I believe we should support each other. 1+1 can be 11, and not two.” Effectiveness and functionality hold great importance for Herveda. which employs 25 scientists to develop and lab test its products at its research institute. Currently, there are products ranging from Rs400-2,000, which include lip balms, serums, and essential oils. A signature product is the Berry Boost Radiance Mask, which contains Spikenard (Jatamansi), Ashwagandha, Orange Peel, and Rhododendron.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_7ec1104e0dd63db2fbbfe666034b468fe5b7e6876fde8b5446cb9d9fe27566cf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251218141216_7ec1104e0dd63db2fbbfe666034b468fe5b7e6876fde8b5446cb9d9fe27566cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  Herveda exports to the United States and plans to expand to China and Europe. The products get a 50-100% markup in the international market. The company recently received a grant from UKAid to expand the market as well as build capacity to scale up. It has partnered with Agriplayer software to help to develop QR codes on its products, which consumers will be able to scan to track the product sources and evaluate pricing. Nepal lags behind in rules and regulations, and the lack of monitoring has allowed low quality cosmetic products to penetrate into the market. Herveda has got an international certification from USFTA, which is important for its foray into the export market. “For the cosmetic industry to scale up, there should be a central testing facility that is well equipped and meets international standards. Additionally, export should be made easy,” adds Pandey. “If there are too many barriers to entry, no one will be willing to invest.”

Looking good by doing good

Prime Minister Juddha Shamsher Rana built the NJJR probably to transport logs cut on his forested birta land north of Janakpur to sell in India. The 2’6” narrow-gauge railway extended north from Jaynagar, India 29km to Janakpur and another 22km to Bhutaha/Bijalpura, cost 680,000 Indian rupees to build, and opened for business December 1937. The Nepali engineer in charge of construction was Capt Tilak Bahadur Rayamajhi, who in 1908 was one of the first Nepalis to receive a civil engineering degree in India.&nbsp; After 1950, the line from Janakpur to Bhutaha had little commercial value and was out of service. Until the late 1970s, there were no proper motorable roads connecting Dhanusha and Mahottari Districts with India. The NJJR was the only transportation alternative for people who had to otherwise go on foot, bicycle or ox carts to India.&nbsp; The NJJR also played an important role in religious tourism, as hundreds of thousands Indian pilgrims visited Janakpur annually to participate in the Bibaha Panchami, Rama Navami, and Janaki Navami. For the Bihari peasant bound for Janaki Mandir in 1955, sitting on the roof of a slow-moving train was a luxury compared to trudging 29km on foot from the Indian border. The first manager of the NJJR in Janakpur was Lt Hem Bahadur Gadtaula-Chhetri. The general manager from 1942-58 was Rekha Bahadur Rayamajhi of Bhojpur, posted at the railway’s main office at Jaynagar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_971118917423dec021d89591fe5fef4f7218698595773f6006b4d50c5c57cf94.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251106071140_971118917423dec021d89591fe5fef4f7218698595773f6006b4d50c5c57cf94" data-rendition-name="original" width="1014" height="680" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>A steam train excursion for foreigners in 1999. The last steam excursion on the Janakpur Railway ran in 2006. Photo: GORDON EDGAR</figcaption> </figure>  Rama and Seeta, the railway’s first two appropriately named locomotives, were built in Berlin in 1936. In view of the rising power of Adolf Hitler’s Germany at that time, was Prime Minister Juddha trying to cultivate the Third Reich in hopes of reducing Nepal’s virtually total dependence on British India?&nbsp; In 1939 Adolf Hitler gifted a Mercedes-Benz 230 Pullman Landaulet to Juddha as a way to convince him not to let the British use their Gurkha regiments against Germany in World War II. The car had to be disassembled and carried over the mountains to Kathmandu and reassembled.&nbsp; The Nepali Congress-led campaign against Rana rule received considerable support in Janakpur and the eastern Tarai. In December 1951, King Tribhuvan rode the NJJR from Jaynagar to Janakpur, and thousands thronged to catch sight of a king of whom they had heard but never seen. As operations on the Nepali Government Railway came to an end, its European-made engines were transferred to the NJJR. King Mahendra ordered two more locomotives named Chandra and Surya for the NJJR in 1962. They were built in Leeds and traveled from Liverpool to Calcutta to Jaynagar to begin their service.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_55e4b768ef0ae7682dec8092169bbedc070656d46d9d0a80039fd960a23ae335.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251106071140_55e4b768ef0ae7682dec8092169bbedc070656d46d9d0a80039fd960a23ae335" data-rendition-name="original" width="2144" height="1399" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Inside the Nepal Janakpur Jayanagar Railway workshop at Khajuri. By the early 2000s, management was unable to control rising payroll and administrative costs nor secure adequate funds for the railway. Photo: GEOFF WARREN</figcaption> </figure>  The NJJR was renamed Janakpur Railway (JR) in 1965 and became the Nepal Railway Company in 2004. Unlike most government-owned enterprises in Nepal of that era, the JR and Nepal Government Railway operated at a profit for many years. In 1947, its total income was 225,000 Indian rupees, with a profit exceeding 100,000 rupees.&nbsp; In FY1974/75, the railway had revenues of 2.6 million rupees and a profit of 443,000 rupees. It is unclear if depreciation expenses were accounted for. Only from the mid-1980s did the railway begin to lose money. The NJJR did a booming passenger business. Ridership increased from 197,000 in 1960/61 to 1.4 million in 1977/78. Revenue increased from 770,000 rupees in 1966/67 to 2.6 million rupees in 1974/75. Yet warning signs appeared in the 1970s that the railway was living on borrowed time.&nbsp; &nbsp;A foreign consultant conducted a comprehensive study of the railway in 1975 and concluded that ‘the entire railway is very old and worn out, and unless a total rehabilitation’ of the railway was undertaken, it would ‘be forced to close in a very short time’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_240ed714ee4cb369005439a3fb982d6142fd028e7cf6b0c0338519a8abc6afd4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251106071140_240ed714ee4cb369005439a3fb982d6142fd028e7cf6b0c0338519a8abc6afd4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1387" height="784" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>A second class ticket issued in 2004 costing Rs7.25 between Janakpurdham to Jaynagar. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  CHUGGING ALONG An investment of two million rupees resulted in some improvements between 1976 and 1979 but rolling stock and most infrastructure were neglected for another 15 years. Yet somehow the JR’s trains kept chugging along for the next 42 years, often late, with service frequently suspended due to floods.&nbsp; Nearly every year, monsoon rains swept away some of the 135 bridges and tracks and embankments. An RSS News Agency bulletin in August 1975 noted that parts of Janakpur were ‘under 2.5 feet of water’, and the railway tracks near Khajuri were covered by four feet of water.&nbsp; The Jaynagar line was damaged in many places by the swollen Jaladi, Kamala and Jamuni Rivers. Trains to Bijalpura were suspended. For each week railway service was suspended a loss of 75,000 rupees resulted.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251108131132_4a189fa9999b50037f1774b183e62e2caad6177f594ba57a28d93bd674644163.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251108131132_4a189fa9999b50037f1774b183e62e2caad6177f594ba57a28d93bd674644163" data-rendition-name="original" width="1202" height="770" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR MAP"> </figure>  There were also accidents. Trains made only two or three roundtrips daily between Jaynagar and Janakpur and ran at slow speeds, so there were few passenger fatalities, but there were frequent derailments due to the worn rails and overloaded carriages. A RSS report in 1976 said a train derailed near Mahinathpur, and some passengers riding on the roof fell off and were injured. ‘Such accidents occur because the coaches are not regularly maintained and repaired. The speed of the train has been reduced from 12 to 8 miles per hour, since the old and rickety coaches rattle and sway from side to side if driven too fast. The trains take an incredible 4 to 5 hours to cover 28 kilometres,’ the report noted. Gangs of dacoits occasionally boarded trains and robbed passengers. Another RSS report in December 1972 said ‘Six dacoits armed with guns and revolvers looted 13 railway passengers travelling from Janakpurdham to Jaynagar [last] Sunday. The [loot] included wrist watches, gold rings, currency notes and other paraphernalia of the passengers…The dacoits raided third-class bogie number 2 soon after the train started from Khajuri station. The dacoits after plundering the passengers jumped down from the running train about two miles from the Nepal-India border [and fled into India.]’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_de60de1d7fdd0a9d29f19440ed68d773f754c10ef01a8c7e3385097eab6a8419.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251106071140_de60de1d7fdd0a9d29f19440ed68d773f754c10ef01a8c7e3385097eab6a8419" data-rendition-name="original" width="1498" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Narrow-gauge tracks in Jayanagar in India going north toward Nepal. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  Strikes and political protests also stopped the train from time to time. From the early 2000s Maoist and Tarai-based groups enforced stoppages with threats and intimidation that closed schools, shops, government offices, and brought transport services to a halt. Six minor political parties organised a strike in Janakpur in May 2001. Agitators stopped a train near Janakpur and pelted it with stones, breaking windows and injuring the driver. The railway came to a standstill in May 2004 after Maoists set fire to the Mahinathpur station. During February-March 2006, the Maoists obstructed rail service six times. A cylinder bomb exploded inside a train near Parbaha station in May 2009 injuring 30 passengers. Between 1993-2003, the railway had nine general managers who had influence with Kathmandu’s political and bureaucratic elites, but none of whom knew much about railways. Management was unable to control rising payroll and administrative costs nor secure adequate funds for the railway.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_df754214acd19eaab3b56ceaa0d96f0b66f9f0f8fd29fb4a533d860f627f483f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251106071140_df754214acd19eaab3b56ceaa0d96f0b66f9f0f8fd29fb4a533d860f627f483f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1140" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Coal was unavailable, so Seetaa-Ram, the railway’s first two locomotives, burnt wood for fuel. Photo: BASIL ROBERTS</figcaption> </figure>  Revenue ‘leakage’ was significant, as perhaps twenty percent of the passengers rode without tickets. Railway staff was bloated, in 1996 there were 340 on the payroll, many of them with political connections who needed jobs. Safety measures for railway operations were non-existent.&nbsp; There were no performance reviews, no criteria for promotion, and no training opportunities for workers to improve their skills. But the locals continued to ride their beloved railway. For 56 years, the Janakpur Railway received no foreign assistance, not even one rupee of foreign aid. That changed in 1994 when the Indian government provided two used diesel locomotives and 12 used coaches. Two years later, India supplied two more engines and 12 more coaches and promised some upgrades.&nbsp; This gave the railway a new lease on life, but the road network in the eastern Tarai had expanded,making the railway redundant. It also did not connect with the East-West Highway, the major transportation artery across the Tarai, nor could it seamlessly interconnect with India’s broad-gauge rail network at Jaynagar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_7a52a3c5a3fe4e6320135d90632dcfcee6085a32637a3f71e1e644c5e8d3b19f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251106071140_7a52a3c5a3fe4e6320135d90632dcfcee6085a32637a3f71e1e644c5e8d3b19f" data-rendition-name="original" width="3239" height="1429" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Pashupati, Nepal's first locomotive, in retirement at Khajuri in 1996. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  The railway carried no goods, all cargo traffic migrated to trucks. During the 1980s and 1990s, British and European train spotters traveled to India to ride its few remaining steam locomotives, including those of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway. Some took a side trip to Jaynagar where they, without Nepal visas, were thrilled to ride a train to Janakpur without encountering a border check post or immigration officials. Other visa-complying tour groups arranged steam trains for 60,000 rupees or more.&nbsp; The last steam excursion ran in 2006, and after that, foreign interest in the railway evaporated. Cascading financial losses and government indifference coupled with irregular, unreliable service finished on the Janakpur Railway.&nbsp; Seventy-six years of remarkable narrow-gauge railroading in Nepal ended not with a bang but a whimper on January 20, 2014. Sic transit gloria. Dan Edwards was a Peace Corps volunteer in 1966 and is the author of several books on Nepal. This is the third instalment in a new limited series in Nepali Times on the historic transportation infrastructures of Nepal.

The saga of Nepal Jaynagar-Janakpur Railway

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The Himalaya is melting twice as fast as the global average, and this is accelerated by air pollution. Called black carbon, suspended particles emitted by industries, vehicle exhaust, or forest fires accelerate glacial retreat in High Asia. Dark matter makes the ice melt faster (as seen in Kapuche Lake in Kaski, pictured above).
The snowline is already retreating up the mountains due to winter drought and global warming, and this process is quickened by black carbon and reduced snowfall.
The Cryosphere Report 2025 by the International Cryosphere Climate Initiative (ICCI) underscores these alarming trends. Between 2000 and 2023, mountain glaciers lost an average of 273 gigatons of ice per year. Even the higher central and eastern regions of High Mountain Asia are projected to lose up to 60% of existing ice under a 1.5°C warming scenario and only 15% may remain if it touches 3°C.
The Hindu Kush and Karakoram were relatively stable in recent decades, but may lose 40% of their ice under a 2°C future but only 15% under a 1.5°C pathway.
These losses are not merely physical or environmental. They translate into long-term water, food, economic, and political insecurity for millions. According to the report, such cryosphere-driven impacts should be considered permanent on human time scales.
“Frozen systems are highly sensitive to seasonal changes, and their degradation can dramatically increase hazards such as rockfalls and landslides, threatening communities, infrastructure,” Hugues Lantuit, Researcher at the Alfred Wegener Institute, told Nepali Times in Belém. “This is why we need collaboration between researchers, local governments, and communities that translate scientific knowledge into practical adaptation strategies.”
At COP30 in Belém, global climate negotiations faced widespread criticism for sidelining key science. Major emitter countries were held unaccountable, and progress on phasing out fossil fuels was delayed. Only 88 countries have voluntarily supported a roadmap to phase out fossil fuels. While the biggest emitters continue to delay commitments, countries in the Global South bear the brunt of climate impact.
Since science was not sufficiently prioritised, important topics like the cryosphere received limited attention. Most cryosphere related events at COP30 were organised at a pavilion jointly hosted by ICCI and Iceland, but attendance was low, reflecting how glacier and permafrost loss remain niche topics within broader climate negotiations.
Nepal participated in the High-Level Meeting on Global Impacts of Cryosphere Loss and Paths of Return from Overshoot, organised by Iceland/Ambition on Melting Ice (AMI) high-level group and Tajikistan. Pakistan’s Secretary of Climate Change Aisha Humera, noted that glaciers in the Hindu Kush and Karakoram region are melting rapidly, impacting livelihoods and requiring massive adaptation efforts.
AKM Sohel of the Bangladesh Ministry of Finance drew attention to his country being at risk from record-breaking cyclones, storms, and long-term coastal flooding.
“Achieving the 1.5°C target is essential, and climate finance is necessary to implement adaptation measures nationwide,” Sohel said.
The latest cryosphere assessments further underline the urgency of immediate and deep reductions in greenhouse gas emissions globally. Reports recommend aiming for global temperature targets closer to 1°C to preserve as much of the cryosphere as possible. This requires more ambitious climate action, combined monitoring of cryosphere changes, adapting to impact, and mitigating future damage.
The cryosphere is at a tipping point, and its loss has immediate consequences for water security, livelihoods, infrastructure, and climate justice. Across High Asia, melting glaciers and thawing permafrost threaten communities and those living downstream. 
 
With support from Earth Journalism Network.

How much ice must melt before we act?

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

At the opening plenary of COP30, which stands for the convolutedly named 30th Conference of the Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), in Belém on Tuesday, Nepal brought up the threats to the Himalayan watershed. Nepal’s delegate Rajendra Prasad Mishra, Secretary at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, also spoke on behalf of Bhutan and Bangladesh after the three countries formally called for tripling grant-based adaptation financing from 2015 levels to at least $120 billion per year by 2030, and to ensure a more simplified, scaled-up access to finance their National Determined Contributions (NDCs) to reduce emissions and adapt to climate impacts. “Bhutan has already graduated from Least Developed Country (LDC) status, while Bangladesh and Nepal are in the process of graduation,” said Mishra. “Graduation reflects development progress, but does not reduce our climate vulnerability nor the scale of support required to safeguard development gains.” The Loss &amp; Damage Fund is also finally coming into effect, so countries can now apply for $5-20 million to make up for damage from climate impact. But claiming damage and linking disasters to climate breakdown has not been an easy process. “When a 200MW hydropower plant is destroyed by a glacial flood, it is a big loss for Nepal’s GDP. Every megawatt costs us $20 million to build,” says energy entrepreneur Kushal Gurung. “Our lobbying should be top-notch, and hydropower can make a good case for us.” Belém marks the tenth anniversary of the Paris Agreement that brought the world together to pledge to keep global average temperature to ‘well below’ 2°C above pre-industrial levels and limit it to 1.5°C.&nbsp; COP has also returned to Brazil after 30 years of the Rio Conference in 1995. Since then there have been numerous summits, which have been criticised for being just hot air and being hosted by fossil-fuel exporting countries like UAE and Uzbekistan. Belém was selected because it is a gateway to the Amazon, but Brazil has now also become a major oil producer after new offshore finds. A recent report shows that compared to 2019, the world is set to reduce its emissions by 12% in 2035 if countries are to implement their Nationally Determined Contributions even though the figure needs to go up to 40% to meet temperature targets. There has been progress. Before the Paris Agreement the world was on a path for 4°C increase during this century, and this has now come down to 2.5°C because of the clean energy transition. But a lot more needs to be done to meet the Paris 1.5°C target. “This progress is proof that multilateralism is working, it is delivering,” Manjeet Dhakal of the Climate Analytics South Asia told us from Belém. “Having said that, it is simply not enough. Emissions need to go down much further, and a lot of it is tied to developed countries providing climate finance to do so.” Many developing countries have adopted ‘conditional NDCs’ which means their emission reduction targets cannot be met without international climate finance. In its third NDC, Nepal set a target of a 17.1% reduction in net greenhouse gas emissions and 26.8% by 2035. But achieving that has a price tag of &nbsp;$73.74 billion, with much of it from international climate finance. UNDERFINANCED However, the climate for climate finance is getting worse. The United States has exited from the Paris Agreement for the second time under President Trump, and there are cutbacks in foreign aid by European funders. Even so, the EU has committed to reducing its emissions by 90% in the next 15 years, 85% of which will be domestic emission cuts. The silver lining in all this is that the leadership in climate action is increasingly being taken by Nepal’s neighbours China and India with both investing heavily in renewable energy. China is the world leader in solar panels, wind turbines and electric vehicles, and Nepal has already taken strategic advantage of this.&nbsp; With expensive hydropower plants increasingly at risk from glacial lake outburst floods, experts say Nepal must diversify its energy mix and invest in solar power which has 10 times more potential than hydropower at 432 gigawatts with over 300 days of sunshine a year. Solar farms can also power pump storage, which are cheaper and quicker to build.&nbsp; China has drastically reduced the cost of photovoltaic cells, making such schemes more feasible. Nepal just needs to ease up its restrictive domestic energy policies, boost investment and resist geopolitical pressure on electricity generation. “First, we need to increase the cap on solar energy from 10% to 30%, and next, the bidding process should be made easier, or just have the first past the post system like that for hydropower,” says Kushal Gurung. The disadvantage of solar power is that it generates only daytime energy, but this can be solved with grid-scale battery storage or pump storage. But first, the government needs to fix the rate for solar purchase so that entrepreneurs are incentivised. “This is not happening because our government officials and engineers are comfortable dealing with hydropower, and are not just updated about the latest advances,” says Gurung. “As a result, we have no clear policies when it comes to solar.” Hydropower has become one of the biggest industries in Nepal with an installed capacity of over 3,400MW and the government’s target is to produce 28,500MW in the next ten years. But the recent climate disasters have made it clear that relying only on hydropower alone is too risky. The Nepal-Tibet glacial flood in July destroyed and damaged four hydropower plants and substations along the Bhote Kosi, and last September’s floods slashed the country’s total generation by half. Nepal now needs to build on the widespread adoption of battery-powered vehicles by extending it to electric public transport and for household appliances like stoves, rice cookers and refrigerators. Not only would this reduce Nepal’s per capita carbon footprint, but it would also reduce the country’s annual Rs300 billion petroleum import bill. At global platforms like UNFCCC, it is easy even for individual developed countries to get lost without an alliance. Now that Nepal is graduating from LDC status, it needs to have strong partners with a common goal to move forward in international negotiations. Says Kushal Gurung: “We won’t have privilege that came with LDC status anymore, which means climate finance will be even more limited. But there are a few things we can urgently do on our own like regulating the carbon credit market.”&nbsp; This article is brought to you by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/" target="_blank">Nepali Times</a>, in collaboration with <a href="https://inpsjapan.com/en/" target="_blank">INPS Japan</a> and <a href="https://sgi-peace.org/" target="_blank">Soka Gakkai International</a>, in consultative status with UN ECOSOC.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251118101116_30c3782f9c09219bf1c249b51483a3cfb7a53a06d117d2aebd23ca7080d12758.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251118101116_30c3782f9c09219bf1c249b51483a3cfb7a53a06d117d2aebd23ca7080d12758" data-rendition-name="original" width="680" height="103" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali Times SDG"> </figure>

Global warning bell in Belém

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One thing is certain. The killers of Osman Hadi are celebrating today. Things could not have worked out better for them. His killing accomplished three interrelated goals: The first was the removal from the scene of a charismatic, uncompromising, and incorruptible voice of the July Uprising from the political firmament. Whether one was a fan of Osman Hadi or not, one could not question his integrity or his commitment or his willingness to speak truth to power, including to his erstwhile comrades. While so many of the July revolutionaries had become compromised or corrupted in one way or another, and are on the fast track to nowhere but political oblivion, he stood out as the kind of young leader that could have been at the forefront of building a new Bangladesh. For those who would rather see Bangladesh burn to ashes than see it rise up under any rule but their own, he was a mortal threat. He was exactly the kind of leader that could provide a threat to the old order, and that is why he had to be eliminated. The second goal of his killing was to show that the enemies of the July Uprising are not dead yet and that there is still plenty of fight left in them. They have shown very eloquently that their enemies are neither safe nor beyond their reach, and that, even after 18 months, they can still operate with impunity. The message has been delivered loud and clear. If Hadi can be killed and his killers sequestered beyond the reach of justice, then building a new Bangladesh is going to be a long, hard slog, and we are going to remain under enemy fire every step of the way. But it is the third goal that is the most salient: the setting on fire of the Daily Star and Prothom Alo offices was exactly the kind of response his killers wanted to elicit. The burning down of the two newspaper offices sent an entirely different message, one that only served the interest of his killers. It showed that Bangladesh is a country of mob rule and insecurity, ruled by a government that, when push comes to shove, cannot protect its people and whose writ does not extend to the streets. It showed that the press is today less free and less safe than it was under the 15 years of Awami League repression. Indeed, the irony is that these two newspapers were considered Public Enemy Number 1 and Number 2 by Sheikh Hasina who spent 15 years trying to destroy them. No one would be more gratified by the assault on them than her. Finally, it showed that Bangladesh is a tinderbox, with law and order hanging by a thread, where anything can happen at any time to anyone. This is precisely what Hadi’s killers hoped to accomplish. For them, it was a bases loaded grand slam (to borrow baseball terminology, because there is no cricket term that quite fits the bill).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251221031220_74915a5c201ccb3a38ddc2156dd9439df22c7a662d311ee87ad3fe2ff0a6d9d8.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251221031220_74915a5c201ccb3a38ddc2156dd9439df22c7a662d311ee87ad3fe2ff0a6d9d8" data-rendition-name="original" width="2564" height="1344" loading="lazy" alt="osman hadi"><figcaption>Osman Hadi</figcaption></figure>  The deeper game was to derail the elections in February and to portray Bangladesh as a hotbed of militancy and instability, thereby giving credence to the narrative of the past eighteen months that had been hammered home by Indian media and social media since Hasina was ousted. From the very day of Hasina’s fleeing, the AL and its allies in the Indian media and social media had tried to paint a picture of Bangladesh descending into a Hobbesian nightmare of chaos and violence that was utterly at odds with the reality on the ground. After a rocky start due to the fact that the police force has largely disappeared and the nation’s administration lay in shambles, the interim government was able to pick up the reins and quietly bring something resembling normalcy back to the country. It was far from perfect, with the courts packed with spurious cases against the innocent and the economy still fragile from the decade and a half of looting and cronyism that the AL had bequeathed to them, but the law and order situation, with some notable and glaring exceptions such as the destruction of Road 32, was slowly brought under control. One week ago, there was no reason to think that we were not on course for elections on February 12 or that the interim government would be unable to deliver them. Now, everything stands in confusion. And this is exactly what Hadi’s killers wanted. Hadi wanted elections. He believed in the electoral process. He believed in democracy. He was running for election in Dhaka-8. He believed in the slow, painstaking process of building a new Bangladesh and knew there could be no short-cuts. He talked about this all the time. If we wish to honor his memory, let us make sure that nothing on Earth comes between us and this election on February 12. The only people who gain from elections being derailed are the Awami League and the rightist parties and elements in society who know they can never win an election or come to power through democratic means. If elections are delayed or derailed, then they win. The only way out for Bangladesh, the only way forward, the only way to deliver us from the current instability is to hold the elections as scheduled. This is what the Bangladeshi people want and this is what the country needs. And now we must all come together to make sure that it happens. The only people who benefit from elections being delayed are the enemies of the Bangladeshi people. Elections delayed means more instability, more space for atrocity, and more scope for violence to take hold. We have already reached the very edge of how long we can survive without an elected government in place. Elections delayed beyond February could be the end of us. Now is the time to bury our differences and join hands, and show that Bangladesh is still the great country that won its Liberation through bitter war in 1971 and overthrew a dictator in a people’s revolution in 2024, and that we stand together, and that together we will forge a future and create a country worthy of our martyrs, of whom Hadi is now one. Let us honor the memory of our fallen brother by ensuring that his death will not divide us and provide aid and comfort to his killers and their allies. Let us honor his memory by giving back to the people their long suppressed voice on February 12, 2026. Zafar Sobhan is the Editor of <a href="https://counterpointbd.com/we-cannot-let-osman-hadis-killers-win" target="_blank">Counterpoint</a>, where this opinion piece first appeared.

Bangladesh on edge ahead of polls

Three incidents in one week: a detained traveller in Shanghai, a revived claim on Sindh, and a currency note from Kathmandu, reveal a South Asia where small symbols now carry the weight of territorial claims. The danger lies not in armies but in imaginations sharpened into weapons.&nbsp;
It began without spectacle, as many troubles in the subcontinent often do: quietly, almost indifferently, as though history were clearing its throat. A week steeped in a kind of comic solemnity, its events unfolding with the grave absurdity of men arguing over shadows cast on an old, uneven map. One could almost hear the creaking of history’s machinery, answering its own summons, as if reluctant to surrender its favourite mischiefs.
The first murmur, faint but unmistakable, came from Shanghai, where a young woman from Arunachal Pradesh found herself <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c8e9kz127w0o" target="_blank">detained</a> beneath the cold fluorescence of an airport hall. Chinese officials questioned her not-so-gently, an initiation into that peculiar fraternity of those whose identities are disputed not because of who they are, but because of where the lines on someone else’s map would prefer them to be.
And barely had that echo settled when <a href="https://www.ndtv.com/india-news/sindh-may-return-to-india-rajnath-singhs-borders-may-change-remark-9686581" target="_blank">India’s Defence Minister</a>, with the ease of a man accustomed to speaking into the certainties of a friendly crowd, remarked that “Sindh may return to India one day.” He said it with the offhand confidence of a politician who knows mythic geography plays well at home.&nbsp;
But the remark, dropped into the region’s already crowded pool of dreams, loyalties, and inherited grievances, spread outward in ripples – provoking <a href="https://www.telegraphindia.com/world/islamabad-labels-rajnath-singhs-sindh-remarks-delusional-and-expansionist/cid/2134548#goog_rewarded" target="_blank">denunciations</a>, apprehensions, and that familiar tightening of breath that accompanies any suggestion that the past might yet attempt a resurrection. In Pakistan, the words landed not as rhetoric but as portent, dredging up every anxiety sharpened by partition, war, and the belief that memory in South Asia, once stirred, is never quite satiated.
Then Nepal, with its quiet talent for announcing its displeasures through objects rather than declarations, unveiled its <a href="https://www.business-standard.com/external-affairs-defence-security/news/nepal-issues-100-bank-note-with-revised-map-comprising-disputed-areas-125112700551_1.html" target="_blank">new currency notes</a>: each one bearing the imprint of its 2020 political map.&nbsp;
<a href="https://nepalforeignaffairs.com/authenticity-of-lipulekh-border-pass/" target="_blank">Lipulekh, Kalapani, Limpiyadhura</a> – names that have become ritual incantations in the theatre of Himalayan disputes, contested frontiers now printed in neat, official ink. The release was explained as routine. Nothing in this region is ever routine. The moment a boundary is drawn on money, it becomes more than a border. It becomes an assertion, a reminder, a pre-emptive negotiation.
Three events, scattered like windblown leaves across the subcontinent’s restless topography. None catastrophic, none decisive, yet each carrying the faint odour of things unresolved, things forgotten until the moment they are not.&nbsp;
The humour is thin, the unease is thick. They were small gestures: a passport, a proclamation, a banknote, but in South Asia, small gestures have a way of expanding into quarrels no one quite intended and no one quite knows how to end.
Beneath these small episodes lies the harder truth. The subcontinent has slipped into an era where symbols, not armies, do the fighting. Maps, murals, visas, banknotes, toponyms, remarks: each now carries the weight that artillery once did. The provocations are miniature, the meanings are immense. And the region reacts to each with a suspicion that borders on reflex.
China understands this vulnerability better than anyone and does not need to invent South Asia’s sensitivities. It merely needs to press on the ones that already exist. China’s refusal to accept an Arunachal Pradesh passport is not clerical fussiness, it is a demonstration of a worldview.&nbsp;
By turning a lone traveller into a pawn of territorial narrative, <a href="https://www.newsweek.com/china-india-arunachal-pradesh-zangnan-tibet-territorial-dispute-1884895" target="_blank">Beijing enforces its claim to “South Tibet”</a> without firing a shot, and normalises its cartographic imagination through mundane encounters, where the humiliation is individual but the message is national.
It is sovereignty-by-bureaucracy, a slow, grinding assertion that does not need tanks to leave a bruise. The frontier now lives in the immigration cubicle, not just the mountain pass.
India’s '<a href="https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/sindh-may-return-to-india-rajnath-says-borders-can-change-cites-civilisational-link/articleshow/125520334.cms" target="_blank">Sindh may return</a>' remark sits at the opposite pole. It neither denies the sovereignty of others nor confines itself within current boundaries. Instead, it breathes life into an older geography, one that extends far beyond India’s present outline. For Delhi, this is heritage. For Pakistan, heresy. For the region, it is another sign of a political climate in which myth, memory, and maps are all too easily woven into public rhetoric. And rhetoric, once spoken, becomes the shadow of intent.
Nepal’s cartographic gesture is its own form of resistance. It asserts that <a href="https://dkiapcss.edu/wp-content/uploads/2025/08/CH-09-South-Asias-Strategic-Edge_TEKWANI-SAMPATH_10.71236CSFU4789.pdf" target="_blank">small states</a>, too, possess symbolic weapons. A currency note bearing a disputed frontier is not merely a piece of paper, it is a refusal. And refusal, in South Asia, quickly acquires the density of principle.
To understand why these gestures resonate so forcefully, one must return to the deeper architecture on which they fall. The subcontinent carries not one historical geography but three. There is the civilisational past: epics, empires, pilgrimage routes, whose outlines stretch far beyond the borders of modern sovereignty. There is the colonial cartography layered atop it, drawn hurriedly and indifferently by men who never intended to inhabit the lands they demarcated. And there is the postcolonial state, fragile in identity and jealous of territory, inheriting maps it never drew and histories it cannot fully escape.
GEOGRAPHIES COLLIDE
Where these three geographies collide, symbols expand. A remark becomes a blueprint. A detention becomes a claim. A banknote becomes an argument.&nbsp;
All this might have been manageable had the region built institutions strong enough to absorb the shocks. But South Asia built almost none. SAARC remains an empty frame. Meanwhile, India’s crucial bilateral ties, like those with Nepal and Bangladesh, oscillate wildly with the whims of domestic politics. No mechanism exists to catch the fallout of symbolic friction before it hardens into political posture.
This vulnerability is most pronounced around India, which, as the region’s largest power, sits at the centre of the <a href="https://www.hindustantimes.com/india/rss-calls-akhand-bharat-a-cultural-concept-not-a-political-one/story-EcuzYTNZHpqENlmawbPYYP.html" target="_blank">symbolic storm</a>. New Delhi’s own symbolic gestures, often framed as cultural heritage or historical homage presented with a wink, are increasingly read by its neighbours as strategic ambitions cloaked in the language of civilisational memory.&nbsp;
The recent mural of <a href="https://www.tbsnews.net/features/panorama/akhand-bharat-whats-map-645286" target="_blank">Akhand Bharat</a> in the new Parliament building is a case in point. The mural’s outline, invoking a civilisational geography stretching across today’s neighbouring sovereign states, was never going to remain a cultural gesture alone. Imagined maps, however metaphorical, cast <a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2023/06/13/india/india-akhand-bharat-map-parliament-intl-hnk#:~:text=To%20India's%20neighbors%2C%20%E2%80%9CAkhand%20Bharat,according%20to%20The%20Kathmandu%20Post." target="_blank">real shadows</a>.
And the ripples did not take long to appear. Nepal hardened its cartography. As a smaller state with a long history of negotiating Indian influence, Kathmandu often has to turn to symbolic gestures to assert its autonomy. The idea of ‘Greater Nepal’, referring to <a href="http://www.historyjournal.net/article/42/2-2-17-612.pdf" target="_blank">pre-Sugauli Treaty boundaries</a> that once stretched into what is now Indian territory, surfaces periodically, not necessarily because the government seeks territorial revision, but because symbols offer a way to resist the gravitational pull of an imperious neighbor.
In <a href="https://www.aa.com.tr/en/asia-pacific/bangladesh-seeks-explanation-over-indias-new-parliament-map/2914993#:~:text=In%20late%20May%2C%20Indian%20Prime%20Minister%20Narendra,*%20Bangladesh%20*%20Sri%20Lanka%20*%20Myanmar" target="_blank">Dhaka</a>, where anxieties over the <a href="https://blogs.library.columbia.edu/global-studies/2020/12/10/citizenship-amendment-act-caa-and-national-register-of-citizens-nrc/" target="_blank">National Register of Citizens (NRC)</a>, and <a href="https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/bangladeshi-migrants-are-like-termites-amit-shah/article25017064.ece" target="_blank">recent rhetoric around migration</a> are never far from the surface, the mural was seen by many commentators not as a cultural artefact, but as a visual echo of a political rhetoric that questions the very legitimacy of post-Partition borders.
China, perceptive and opportunistic, seized on the atmosphere to escalate its own symbolic manoeuvres. Every Indian invocation of civilisational memory becomes another opening for Beijing to apply pressure. China, too, draws from its own civilisational memory in framing the border question. Its claim over Arunachal Pradesh rests not only on strategic logic but on a narrative that casts the region as historically tied to Tibet.
The <a href="https://www.scmp.com/news/china/politics/article/3310209/china-reasserts-india-border-claims-fresh-list-standard-place-names" target="_blank">renaming of towns</a>, the issuing of <a href="https://www.deccanherald.com/world/what-are-stapled-visas-that-china-has-been-issuing-to-citizens-of-india-1242356.html" target="_blank">stapled visas</a>, and the symbolic <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-66892705" target="_blank">refusal to stamp Indian passports</a> from the state are all actions that gesture toward a deeper historical claim. Each is designed less to provoke than to remind: a steady drumbeat that keeps the dispute perpetually alive. It is a strategy of perpetual, low-grade friction, one mirrored in different forms by nearly every state in the region. In such an ecosystem, symbols do not travel alone. They accumulate, accrete and attach themselves to <a href="https://frontline.thehindu.com/world-affairs/south-asia-anti-india-sentiments-rise-in-neighbourhood-bangaldesh-sri-lanka-nepal-maldives/article68049487.ece" target="_blank">older injuries.</a> They become the whisper that prefaces the quarrel.
The danger is not a conventional war. The danger is something more insidious: symbolic escalation without restraint, without vocabulary, without exit.
Trust erodes quietly. Diplomacy shrinks to damage control. Domestic politics grows drunk on manufactured outrage. External powers deepen their footholds. Negotiation becomes surrender. The symbolic becomes structural. What begins as an irritant becomes orthodoxy. And orthodoxy, once declared, becomes unalterable.
South Asia has survived wars, partitions, insurgencies, and occupations. What it may not survive is the constant abrasion of its <a href="https://www.sas.upenn.edu/~dludden/Sjoshi04.htm#:~:text=The%20region%20continues%20to%20be%20configured%20through,and%20most%20powerful%20state%20in%20the%20region." target="_blank">own imagination</a>.&nbsp;
A map becomes an accusation. A mural becomes a warning. A passport becomes a verdict. A remark becomes prophecy. The politics of small hurts calcifies into the politics of large anxieties. And every actor, large or small, finds itself boxed in by its own symbols.
Somewhere, in the fluorescence of another airport hall, a young woman stands again before an officer who informs her that her identity belongs elsewhere, that her map is incorrect, that her belonging has been misfiled in the registry of another nation. She does not know that she is the site of a quarrel larger than herself. She does not need to. Her uncertainty is enough to sustain it. She is not the crisis. She is merely its silhouette.
The crisis is the map in his mind. And the larger maps behind him, painted, printed, circulated, applauded, contested, and consecrated across a region that cannot decide whether its borders are memories or mandates. Until the subcontinent learns to treat symbols with discipline rather than indulgence, it will remain at war with itself, not through armies but through shadows.
And shadows, once they begin to move, rarely stop where one expects.
Shyam Tekwani is a professor and columnist specialising in security affairs. This article first appeared in <a href="https://thewire.in/south-asia/when-maps-begin-to-move" target="_blank">The Wire</a>.

When maps move

The Diaspora Diaries series in Nepali Times over the past four years has profiled people on the move, so it is fitting that the theme for this year’s International Migrants Day on 18 December is My Great Story: Cultures and Development. The past 75 episodes of Diaspora Diaries have featured inspiring stories of Nepalis -- their trials and tribulations, accomplishments and aspirations. The people and decisions they made, the talents they nurtured. The odds were stacked against them in Nepal, and moving offered a way out. By sharing their stories, we became part of their journeys. And they, part of ours. The image marking 75 stories is symbolic: migrants holding the mic and sharing stories in their own words. Stories have the power of influencing narratives, and this is particularly relevant in the migration discourse that is vulnerable to populism, misguided representations and myths. Stories help broaden the understanding of the migration experience: not as reductive binaries of good or bad, and of heroes or victims. We caught up with some of the people profiled in Diaspora Diaries to see how they are doing. Had they finally decided to come home? Were their children now migrants? How is their business back in Nepal faring? Will they stay, or will they leave again? We know Bipin Joshi through fragments of memory from his friends. Nepal waited for his safe return, but heard that as a hostage he did not survive Israel’s war on Gaza. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-nepali-s-lucky-escape-from-hamas" target="_blank">Nischal Pandey</a>, one of the Nepali students who survived the 7 October 2023 Hamas attack is now working on his Master’s in Nepal. Also in Israel, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bringing-nepal-to-israel?%2F=" target="_blank">Prabha Ghimire</a> worked as a caregiver, and returned to Nepal after 19 years when her 101-year-old employer died.&nbsp; We call migration to the GCC and Malaysia ‘temporary’, but many of those profiled are still there after decades. Homnath Giri was featured in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-2-2a0bh9b7" target="_blank">very second Diaspora Diaries in 2022</a>, and has been working in Kuwait for 21 years in companies where as managing he prioritises the recruitment of Nepalis.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218161248_25e2a8490138c9fd6d6b1d74851668cec227b516dbde6c953ac943f0efdca7e3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251218161248_25e2a8490138c9fd6d6b1d74851668cec227b516dbde6c953ac943f0efdca7e3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="75 DDs"> <figcaption>Nischal Pandey, Prabha Ghimire, Homnath Giri</figcaption> </figure>  When we called up <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-on-my-mind" target="_blank">Ishwar Chaulagain</a> who has country-hopped Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain and Seychelles, and half-jokingly asked him: “Which country are you in now?” He was in Kuwait, his house in Nepal is now built, and he has earned a dual diploma online. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/painting-a-bright-future?%2F" target="_blank">Bhim Bishwakarma</a> the caregiver-cum-artist has been in Bahrain for 18 years, and was back in Morang recently to get married. Coffee aficionado <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/adventures-of-a-nepali-coffee-aficionado" target="_blank">Laxmi Timilsina</a> got promoted to assistant manager in Qatar, and said that his life feels complete after bringing his family to Doha and being blessed with a baby girl. UAE-based artist <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-world-of-a-working-artist" target="_blank">Jeevit Khadka</a> is preparing to publish his collection of poetry धागो (Thread).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218161248_4382aca0661b8383b4ecc94ddb929e78bf6e9f64f1e21ac20b255c3fe7fe3d27.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20251218161248_4382aca0661b8383b4ecc94ddb929e78bf6e9f64f1e21ac20b255c3fe7fe3d27" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="75 DDs"> <figcaption>Laxmi Prasad Timilsina, Ishwar Chaulagain, Jeevit Khadka</figcaption> </figure>  But how un-returnable has this country been made that people stay on for decades? Migrants tell us that there is always a reason to postpone returning.&nbsp; There is also an increasing trend among Nepalis abroad to start their own side businesses or use where they are as a launch pad for onward migration. Singer <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/song-of-work-and-freedom" target="_blank">Ashik Shrestha</a> started his own lounge with friends in the UAE where he performs. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/baking-as-a-metaphor-for-life" target="_blank">Aliza Basnet</a> who was working in the UAE when we interviewed her has now taken her bakery skills to the UK. Trailblazers continue to trail blaze. Shanti Bhandari who drives a double-decker tourism bus in the UAE has now obtained a truck license, always an interest to her. Turkey-based <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-to-turkey-and-onwards" target="_blank">Shyam Kala Rai</a> has not yet opened her Nepali restaurant given the economic climate. Since sharing her story in 2021 about her sacrifices for her children, her daughter has graduated as a nurse in Australia, and her son now works as a chef at <a href="https://www.instagram.com/quickchina/?hl=en" target="_blank">QuickChina</a> in Turkey.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218161248_795375e8b6d4239501c53e122d4e7c9b747b7ad9f0b94f2c5b0bcc2d25dc0bb0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20251218161248_795375e8b6d4239501c53e122d4e7c9b747b7ad9f0b94f2c5b0bcc2d25dc0bb0" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="75 DDs"> <figcaption>Ashik Shrestha, Aliza Basnet, Shyam Kala Rai</figcaption> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/fate-joins-then-separates-siblings" target="_blank">Anil Shrestha</a> was in Malta with his brother Ajay who died in a bike accident in 2022. Anil recently got married and has returned to Nepal, and is questioning the decision given poor employment prospects. The family still mourns Ajay’s death and has not yet received accident compensation.&nbsp; <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-4-xprqcf4x" target="_blank">Sajita Lama</a>, who was abused as a domestic worker in Lebanon, has still not recovered her unpaid wages of 10 years of work. The importance of compensation after mishaps in foreign employment is evident in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/wounded-in-the-line-of-duty" target="_blank">Antare Khatri’s</a> case. He continues to receive benefits from Malaysia’s Social Security Organisation (SOCSO) after losing his hand in a workplace accident. Recently, one of his sons went to Malaysia and the other to what he refers as “ठुलो देश”, Greece. UAE returnee <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/for-better-or-verse-in-the-gulf" target="_blank">Dalbir Singh Baraili</a> has also passed the migration baton to his children who are now in the UK. While survival is manageable with earnings in Nepal, he says covering weddings, large expenses for festivals and illnesses puts a strain on finances. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/from-saudi-to-sauji" target="_blank">Rudra Sapkota</a> &nbsp;sold his vegetable shop in Nepal and is enjoying a retired life, watching cricket, going on morning walks. “It’s not that bad,” he reckons. After spending 30 years in Saudi Arabia, his sons are now in Canada and Dubai.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218161248_f0921c2d4efe94da7614009e3582444c02fc49611e3eab91eef7c8713cc2eb11.jpg" data-media-id="editor_19" data-image-id="20251218161248_f0921c2d4efe94da7614009e3582444c02fc49611e3eab91eef7c8713cc2eb11" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="75 DDs"> <figcaption>Sajita Lama, Antari Khatri, Dalbir Singh Baraili, Rudra Sapkota</figcaption> </figure>  Narratives like how remittances are not used productively are often part of public discourse in Nepal. But what is the measure of productive investment?&nbsp; Without remittances, some families struggled to even eat or send children to a decent school. Migrants have used savings to retire parents to a concrete house, or save enough to pay for medical costs to save the lives of close relatives.&nbsp; Migration needs to be viewed through a wider lens — a continuum that stretches across generations. The rewards of today’s investment may come much later in better human capital, health and migration outcomes of the descendants of migrant workers who can afford to go to university.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218081232_f0806f595d09cbf52193476c6a150b38faab0b32ef36d43e7f7c9eae8d15517f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_20" data-image-id="20251218081232_f0806f595d09cbf52193476c6a150b38faab0b32ef36d43e7f7c9eae8d15517f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="2364" loading="lazy" alt="DD Migrant's Day"> </figure>  UPS AND DOWNS Some Diaspora Diaries stories are on returnee entrepreneurs, and the common sentiment is that Nepal’s economy is not conducive to business. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/proud-to-give-back-to-nepal" target="_blank">Prakash Katuwal’s Turkish restaurant</a> in Kathmandu is doing well, he is now a celebrity chef of sorts with wide engagement on social media, and he also is part of a cooking show. “I am still a simple man and do dishes till 1AM every night,” he says. Factory owner <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/cut-from-a-different-cloth" target="_blank">Krishna Timilsina</a> has expanded to start the clothing store Looga Ghar, while expanding presence internationally through exports and registering a tailoring and boutique branch in Japan. Chiyaspot owner <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/from-retail-to-selling-chiya?fbclid=IwAR3lAnpyoOKTvyb9ekXulEcPzzZCfBmLYLZq950Bv6ElccPHVPM2175ABeI" target="_blank">Gautam Guvaju</a> has also started a new Chiyaspot branch, and has come out of his shell on social media where he shares his journey and inspires youth.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218161248_f1dcf2b4829dec0a94f1a2dfbc364baeffbe94c33b2fdf720326f9b4f6921336.jpg" data-media-id="editor_24" data-image-id="20251218161248_f1dcf2b4829dec0a94f1a2dfbc364baeffbe94c33b2fdf720326f9b4f6921336" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="75 DDs"> <figcaption>Prakash Katuwal, Gautam Guvaju, Krishna Timilsina</figcaption> </figure>  The trio Korean returnees <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bringing-korea-s-prosperity-to-nepal?%5C" target="_blank">Shahadev Gurung, Prabin Shrestha and Dil Bahadur Tamang</a> have expanded their meat shop including a new branch, and a small Korean restaurant. The nine returnees who set up <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/returnees-prosper-together" target="_blank">Chef Burger</a> team have opened their eighth burger outlet in Tinchuli. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bringing-korea-s-prosperity-to-nepal?%5C" target="_blank">Prabin Shrestha</a> recently completed meat processing training in Korea, and his supplier and another returnee Sushil Lama received funds from the Nepal government to expand and upgrade their pig farm.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218161248_c7da4ee896e7fb140795e60e9b1b60a7e13446d9cd2914ed980071c4d5addcce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_28" data-image-id="20251218161248_c7da4ee896e7fb140795e60e9b1b60a7e13446d9cd2914ed980071c4d5addcce" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="75 DDs"> <figcaption>Dil Bahadur Tamang, Prabin Shrestha, Shahadev Gurung</figcaption> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/migrant-worker-returns-to-create-work-at-home" target="_blank">Sunil Bhujel</a> came back from Qatar and UAE to expand his maintenance business to road construction. Qatar, Dubai and Seychelles returnee <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/not-just-financial-but-social-remittances" target="_blank">Shiva Sharan Khatri</a> has added a resort in Chandragiri in addition to his facilities management business. Business fluctuates, rent does not. This can spell trouble especially for small businesses. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/finding-a-niche-in-nepal" target="_blank">Babare Bomjon</a>, who runs Akbare Momo, says shrinking demand has made him rethink his venture. He is looking to pivot to his own property-based business model because rent is unmanageable particularly when business goes up and down. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/money-is-not-everything-but-you-need-money-for-everything" target="_blank">Burger Shack owner Rohit Shrestha</a> is also facing upheavals, but has added bakery products, including bagels. After returning to Nepal from Qatar and Saudi Arabia, poet <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/prisoners-of-the-green-passport" target="_blank">Mahendra Thulung Rai</a> also feels the pressure of rent for his venture, Purbeli restaurant. He is still writing poetry, but considers re-migrating because of the cost of living and doing business in Nepal. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218161248_af308219333b582d4f8d00abb326041c0beb60a4d427633099948fb4582391b0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_34" data-image-id="20251218161248_af308219333b582d4f8d00abb326041c0beb60a4d427633099948fb4582391b0" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="75 DDs"> <figcaption>Sunil Bhujel, Rohit Shrestha, Mahendra Thulung Rai</figcaption> </figure>  Three years ago, when we spoke to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/from-letters-to-landlines-phones-to-facebook" target="_blank">Tilu Sharma</a>, who has been in Qatar for 21 years, there was a debate about allowing overseas Nepalis to vote in the 2022 elections. He repeated what he told us three years ago: “Our notes work, our votes don’t”.&nbsp; With elections due in March 2026, whether out-of-country voting is allowed or not, narratives around migration will matter even more than before. Candidates will use campaign slogans like “बिदेशको पसिना” and “बाध्यता” to portray migration as a result of state failure. With few exceptions, stories shared by migrants largely show the absence of practical initiatives to help them in their journeys. Nepalis are leaving silently, returning silently.&nbsp; A recently released government report showed that the number of migrant workers returning via Kathmandu airport crossed half a million each year in the past two years. Why have they returned? What factors would make them remain and use their skills here?&nbsp; Temporary migration should be alleviating concerns of both the migrant origin country like Nepal that can mobilise returnees who have added financial and social capital, and that of the host countries that fight with their own increasing anti-immigrant sentiments despite migrant contributions in unfilled vacancies. The Diaspora Diaries network has also helped to improve migration. Rohit, Shiva and Tilak, for example, have provided guest lectures to young Nepalis headed out in entry level positions in the hospitality sector — just as they had decades ago.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218161248_d4a765af759fbf68450364cc04f8f291b6e4fdd0eec20b80d99f921bf60e6bfc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_36" data-image-id="20251218161248_d4a765af759fbf68450364cc04f8f291b6e4fdd0eec20b80d99f921bf60e6bfc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="75 DDs"> <figcaption>Alpana Adhikari, Tilu Sharma</figcaption> </figure>  When abroad, the three have been responsible for interviews and promotions on behalf of their employers. Discussing practical and enabling factors for successful careers and post-return plans while talking about struggles ahead was helpful.&nbsp; Why does this matter? Because we want outgoing candidates to reimagine migration and see how they can maximise its gains. No matter whether they were pushed or pulled (or both) no matter their backgrounds and the opportunities they have had access to growing up, by the time they get on the plane in Kathmandu, how do they make the most of this experience? Each Diaspora Diaries story ends abruptly, but the lives of those profiled carries on. Will the UK provide better special education services for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/i-felt-like-i-was-born-to-be-a-nurse" target="_blank">Alpana’s son</a>? How will <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/finding-a-niche-in-nepal" target="_blank">Babare Bomjon</a> come out of the slump in his momo business? What is next for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bringing-nepal-to-israel?%2F=" target="_blank">Prabha</a> in Nepal after 19 years away? When will <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/enslaved-nepali-migrant-worker-rebuilds-her-life" target="_blank">Sajita</a> and Ashish finally get their owed dues. We continue to search for contact details of the anonymous returnee from Malaysia and Qatar from the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-1-33trp2ou" target="_blank">very first Diaspora Diary in January 2022</a> – the migrant worker who inspired us to write this series.&nbsp; Upasana Khadka heads Migration Lab, a social enterprise aimed at making migration outcomes better for workers and their families. Labour Mobility is a regular column in Nepali Times. The past 75 episodes of Diaspora Diaries series can be accessed through <a href="https://nepalitimes.com">site search</a>, or by clicking the hyperlinks above.

Our great stories

My nephew watched in rapt attention as the slides, telling the story of Lysan, shifted on the screen before him. For those few minutes, the noise and chaos in the massive hall, packed with children and their parents at the book launch event, became obscured and only the story became foregrounded. And in that moment, I felt exactly as my nephew might have—being found by the feeling of wonderment and enchantment. Lysan, a children’s book illustrated by Kanchan Burathoki and written by Sandra van Doesburg was launched in Kathmandu in August, along with other books produced by Van Doesburg Creative Works. The set included Namaste, a high contrast book for infants, Are You a Snow Leopard?, two part set book and workbook, and Mijok’s Trip, a children’s illustrated novel by Niranjan Kunwar. Lysan is the story of the longing to belong. Lysan is a creature, half eagle, half rhino. She has wings and talons and tough and rugged skin and a horn. Lysan wishes she didn’t look as she does and wonders if the way she looks is why her friends look at her differently. She has difficulty opening up to her friends because she is different and she wants to be seen for who she is, but has little confidence. It isn’t until she meets someone quite like her that she is able to look inward and appreciate her true self. Whose story does “Lysan” tell? Of each one of us. Although the story appears like a simple children’s story about someone who thinks herself a misfit, the meaning goes much deeper. And in that, it transcends the narrative aimed at children and speaks to people in different age groups. “When I was writing the business plan to set up Van Doesburg Creative Works and working on my first two books, Namaste and Are You a Snow Leopard?, one of my friends in Switzerland, Lys, suggested we create a story centered around biracial children since both of us, and now our kids, are biracial,” explains the writer, Sandra Shiwani van Doesburg, who is also an HR professional. “Her son and mine were born during Covid, and I was eager to explore that experience.” “I wanted to capture the universal childhood feeling of being different. It did not have to be about race or culture alone; it could mean anything to anyone,” Sandra says. Lys wrote the German version and Sandra wrote the English. Sandra reached out to Kanchan Burathoki, with whom she was &nbsp;working on Are You a Snow Leopard?. Kanchan and Sandra go back to their boarding school days at Budanilkantha, and so between the two friends, Kanchan immediately understood the soul of Lysan. And thus, the Rhino-Eagle who loves running and then flying, came into being. “As our lives evolved into motherhood, we reconnected deeply and creatively. Kanchan is truly magical with her illustrations,” says Sandra. “With her fine arts background and experience running a graphic design business, she intuitively understood not only illustration but also book production.” Lysan isn’t just a confused, solitary being. Her character is full. When she sees a new creature, she says: “Let’s mush that ICKY THING!”. There’s no attempt here on the writer’s part to create a protagonist who is only good. Every time we get to this page while re-reading Lysan, my nephew laughs. Lysan’s face speaks! The other characters in the book are just as quirky as Lysan. There are the lynx who are also narwhal and there are the pangolin who are also falcon. And there’s Wormfishly, who’s a worm and fish and a fly at the same time.&nbsp; The animals featured in the book are some of the endangered species from Nepal, the Philippines, Switzerland, Thailand, and Austria, the countries close to the creators’ hearts. A mood board describing the colour palette for illustrations and a specific narrative on each character was first prepared. “I didn’t want human characters, and so through anthropomorphism, I wanted the story to feel universally relatable,” Sandra adds. For a decade now, I’ve been one of my nephew’s bedtime story readers. And over the years, we’ve read many books together, exploring all kinds of scenarios and landscapes together, laughing, sighing and sometimes, smiling as we shut the book.&nbsp; Reading Lysan was a repeat of that act, as we followed the beautiful landscape with our eyes, the blue sky, spotted with clouds, the greenery and the cuteness of the characters. The imaginary land Kanchan visualises, is the kind one wants to be inside. Here, magical hybrid creatures become part of a moving world. As an adult reading Lysan, I’ve felt moved by it every time, as it transports me back to my childhood, where I too felt like a misfit—wishing I looked different, spoke differently, and even felt differently. The curious thing about this feeling is that it barely wears out even as we outgrow innocence.&nbsp; The feeling keeps burrowing into new forms and faces as we step into adulthood, and often we are the ones who leave a party early, who are unable to show up for dates with friends, who sit and spend hours staring at the sky for no reason, who refuse to wear a certain shirt because the texture feels too queasy, or who leave a drink untouched because its colour reminds us of something unpleasant. Each one of us is made up of loads of these feelings and things. Some of us are made of other things, but just as interesting or uninteresting to the others. And so each one of us is whole, each one “ALL ME inside”, as Lysan says. But in the crowd we might be pressured to blend, even if it means pulling on a mask and taking cues from friends and family.&nbsp; At some point in life those differences start to make sense and we understand that in being unlike others, each one of us is original and thus contribute to the huge map that makes this world as magical as it is. That’s what the story of Lysan is about. Over the weeks, I’ve read the book to my nephew a couple of times and every time, he approaches it with new light and love. To borrow Sandra’s own words: “The best stories are simple but open to multiple interpretations. What you take from a story might not be what I take, and that’s beautiful.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251215041232_b4c946acbee0b09fe977beab5f24042afa0717c85c3de857cbf744c78842f103.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251215041232_b4c946acbee0b09fe977beab5f24042afa0717c85c3de857cbf744c78842f103" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Lysan book details NT"> </figure>

All me inside: a story about flight

Belém’s lowland Amazon landscape stands in stark contrast to &nbsp;Himalayan peaks, yet the decisions adopted at COP30 will influence the future of mountain regions across the world.
For the first time, mountains were anchored across several outcomes of the UN climate negotiations, including a dedicated dialogue to be held during the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) mid-year session in June 2026.
COP30 also made a small step forward in advancing the urgent call to limit global temperature rise and scale up climate finance, both of which are critical for vulnerable mountainous countries.
For mountain countries like Nepal, these milestones are not symbolic gains, they are overdue acknowledgement of the profound and accelerating risks unfolding in the high mountains. They offer a rare opening for mountain nations to elevate their priorities, strengthen coalitions and ensure that global climate action translates into real protection for the people and ecosystems of the world’s highest and most fragile landscapes.
In a decisive step, COP30 requested the Chairs of the Subsidiary Bodies, the technical and scientific arm, to convene a formal UNFCCC dialogue on mountains and climate change during its mid-year session in June 2026. This matters for three reasons.
First, from the continuous rise in global temperature, and from rapidly retreating glaciers to unstable slopes to drying springs, mountain systems are undergoing ‘irreversible change’ at faster rates than many other regions.
Second, hundreds of millions of people in downstream countries depend on mountain water, biodiversity and resources. The collapse of mountain systems is not just a local concern, it is a global risk.
Third, mountain nations have historically had limited negotiating leverage. While many other geographic groupings have established strong collective platforms, mountain agendas have remained scattered. The dialogue, supported by a summary report to be presented at COP31, offers a new diplomatic anchor point.
For Nepal, as well as the broader mountain ranges such as the Himalaya, the Andes, the Alps, the Atlas and the Ural Mountains, this opening helps not only to highlight vulnerabilities, but also to shape global climate policy in ways that reflect mountain realities.
Beyond the standalone dialogue, mountains were referenced across COP30 decisions in ways that give mountain nations more substantive hooks in the global process.
The Global Mutirão decision, the political heart of COP30, explicitly reaffirms the ‘vital importance of protecting mountainous ecosystems’, among others, as part of an integrated response to climate change, biodiversity loss and land degradation. This holistic framing aligns with Nepal’s longstanding call for recognising the interconnected crises affecting mountain landscapes.
Meanwhile, the Belém Adaptation Indicators under the Global Goal on Adaptation include mountains as a specific category for disaggregation. This is an important technical win: it allows countries like Nepal to measure and report adaptation progress in ways that reflect the unique vulnerabilities of mountain ecosystems and communities.&nbsp;
Indicators related to climate-resilient ecosystems, ecosystem-based adaptation, and biodiversity resilience all reference mountainous areas, opening pathways for targeted adaptation planning and finance.
Not only COP30 but the process leading up to it has made consistent progress on mountain issues. The IPCC, in its Seventh Assessment Cycle, will include a dedicated cross-chapter paper on mountains. Likewise, the UNFCCC’s Standing Committee on Finance has selected ‘mountain ecosystems and melting glaciers’ as a sub-theme for its forum next year.
Both developments pave the way for advancing climate science and climate finance specifically in the context of mountains. These decisions, taken together, offer a foundation to build a more structured and sustained recognition of mountain issues in the climate regime.
CLIMATE SCIENCE
The urgency behind the COP30 decisions reflects what climate science has been warning for years. The Hindu Kush Himalaya is warming significantly faster than the global average. Even at 1.5°C of global warming, the region could lose up to one-third of its glacier volume by the end of this century.
Extreme rainfall events that were once rare are now more frequent and intense. Landslides are becoming larger, deadlier and more unpredictable. Springs that sustained communities for generations are drying up. Ecosystems are rapidly shifting upslope, leaving species with shrinking habitat and escalating extinction risks.
These impacts are already manifesting on the ground. Recent floods, landslides and glacial lake outburst floods (GLOFs) across Bhutan, India, Nepal and Pakistan all reflect a broader pattern of climate-driven extremes. As the IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) warns, the intensity and frequency of such events will continue to increase with every fraction of warming.
This is why referring to the Paris temperature goal of 1.5°C as ‘unattainable’ is not just scientifically careless, it strikes at the very survival of mountain communities. Yet current global commitments fall far short of what is needed. Based on 86 NDCs submitted by 113 Parties, global greenhouse gas emissions in 2035 are projected to be only 12% below 2019 levels, far from the 43% reduction the IPCC says is required to keep 1.5°C within reach.
For mountain countries, the message could not be clearer: there is no margin for delayed action.
PATH AHEAD
COP30 has created both political and technical space for mountain issues–thanks to the joint efforts of mountainous nations like Nepal, Bhutan and Kyrgyzstan (as Chair of the Mountain Group), along with support from countries in Latin America and Africa.
But turning this progress into real protection for mountain regions will require collective effort and sustained leadership. It is not only about securing the word ‘mountain’ in decisions — the real task ahead lies in advancing urgent action to limit global temperature rise and in mobilising climate finance that reflects the realities and complexities of mountainous geographies.
The upcoming mountain dialogue in June must underline the fact that protecting mountains requires stabilising global temperatures well below 1.5°C.
The case for mountain-specific finance for adaptation and addressing loss and damage remains key. Mountain regions face challenges that do not align with conventional adaptation models: high-risk terrain, dispersed settlements, difficult access, fragile ecosystems and complex hydrology.
Adaptation here is more costly, technically demanding and long-term, yet climate finance mechanisms rarely reflect this reality. The GGA indicators must help to push for simplified access and scaled-up support for ecosystem-based and nature-based adaptation, recognising the complexity of mountainous geography when justifying climate rationale.
For mountain countries, many climate-induced impacts cannot be avoided by adaptation alone. The accelerating pace of glacier loss, slope failures, biodiversity collapse and cultural heritage impacts demands a robust loss and damage system. The Fund for responding to Loss and Damage (FRLD) must also recognise differentiated realities and address mountain-specific risks, GLOFs, highland droughts, erosion-driven displacement and glacial retreat.
Diplomatic progress alone will not safeguard the mountains. Action must reach the places where impacts are unfolding, unstable slopes, remote settlements, shrinking pastures and drying springs. This requires scaling up early warning systems tailored to mountain hazards, and expanding watershed and spring-shed restoration to secure vital water sources. It also means investing in resilient mountain infrastructure and protecting biodiversity corridors linking fragile highland ecosystems.
Empowering local communities through climate-resilient livelihoods is equally critical, alongside strengthening scientific monitoring of the cryosphere and mountain ecosystems to understand fast-changing risks. Finally, enhanced cross-border collaboration on data, forecasting and water governance is essential, given the Himalaya is a shared mountain system whose stability depends on collective action.
COP30 has opened an important chapter for mountain issues in global climate diplomacy, but it is only the beginning. The 2026 mountain dialogue, the implementation of the Belém Adaptation Indicators, the IPCC cross chapter paper on mountains, to the Standing Committee on Finance to discuss mountains, and above all a renewed global commitment to decisive emission reductions will determine whether mountain communities are protected in ways that reflect their realities.
For Nepal, a country whose identity, ecology and economy are inseparable from its mountains, this moment is both an opportunity and a responsibility. The stakes are nothing less than the future stability of the Himalaya and the well-being of millions who depend on it. The world can no longer afford to look away from the mountains. And mountain nations cannot afford to wait.
Manjeet Dhakal is the Head of LDC Support Team at Climate Analytics and Director for Climate Analytics South Asia. He is a member of Nepal delegation and Adviser to the Chair of Least Developed Countries on climate change. &nbsp;

Mountains at the tipping point

Dimar Chaudhary was born and raised in Old Padampur, the village inside what is now Chitwan National Park before it was dsignated a protected area. His Tharu community, as well as other indigenous groups, traditionally relied on Chitwan’s jungles and rivers for generations. Chaudhary himself had grown up collecting medicinal plants and wild vegetables, gathering wood, and grazing cattle in the forest. Chitwan, along with much of Nepal’s Tarai, was plagued by malaria until a US-supported DDT spraying campaign to wipe out the disease in the district in the 1950s. This opened the valley up to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. Before that, Chitwan was inhabited entirely by indigenous people: 90% of the district’s population was Tharu, and the rest were Bote, Mushar, Darai and Majhi communities. In 1973 Chitwan National Park became Nepal's first protected area and in 1996, the Nepal government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management. Old Padampur was subsequently relocated outside the park. Ntional parks formed buffer zone user committees (BZUCs) to manage and oversee community forests. Hundreds of thousands of local people were directly involved in managing buffer zone community forests across the country. Over three decades, these forests have not only made conservation collaborative, but also helped to mitigate wildlife-related crimes and human wildlife conflict. In 2014, 2015 and 2016, Nepal achieved zero poaching for its three flagship species: rhinos, tigers and elephants. But while these user communities have made wildlife conservation participatory, the process hasn’t been inclusive of Nepal’s indigenous and underserved communities. In 2022, WWF supported Community Conservation Nepal to collect data on natural resources used by Tharu indigenous people before the establishment of Chitwan National Park. The project also looked into the inclusion of indigenous, women, Dalit and disabled communities in the Baghauda, Paachpandav, Meghauli, Mrigakunja, and Amaltari Buffer Zone User Committees (BZUC) as well as the Someshwor, Gardi Chure, Radha Krishna, and Baghmara Buffer Zone Community Forests (BZCF).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977" data-rendition-name="original" width="1342" height="941" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC map"></figure>  BARRIERS TO INCLUSION The survey found that women are underrepresented in all the BZUCs despite women user groups being larger. Nepal’s Buffer Zone laws dictate that each BZUC has 13 members. Each BZUC is made up of nine units, and as many representatives are elected from those units. The elected members have the authority to choose the remaining four members. This meant that indigenous peoples, marginalised groups, and women have a far lower chance of being elected. Indeed, out of the total members, Paachpandav and Mrigakunja BCUZs had four women, Meghauli had three women, and Baghauda had only one woman, whereas Amaltari user committee had no woman member. In contrast, the BZCF are relatively more inclusive of women, with two out of four surveyed BZCF comprising half women members. Additionally, some grassroots user committees are made up entirely of women. Most women members of the user committees are not appointed through elections, but chosen by elected male members, and are not given positions of leadership. “Women have been the ones protecting the forests ever since the concept of forest conservation initially emerged,” one female participant told us during a focus group discussion. People would get angry when the women stopped them from cutting down trees and grass, and grazing cattle in the jungles, she recalled, adding, “We were dedicated to the user committees. However, we are no longer involved in the committees, nor are we invited to meetings.” When asked about the absence of women in the user committees, one BZUC chairperson responded, “There are only men here because they won the election. Women are unwilling to run for the election. How will they fit into the committee if no woman has ever run for election?” However, not only are women deprived of the chance to contest elections, the chances of them winning polls are also very low because a majority of the positions in the committee will already have been allocated by political parties to their male cadres. Women from marginalised communities face further hurdles.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="508" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC "></figure>  “No male member from the Musahar community has been elected in the user community, if they had, they could have suggested that women from our community be included in the committee as well,” said a female participant from the Musahar community. While the native Musahar and Bote people lack representation in the BZUC, indigenous people did make up the majority of the members in the committees, while Dalit members were included in some collectives. However, only one committee is led by an indigenous person. The others are chaired by upper-caste hill migrants. In addition, no committee had any representative with disabilities. One of the key reasons for the under-representation of marginalised communities in Nepal’s BZUC is its non-inclusive policy. When Nepal’s Constitution was promulgated in 2015, residents living in proximity to protected areas across Nepal had hoped that policies relating to buffer zones and their governance would be reformed to reflect Nepal’s new socio-political reality. But this has not been the case. However, this has not discouraged indigenous Nepalis, who have continued to demand buffer zone policy reforms that ensure the inclusion of women, indigenous and marginalised communities. In addition to policy revision, it is necessary to reform the buffer zone election so that it is more participatory for underserved communities. Reforms should also regulate the number of members in a user group. Similarly, the budget allocated for buffer zones must be used on activities that benefit conservation instead of local infrastructure development. Women, people with disabilities, indigenous and marginalised communities should be the primary beneficiaries of budget dispensation. Crop damage compensation, which currently is Rs10,000, can be increased by five times to Rs50,000. Policy revisions should ultimately guarantee the rights of indigenous communities like the Sonaha, Bote and Musahar to practice their culture and traditional livelihoods and receive a formal education. Buffer Zone User Committees must apply indigenous conservation practices for park management. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.

Parks by the people and for the people

Nepali Times #1290

Samrat Upadhyay’s newest novel <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/10/books/review/darkmotherland-samrat-upadhyay.html" target="_blank">Darkmotherland</a> imagines a Kathmandu in political turmoil after a large earthquake. In the aftermath, Home Minister Giridharilal Bhagirath Kumar stages a ‘koo’, and has convinced people that he is the answer to the crisis.&nbsp; He is now known as ‘PM Papa’, and picks up classic dictatorial ways — propaganda, statue-making, history-revising, and a gang of Shiva-worshipping ‘Fundys’.&nbsp; We are introduced to two complicated protagonists. The first is Kranti, a fetching young woman and ‘Madam Mao’, her Communist professor mother. The chef father loved classic rock and died by gas cylinder suicide. Kranti hates her mother, and the Communist group which congregates at her home to plot against PM Papa, although they seem to take forever to get anything done.&nbsp; Kranti has a complicated relationship with the handsome Bhaskar, the middle son of the Ghimirey family oligarchy that is aligned with the dictator. She loves him, but as Bhaskar gets more and more involved with her mother and the Communist group, finds herself heading out to the ‘Bhurey’ (Bhu-kampa Rey-fugee) tents, to spend time with poet Kabiraj.&nbsp; Kranti is also given to delusions, paranoia, and psychosis, convinced that Bhaskar’s family is spying on her, and that one in the Communist group has supernatural powers of suggestion that led to her father’s suicide. Despite mental issues, she marries Bhaskar and into the Ghimirey clan, and the complex nexus between business and politics.&nbsp; The second is Rozy, initially the genderqueer lover of PM Papa who he discovered in the streets, and is described as a ‘gorgeous homosexual’. She turns heads due to her sexuality and beauty, and gets more and more politically powerful as the story moves along.&nbsp; Upadhyay tells us Nepali writers writing in English often feel a pressure to create an “all-embracing world” (interview), but that is what he seems to be getting at with the monumental plot of his novel. Unlike the realism in his previous novels, this one drifts off into magical realism. His narrative blends the ever-present risk of a big earthquake and the actuality of political tremors. The speed of political upheaval seems a little unrealistic for anyone who lived through the 2015 earthquake, although the GenZ protests showed just how quickly a regime can be reduced to a heap of rubble. The age-old question: oppression can be overcome, but what comes after? The PM Papa character is a Gyanendra-Oli-Deuba-Prachanda-Modi-Trump-Papa Doc composite who is good friends with the not even thinly veiled President Corn Hair.&nbsp; Through the character of Kranti, Upadhyay conveys the dynamic between a parent and a child who is now a full adult, on relationships in Kathmandu as marriage looms, on pervasive corruption which one might denounce but have to take advantage of to get things done.&nbsp; Through Rozy, Upadhyay brings attention to the non-binary identity, one that has existed forever in Nepal, and although is discussed a lot in the West lately but not so much here. Upadhyay explores the origins, the present, and the various advantages and disadvantages of the queer.&nbsp; Storytelling in the early parts of the book oscillates between the real and absurd fantasy amidst the physical and political backdrop that does not have to be Nepal -- it could be Modi's India or Trump's America.&nbsp; The reader sees the world through Kranti’s psychosis, or PM Papa’s displays of power, such as when a ‘Sweej’ wrestler is beaten to death with a mace in a wrestling spectacle.&nbsp; These elements <a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/authors/profiles/article/96329-samrat-upadhyay-wants-you-to-expect-the-unexpected.html" target="_blank">coagulate in the novel</a>, and Upadhyay has all the pages at his disposal to prod and push them against one another to see what happens. The novel is still at its best and most engaging when describing vulnerable scenes, of Kranti and her mister, or of Rozy’s messed-up childhood.&nbsp; Any Nepali reading his weighty novel can recognise the allusions and nudges such as the Tourist Area: Thamel, Open Stage: Khula Manch, Tri-Moon: Tri-Chandra etc. But anyone not from these parts may have a tough time keeping track. Keeping a notebook handy may be useful.&nbsp; Ultimately, the novel does work, it provokes and entertains. For best results, serialise the reading over 30 days, not 3 like this reviewer.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Darkmotherland NT"> </figure>  <h2>More things change, more they remain the same</h2> First US-published Nepali Samrat Upadhyay is the award-winning author of novels and short story collections like Arresting God in Kathmandu, The City Son, Mad Country, and Buddha’s Orphans. Upadhyay is also the Martha C. Kraft Professor of Humanities at Indiana University, where he teaches Creative Writing.&nbsp; Recently in Kathmandu, he talked to the Nepali Times over coffee in Boudha about his writing, his teaching, and his newest novel, DARKMOTHERLAND.&nbsp; Nepali Times: Darkmotherland is 732 pages long. What was it like writing a much longer book? Samrat Upadhyay: Torturous Ha ha ha. Around 2014 I started a story. I knew it was going to be a novel. It was about this woman who is accused of being a Mangalik. Then the big earthquake happened in 2015. I was in the US but my parents were still here, they were living in tents. Then I started thinking, what would happen if a dictator came to power. That’s how PM Papa was born. I think mostly because of his character the novel exploded. I had never written a character like him before. I don’t do any plot outlines when I write. Let’s see where it goes. I like the process of writing to lead to discoveries. If I knew everything then I’d get bored. Not knowing where the storyline might go is very exciting. All these different threads started coming in, the character of Kranti started taking on a big role. Her mother, a Communist-leaning professor, started taking shape. Kranti also had a love-interest from an oligarchical family. The novel just took off and I just continued writing. A novel is as long as it needs to be. The initial draft was 1,700 pages. I was writing pretty fast. I don’t pause to see if the sentences are pretty. I whittled it down, and by the time I sent it to my agent it was 1,100 pages. He was able to sell it to Soho Press. I worked with an editor who suggested some further cuts and expansions. The editing part was even harder than the initial writing, because by that time I was tired of looking at the novel. There was a bit of a delay because of Covid, then we got back on track. What’s your daily process of getting the words on paper? I am a morning writer. I get up in the morning and start writing. You can have all kinds of theories but there is this saying, Shut Up and Write. The writing is where the meat is. You encounter difficulties in writing that you may not encounter when thinking about it. I see this in my students. I knew this was a big project so I knew that if I wanted to get it out I would need to write a lot per day. I got a couple fellowships in the university that gave me a few semesters off teaching. I would write for about 4 or 5 hours. Sometimes I would give myself a 1,000 word deadline, but I’m flexible with it if I don’t get there. You have to be kind and patient. What is your inspiration behind the gender-queer character, Rozy? I’ve always been a strong supporter of LGBT. I would say that at this point half of my students are non-binary or on the gender spectrum. Some of them are going through transitions. In some ways Nepal has become more accepting, but in other ways not. I did a workshop with Blue Diamond Society, and heard pretty harrowing stories. I didn’t intend to create a gender-queer character, but it seemed like the novel was demanding that. Especially in terms of the tyrannical stronghold that PM Papa has over the entire country, it made sense that there would be a counterpart, I wanted to put these things in motion and see how they interact. As I was writing Rozy, her character became very formidable. How much do you draw from Nepali politics? Do you form characters off people you know? Not in a very concrete sense, but I’m always drawing from them. I grew up in the Panchayat System, and lived in Lainchaur. The palace was there. The monarchy was such an institution. But then I was in the US, so I wasn’t here when the pro-democracy movement happened. In some ways it felt like things had changed, but were the same in other ways. I feel the same way now. I do draw upon people. I think my father makes an appearance in my work in various forms, I disguise him, of course. You’ve taught creative writing for a while now, how is literature changing?&nbsp; My students are also writing non-binary characters, because they want to be reflected in the stories. This is something new that we didn’t have. White authors, characters were the default. People of Color on the margins. African American and then Hispanic, South Asian authors were always pushing back on this status quo. When I was growing up in the classroom we were reading a lot of white male authors, but in my own life I was reading Salman Rushdie, African, South African friends and writers. My students have a lot more interest in fantasy, many are writing dystopian. One student is writing a novel where the characters start playing a game, and then they enter the game, and an entire new world opens up. On the one hand there are complaints that students aren’t reading enough, which is true, but my students are producing smarter work. Writing that is a lot more insightful. The calibre of discussion in my graduate-level novel writing classes is mind-boggling to me, and makes me want to keep on teaching. Do Nepali writers who write in English feel a certain pressure, from the market or self-imposed, to make their stories more Nepali? My experience for a long time was that there was a pressure, I felt it true in my case, I was supposed to be the representative of every Nepali. But Nepali writers writing in Nepali are not asked, how are you representing Nepal. At that time there was a lot of pressure to write a novel that is all-embracing, that is supposed to speak on all aspects of the country. Politics felt like an integral part of it, that these novels had to make big political statements. I always felt like this was wrong. I mean, people have to write what they want to write. &nbsp;You write what you want to write, and if it resonates with readers, that’s great. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too. Art isn’t going to speak to everyone. We do a competition every couple of years called Writing Nepal. We make a call for stories, and we decide the best ones. I find it refreshing now that the writing isn’t all about Nepal. The best stories are quite varied. What are Nepalis writing about?&nbsp; Several of the stories are about the role of women in our society, done with a lot of nuance, about the sort of multitasking they have to do. Some of it was deeply historical, some dystopian, the coming of AI. Some of them have an old-timey type of feel, and some of them are very modern, contemporary. The general level of art in movies, TV shows, and novels seems to have regressed compared to say the 90s.&nbsp; I don’t think that’s entirely true. Publishing has been harder, for sure, but there are a lot of novels being published every year. My writing workshop had always been a good vehicle for short stories, but a lot of my students now—even undergraduates—are working on novels. I haven’t formulated my thoughts on AI, it is so new and has hit us so hard. Many of my students are using AI, especially when writing response papers to works of literature or peers, which I find appalling. That’s going to be a struggle. I tell my students, who are you fooling? If you feel that you want to be an artist, or a writer, then what’s the point of using AI? AI-generated stories are also just not that good. They’re almost too perfect, too well put-together, making moves that are easy to detect. There is something about human-written stories that are messy and exciting. But there are also plenty of students who want to do original work and don’t want anything to do with AI.

A dystopian motherland

When Winston Churchill addressed the Canadian Parliament in December 1941, he recalled that generals of Nazi-occupied France had said that England would “have her neck wrung like a chicken”. Churchill went on to quip: “Some chicken.” As the laughter and applause subsided, he added: “Some neck.” (Even longer laughter and applause) We do not know who first started calling the narrow corridor that joins India to its northeastern states a 'Chicken’s Neck', but there also was the hint of a Churcillian connotation. Akhilesh Upadhayay in his new book In the Margins of the Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck, uses this strip as an entry point to explore a region adjoining Nepal, Bhutan, China, Sikkim, Darjeeling, India’s northeast and the tectonics that shaped its geo-strategic terrain.&nbsp; Upadhyay’s Chicken Neck is an organic whole, connected through centuries by transboundary traders, travellers, monks, spies, missionaries, mountaineers, and more. And as infrastructure and connectivity improves, smaller countries like Nepal and Bhutan (and earlier Sikkim) are caught up in the region’s rivalries. The tri-junction of the Chicken’s Neck is a potential flashpoint that has obsessed India’s military strategists ever since Partition in 1947 and the formation of East Pakistan, and the Chinese annexation of Tibet. India found itself squeezed between Chumbi Valley in China to the north and Pakistan to the south. So, when Sikkim started acting too independent for its own good 50 years ago, India engineered its annexation and turned it into its 22nd state. The 1962 Sino-Indian war elevated its strategic importance even more. Alarm bells ring in New Delhi each time there is trouble around the Chicken’s Neck: the Naxalite uprising had to be swiftly crushed, the Indian military moved in to liberate Bangladesh, Gorkhaland and ULFA activities were dangerously nearby, Bhutan had to be appeased. Every once in a while things would flare up between India and China, as in the 2017 Doklam standoff.&nbsp; And last year’s regime change in Bangladesh has rattled New Delhi enough to deploy its Rafael fighters and BrahMos cruise missiles in the Chicken’s Neck. It is now the most densely militarised strip of real estate in this part of the world. &nbsp; As a journalist and former editor of Kathmandu Post, Upadhyay also peers at the Chicken’s Neck through Nepal’s perspective. After all, Jhapa (where the author is originally from) sits right there astride India’s strategic lifeline.&nbsp; Geopolitics is at the front and centre of the book that takes readers back to the time Nepal was a closed Himalayan kingdom.&nbsp; Nepal may be a yam between two boulders, but it may just as well be a thicker Chicken’s Neck as far as New Delhi and Beijing are concerned. Nepal’s rulers have always had to walk the tightrope between China and India. Khampa guerrillas, covertly helped by American and Indian intelligence, raided Chinese military convoys from bases in Nepal, and King Mahendra had to do some intricate diplomatic footwork. India is often described as Nepal’s closest friend, but our relations with China go back as long in terms of the Lhasa trade, Bhrikuti and Arniko, religious exchanges and people-to-people relations. While Nepali researchers are wary of touching on Chinese, Indian or American sensitivities, Upadhyay’s journalistic background means he has no qualms about tackling the subject head-on, and objectively. He spent more than a year researching the book, sniffing around Siliguri, Bagdogra, Naxalbari, Darjeeling and the villages on the Jhapa side. Then he travelled to Olangchung Gola to listen to ordinary people of the Himalayan rimlands. Despite the perception about rigid frontiers between nation states, the book hints at how absurd the notion is. The Chicken’s Neck is also a wild elephant migration corridor, disturbed by the India-Bangladesh border fence, new expressway embankments, airport runways, and expanding cities. Similarly, the people on the Nepal-tibet border used to cross over to graze yaks — this expanded the gene pools of not just the yaks but also the nomadic humans who moved with the herds.&nbsp; Despite the hard borders, trade flourishes. Upadhyay marvels that a shop in Phungling in Taplejung has embroidered saris from Siliguri and fluffy jackets from China. he finds that residents in the northeastern and southeastern tips of Nepal have more in common with kin across the border in Tibet or India than with someone from Kathmandu. Nepal was once one of the biggest trade hubs in ancient times, and our products were treated as equals in Indian border cities. People too, could move freely, especially if they were and are from bordering Tarai cities.&nbsp; Nepal’s rich history and culture was shaped by the proximity to neighbours, and despite borders it is still cemented by marriages and trade — especially in the Nepali-speaking lands to the east. Its geographical positioning makes Nepal not landlocked but land-linked, adjacent to the largest emerging economies of the world. Nepal needs to deploy its soft power with effective diplomacy to take advantage of these two empires, and not be choked by their rivalry. The book was going to press when the GenZ protests ignited in September, but Upadhyay nevertheless managed to insert the current political transition into the pages with deft editing. &nbsp;The final section of the book examines at least three possible scenarios that may unfold as South Asia continues to be shaped by great power rivalries and imperial contests that have weakened the unilateral influence of the west.&nbsp; Akhilesh Upadhyay extrapolates from the Chicken’s Neck, zooming out for a wider perspective on the Subcontinent. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="In the Margins of Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck NT"> </figure>

Some chicken, some neck

Mithila art has represented Nepal’s indigenous culture, passing down through generations in the Madhes. Now, noted artist S C Suman explores this tradition with a bit of modern touch that gives it added relevance. Each of his paintings at the ‘Mithila Cosmos VII: Journey of a Pilgrim’ exhibition at Siddhartha Art Gallery exudes culture, colours and feminism, but with added improvisations that make it contemporary. “Mithila is an art form that is mostly used by women. Women have been the ones who preserve culture and pass it to other people and upcoming generations. The art form is what it is today because of women,” explains Suman. Inaugurating the exhibition on oMonday, art historian Julia Llyod Williams spoke fondly of Nepal and Mithila art, relating how she once bought a Mithila painting she liked without knowing its historical and cultural importance to the Mithila civilisation.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216031232_729d03089084a1bc79b0678766a09e13dcd9236ebd628795eb3b8c3aafcf8981.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251216031232_729d03089084a1bc79b0678766a09e13dcd9236ebd628795eb3b8c3aafcf8981" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Mithala exhibition NT"></figure>  Suman is a self-taught artist, textile designer and a radio host from Biratnagar, and one of the country’s most celebrated artists, with national and international honours. He has held 14 solo exhibitions and numerous group shows in Nepal and all over the world. “With Mithila Cosmos, Suman brings his artistic evolution into a deeper, more traditional realm, where pilgrimage is shaped not only by movement but by cultural memory and sacred stories,” says Sangeeta Thapa of Siddhartha Art Gallery. The seventh edition of the exhibition explores and displays reflections of pilgrimage, sharing the artist’s physical and spiritual experience with viewers. The first of this series was exhibited in 2007. “I am confident that this edition will also win visitors’ hearts. In the past, different dimensions of Mithila art were presented through this series. This time around as well, I have tried to give viewers a new perspective,” says Suman.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216031232_2626f5a28e0051157af5d7f414128a1893645ddda02c955448103f4e92078385.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251216031232_2626f5a28e0051157af5d7f414128a1893645ddda02c955448103f4e92078385" data-rendition-name="original" width="1191" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Mithala exhibition NT"></figure>  The exhibition is displayed on two floors of the gallery and includes paintings of Swayambhu, Pashupati, Lord Ganesh, Krishna, Ram Sita Bibabah among other renderings. Explains Suman: “The Pashupatin painting depicts the evolution of the temple, and since I live near Swayambhu, the mantra chanted there gives me energy, inspiring me to paint the shrine.” Use of colour, especially hues of blue, grab the attention of the viewers creating a sublime experience. ‘Samundra Manthan’ depicts how Lord Shiva drank poison to save the world. All the elements of the episode including Vasuki Nag, Kamdhenu and others are elaborately depicted. This carries on the Mithila tradition of telling stories by showing them through art. ‘Ram Sita Bibah’ shows the story of Ram and Sita in an intricate and intimate manner, and this is followed by the Banbas series, where Lord Ram is expelled from the palace, owing to family politics for power. In ‘Banbas I’, when crossing a river, the person rowing the boat asks to cleanse Lord Ram’s feet and then only allow him to board the boat, and pictorialises the storyline of the Ramayana. Similarly ‘Nava Durga’ is painted over canvas, has mantra painted all over the background and comprises ten avatars of Goddess Durga that is worshipped throughout Dasain.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216031232_7a24f7f8d264d7bd204b8f475d1e86dc6fe70765487c37ebed85da8117081a80.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251216031232_7a24f7f8d264d7bd204b8f475d1e86dc6fe70765487c37ebed85da8117081a80" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1570" loading="lazy" alt="Mithala exhibition NT"></figure>  “I finished the Nava Durga painting in the ten days of Dasain. Each day I used to wake up, do my daily puja and then sit for painting. No matter what, I separated time to paint even during festivities,” Suman says, showing how the paintings are a deeply reverential devotional artform. ‘Geeta Saar’ is an equally breathtaking exposition from the Bhagavad Gita, the blues once again giving the show a tranquil ambience. Visitors at the exhibition do not just walk past the works hanging on the walls of Siddhartha Art Gallery, they stand in front of each of them for a minute or two, almost in prayer. The Mithila Cosmos exhibition series started when the Maoist conflict was still taking place, and today it is taking place in the aftermath of recent protests during which government buildings surrounding the gallery were all torched. Suman’s ‘Journey of a Pilgrim’ makes us ponder how it all fits in with Nepal’s history, culture and faith. Says Suman, “My aim is to bring stories of the Valley, Madhes and other cultures into a single canvas. I have tried to find ways to incorporate Nepal’s diversity in every single painting.”  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216031236_89a12ff1908123e079cb08b77e37a4a875544e6baa6c9c1f4bfdba52b99e4287.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251216031236_89a12ff1908123e079cb08b77e37a4a875544e6baa6c9c1f4bfdba52b99e4287" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1015" loading="lazy" alt="Mithila exhibition NT"></figure>  Mithila Cosmos VII: Journey of a Pilgrim Siddhartha Art Gallery, Baber Mahal Revisited Till 10 January 11:00am – 5:00pm

Pilgrimage to the Mithila cosmos

From its headwaters near Mansarovar on the Tibetan Plateau to its confluence with the Ganga in India, the Karnali remains one of the last great free-flowing rivers in the Himalaya. At a time when most major Asian rivers have been dammed by concrete, the Karnali still surges, migrates, floods and recedes according to its own natural rhythms. This sustains an entire living system -- wildlife, communities and cultures — that cannot be replicated once a river is turned into a staircase of reservoirs. The Karnali is a natural artery for western Nepal. It nourishes fertile floodplains, recharges aquifers, supports fisheries and connects remote communities.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251221101240_213faa0e9da42af63e6c4f8a41e23a96efbd9f29a1d148227d65d2f16bb64b53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251221101240_213faa0e9da42af63e6c4f8a41e23a96efbd9f29a1d148227d65d2f16bb64b53" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Confluence of the Humla and Mugu Karnali.</figcaption> </figure>  Bardia National Park and its rich biodiversity, including the tiger and fresh water dolphins, depend on the river and its seasonal interaction with the floodplain and wetlands. Riverine birds, crocodilians, endemic fish, all depend on the river. Millions of people in Nepal and India rely on the Karnali (called Ghaghara in India) for household use, irrigation and livelihoods. This living river now faces a cascade of proposed hydropower projects. So far, the Upper Karnali &nbsp;(900MW) and the massive Karnali-Chisapani (10,800MW) have been purposed. Both have been mired in controversy and have been delayed. Construction of smaller projects like the Bheri-Babai Diversion are already underway.&nbsp; The Upper Karnali is a Rs146 billion project first purposed in 2006. It started construction earlier this year with the Indian conglomerate GMR leading the task. Even so it faces a setback as Bangladesh cancelled the power purchase deal of 500MW.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109124_80c381c4299dd7e18dbbcacb26e567edc5cfffba76d428e3b325dd194eae8a47.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025122109124_80c381c4299dd7e18dbbcacb26e567edc5cfffba76d428e3b325dd194eae8a47" data-rendition-name="original" width="4284" height="5712" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Free-flowing Upper Karnali.</figcaption> </figure>  The project is located on the stupendous Karnali Bend where the water can be pushed through a 2.5km tunnel over a drop of 130m, creating a huge generation capacity. But Nepal’s move towards big dams comes at a time when scientists warn of more extreme weather events like floods and landslides in the already fragile Himalayan landscape. Nepal now needs investment in storage projects as most hydropower plants are of the run-of-river type, which means power generation drops in the dry season. But a piecemeal dam-by-dam approach risks destroying a unique resource for benefits that could be achieved elsewhere with far less ecological cost. Once a free-flowing river is fragmented, its sediment delivery is choked, fish migrations are cut off, floodplains dry out and local cultures that revolve around seasonal flows begin to unravel. These changes are effectively permanent.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109120_4f59b09b6e03889457b9b98d72d6b604d3519895f8825b4b03f486d67ea299af.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025122109120_4f59b09b6e03889457b9b98d72d6b604d3519895f8825b4b03f486d67ea299af" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Local children play indigenous musical instrument.</figcaption> </figure>  “The Karnali is the last and most pristine Himalayan River left, most others are already exploited. It should be protected as a wild, scenic, free flowing river as a gift to future generations,” says activist Megh Ale, who wants the river to be developed as an eco-tourism corridor on the pilgrim trail to Mt Kailash and Mansarovar.&nbsp; “We have many big tributaries to the Karnali,” Ale adds. “We can keep the main stream of the river as free flowing, and develop hydro projects on the tributaries. More than 6,000MW can be produced without touching the main river stem.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_223faf7f50c43f3bf008a7745b90131fa91975689109533b71ed7d9dcdb8c53e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025122109128_223faf7f50c43f3bf008a7745b90131fa91975689109533b71ed7d9dcdb8c53e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1875" height="2500" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Rafters say Karnali is one of the best places for white water rafting in the world.</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal has abundant alternatives to hydropower: solar energy has been hardly tapped, and integrating them with pump storage systems are cheap, quick to build and are low impact. Smarter siting and design, modern transmission links and regional power trading can deliver reliable energy without sacrificing the country’s last pristine river. Preserving the Karnali would also pay dividends in climate resilience: free-flowing rivers buffer extreme floods and droughts, carry sediment that builds deltas and replenishes nutrients on farmland, and provide insurance against glacial and monsoon variability.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109124_a5726642ee785b624ee3e6d81a051091c91a8d388dba8c33f4a03bab1fddc97f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025122109124_a5726642ee785b624ee3e6d81a051091c91a8d388dba8c33f4a03bab1fddc97f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Tharu women repair a channel fed by the Karnali, which is a life line for their farms.</figcaption> </figure>  The Karnali is also a cultural and economic asset in its own right. As a rare, undammed Himalayan river, it underpins nature-based tourism, scientific research, and a way of life for Indigenous and local communities. Kalashtham Tharu, 32, is an elephant mahout in Bardia, and says the Karnali is an important source of water for animals and farming. Diversion for irrigation near Chisapani has meant that a channel going into Bardia National Park has gone dry, affecting biodiversity and nearby farms. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109120_6d3a45a440263e859d64c427a8543c6ede5a447a411797d25a6a41d713d33e91.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025122109120_6d3a45a440263e859d64c427a8543c6ede5a447a411797d25a6a41d713d33e91" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="2000" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Panning for gold on the banks of the Karnali. She makes Rs200,000 per year. </figcaption> </figure>  Similarly, the Sonahar community in Bardia relies on the river to pan for gold, their sole source of income. Anita, 40, says there is much less water in the Karnali this year. On an average, she makes Rs200,000 from middlemen for the gold she pans during non-monsoon months. &nbsp; WILD RIVERS Around the world, countries are beginning to recognise the value of keeping a few great rivers wild. Protecting the Karnali would place Nepal at the forefront of that movement and strengthen efforts to seek international recognition for the river’s outstanding natural heritage. Any decision should be grounded in a transparent, basin-wide assessment that weighs the full social, ecological and economic costs—not just the megawatts on a project spreadsheet. That means evaluating alternatives, safeguarding critical habitats and migration routes, and recognising the rights and knowledge of the people who live along the river. It also means asking a simple question: If Nepal can meet its energy goals without damming the Karnali’s main stem, why wouldn’t it?  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_3e357c863de55b397f09cfd666c762de297a8b07ac024a41a8bb5b9e8d3a76cf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2025122109128_3e357c863de55b397f09cfd666c762de297a8b07ac024a41a8bb5b9e8d3a76cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>River mining the Karnali in Kalaili district causing uneven landscape with the river flowing away from Bardia National park.</figcaption> </figure>  Advocates have petitioned Nepal’s Supreme Court to protect the Karnali, with a hearing scheduled in Kathmandu on 22 December. International lenders and investors should take note: Financing high-impact dams on the Karnali would run counter to emerging global standards on biodiversity, climate resilience and free-flowing river protection. Funding clean energy in Nepal should not require sacrificing the country’s most pristine river. For three decades, I have documented the Karnali from its source in Tibet to its entry into India, capturing the river’s seasons and the lives it sustains. The images I have captured and the voices of people who depend on the river, tell a simple truth: a free-flowing Karnali is irreplaceable. Once the concrete is poured, there is no going back.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_760ae5218d5f7e961c198da0a6c8696247e34281752a2857de935f9e8aec2c5c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2025122109128_760ae5218d5f7e961c198da0a6c8696247e34281752a2857de935f9e8aec2c5c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1504" height="1502" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Inner sanctum of Mt Kailas which feeds lake Manasarovar and Rakshas Tal, sources of the Karnali River.</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal has many options for generating power. It has only one Karnali. Keeping this river wild would be a gift to the living Earth and to future generations — a legacy measured not in megawatts, but in life. Says Megh Ale: “We are very rich in natural resources but manage them very poorly. We want instant solutions but do not have a long-term vision. We are not against development but there needs to be a good balance with nature.” &nbsp;

The river of life

The chaos, mismanaged voting process, and campaign leaflets littering the streets outside the venue of the UML general convention at Bhrikuti Mandap this week was a fitting metaphor for the state of Nepal’s politics 100 days after the September upheaval.&nbsp;
The interim government of Prime Minister Sushila Karki wants to focus exclusively on holding credible elections on 5 March. But with less than three months to go, her attention is being constantly diverted by clamour from youth activists on the one hand, and recalcitrant legacy parties on the other.&nbsp;
Leaders of the UML-NC coalition that was in power on 8 September have not yet said sorry like they meant it – not just for the massacre of young protesters but also for decades of misrule, nepotism and corruption.
The UML, NC and their leaders have kept both options open: elections and Parliament reinstatement. The re-election of K P Oli as the UML chair on Thursday is not just a reflection of how delusional he is, but also loyalists who think September was a conspiracy.&nbsp;
Things are not much better in the NC camp, where the party secretariat messed up registration documents for its own convention in January. Its leader Sher Bahadur Deuba still shows no signs of trying to even give the impression that he wants to pass the baton to capable younger figures in his party. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
Some new parties are hoping for a postponement of elections so they can organise better. The former Maoists in the NCP are already at the hustings, and the UML and NC are using their conventions as campaign rallies, even as they agitate for restoration of Parliament.
Even if Oli’s main challenger for UML leadership, 71-year-old Ishwar Pokhrel, had won, the party would not have a fresh new face. Oli sidelined respectable colleagues like former foreign minister Pradeep Gyawali, and to show that its rally in Bhaktapur was bigger than it was, UML propagandists used AI to clumsily exaggerate crowd size. &nbsp;
There are younger cadre within both parties who are speaking up, but their voices are too feeble for the establishmentarians to pay heed. The UML, NC and NCP are all falling back on traditional vote banks among rural seniors with ancestral party loyalty. They are also hoping that new populist parties will cancel each other’s youth votes in urban areas.
But they forget there are 800,000 new voters, and underestimate diaspora influence on political preference. All three mainstream parties are fielding older, tainted candidates, and they may find that just like the Kathmandu mayoral constituency in 2022, they will be swept away by the youth tide.
After the UML’s turn, it will be the NC’s special convention next month, and the gerontocrats are still reluctant to hand over to young turks like Gagan Thapa, who himself will be 50 next year. 
The third in the triumvirate, Pushpa Kamal Dahal, may have thought shedding the ‘Maoist’ suffix from his Nepali Community Party would make him more popular, but he is too tainted to breathe new life into the party.
Ujyalo Party Nepal of Energy Minister Kulman Ghising has good prospects with widespread support on social media, just like the RSP’s jailed leader Rabi Lamichhane. But there are doubts about integrity with both. Birendra Basnet is trying to do with his new GLP what he achieved with Buddha Air, but he may find politics is a much more turbulent affair. 
 
ABOVE THE NOISE
The GenZ are the voice for reform, but internal rifts and clashing egos have diminished their clout. If they are not to repeat the same mistakes of the ‘alternative’ parties before them like the RSP, Sajha and Bibeksheel, youth activists must rise above the noise and play a check-and-balance watchdog role.
As journalist and political commentator CK Lal wrote in Kantipur op-ed this week, the youth are ‘impatient, but directionless’. Regimes can be toppled, but how can the political culture be changed? Alas, ever since 1950, it seems Nepal’s revolutions never complete a full revolution.&nbsp;

Establishmentarianism

Ancient heritage meets dern distillery craft as the US-based The Nepali Spirit Company this month makes its global debut with Kathmandu Ayla. Inspired by Nepal’s ancient rice whiskey tradition, the product is the first of four handcrafted spirits that brings Kathmandu Valley’s 1,000-year-old ayla tradition to the world stage. “The first four products combine history, culture, and tradition and it has taken eight years to get to this launch point,” says CEO of The Nepal Spirit Company Kashish Das Shrestha, who is also publishing a book on the history of alcohol in Nepali culture. The other three ayla products are Masala Whiskey aged in Brazilian Amburana casks and spiced with black cardamom from Nepal, Annapurna Ayla, and Haku Chaku Himalayan Espresso Liqueur made with organic Nepali coffee, and chaku (dark molasses).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216141244_ab74945dc60ce5ff83fe7a88596fc032c18705e7cda9dc62df21694d3ad83b85.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251216141244_ab74945dc60ce5ff83fe7a88596fc032c18705e7cda9dc62df21694d3ad83b85" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The American Ayla NT"> </figure>  “I started visiting international whiskey auctions six years ago and after reading about distilling, my passion for spirits grew, and I felt the urge to tell the story of Nepal’s heritage spirits to the world,” explains Shrestha. Once poured in Nepal’s royal courts, ayla is a clear rice whiskey that is a millennia-old living heritage of Kathmandu used in rituals from birth to death and traditional life milestones of its inhabitants. Ayla is distilled to capture the classic aromas and flavors, with a soft sweet after taste. It can be enjoyed neat, sipped through meals, or enjoyed as shots. With more than 15% of Nepal’s population living and working abroad, there is a cultural demand for ayla in the diaspora from Asan to Amstredam to Australia.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216121236_0db0ec396832736fef60b636d7012a917be65471408c81383a40613f928f9e78.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251216121236_0db0ec396832736fef60b636d7012a917be65471408c81383a40613f928f9e78" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1270" loading="lazy" alt="The American Ayla NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216141236_a84ede74c67a61e75af2f0cc1c985b4d04ff2292c6bd0bd0b841f4d2c7b593aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251216141236_a84ede74c67a61e75af2f0cc1c985b4d04ff2292c6bd0bd0b841f4d2c7b593aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="1778" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The American Ayla NT"> </figure>  &nbsp;“We also believe ayla is a wonderful way to tell Nepal’s story to the world,” says Lilu KC Shrestha, Chief Operating Officer of the company. “We intend to use our platform to promote Nepal in any way we can, and also find ways to give back to the country. It was high time a world-class Nepali spirits brand entered the global market, and we are proud to take the lead.” Aside from the ayla itself, the bottle and packaging was conceived by New York-based designer Sahara Shrestha to reflect a complete Nepaliness. “Each bottle and box is a love letter to Nepal, and every detail is an expression of respect and appreciation of Nepali heritage and our desire to share it with the world,” says Kashish Das Shrestha. “And ayla itself is a sacred part of our culture, so we wanted to make sure the bottle reflects this reverence.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216141244_d2746204c64802ff81453d7a8749f516bf3c62538fe3c98400a9b3978c03b273.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251216141244_d2746204c64802ff81453d7a8749f516bf3c62538fe3c98400a9b3978c03b273" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1475" loading="lazy" alt="The American Ayla NT"> <figcaption>Aylarita</figcaption> </figure>  The bottom of each bottle has an embossed Mandala representing the universe and its interconnectedness. A glass molding of Himalayan peaks Chomolungma and Nuptse signifies the earth and heaven. The bottle cap is a black and gold rendering of the metal plates that hang from Kathmandu’s temples. The logo of The Nepali Spirit Company is also inspired by the unti, a traditional vessel used to pour ayla. While its top is typically adorned with a peacock, the company’s design replaces it with rice stalks. This motif is also on the label of Annapurna Whiskey named in honour of both the mountain and the goddess, the giver of grain. For a new take, ayla can be paired with a lime wedge lathered in honey, cumin, and salt, or on the glass rim. It can also be mixed into cocktails to make Aylarita, Aylatini, or Aylapolitan. <a href="http://www.thenepalispirit.com/" target="_blank">www.thenepalispirit.com</a>, @TheNepaliSpirit

The American Ayla

Political intimidation, ownership pressures, the rise of AI, and economic constraints are calling into question the future of press freedom – nowhere more conspicuously than in the United States, where these forces have combined to fuel growing anxiety about the fate of an institution that has been fundamental to democracies everywhere. At this year’s International Press Institute World Congress, Project Syndicate Deputy Managing Editor Rachel Danna sat down with Martin Baron, former executive editor of the Washington Post, to discuss the state – and fate – of journalism today. Project Syndicate: You’ve said that journalism’s core mission is to hold powerful institutions to account. In today’s climate, in which media owners, particularly in the US, fear political retaliation, how can editorial independence be maintained? Martin Baron: Journalists must insist on their editorial independence. That’s the first thing: not to concede anything, and to make it clear that their job is to report on what’s happening – what their government is up to, and what the most powerful institutions and individuals in their countries are doing, for good and for ill. The core of our mission is to hold the powerful to account and listen to people who would otherwise go unheard. The alternative is to become either stenographers or propagandists. James Madison, the principal author of the US Constitution, talked about the importance of freely examining public figures and government measures. I always focus on the word “examining,” because it means to investigate, inspect, and assess – the opposite of stenography and propaganda. America’s founders wanted a check on government. They wanted somebody to guard against corruption and abuse of power, and we should live up to those assignments. But ownership remains a point of vulnerability for media outlets. There’s no perfect form of ownership – they all come with pressures, especially when owners have other commercial interests. These pressures have only grown since Donald Trump returned to the White House this year, willing and eager to target those interests. Owners who yield do a disservice to the journalists who work for them and to democracy itself. Their primary goal should be to defend the rights that allowed their media businesses to exist in the first place. You said that you don’t think there’s a “perfect form of ownership,” and considering your experience following Amazon founder Jeff Bezos’s purchase of the Washington Post, you may know this firsthand. But are there other models? Should the media be profit-driven, or should it aspire to be more like a public utility? Are there different models we should be exploring that might work in the US or elsewhere? I haven’t seen anything that’s very promising. Joseph Stiglitz sort of advocated government funding during his talk at the IPI’s World Congress, but I think that’s a major trap. Public broadcasters in the US received government funding, and Trump used it as a way to clobber them. Trump and state officials aligned with him would use government funding as a cudgel to pressure media outlets, when what we need to do is eliminate sources of – or potential sources of – pressure so we can operate with independence. That requires finding a way to be self-sustaining, whether as a nonprofit or as a commercially oriented enterprise. Many independent media organisations around the world, operating in very challenging environments, have been the recipients of American assistance through USAID. Now that USAID has been shut down, they are not getting that money, creating a huge crisis for them. Other outlets have been financed by philanthropic organisations, and they are finding that funding has dried up as well. That is particularly true of news organisations operating in exile or in countries like El Salvador, Venezuela, and Myanmar. Suppose US media organisations relied on government funding. In such a case, Trump would insist that they adhere to the standards he has set, just as he is doing with other recipients of public funding, like universities and school districts. And his standard for the media is to serve as his propaganda outlet. He does not want a free and independent press. The only press he considers legitimate is the kind that repeats what he says word for word. Given this context, and drawing on your experience leading the Washington Post during Trump’s first term, what do you think the media got right – and what did it miss – in covering a president openly hostile to the press? What do you think of the coverage of the second Trump presidency so far? For the most part, the press has done a really good job, both during the first term and now in the second. We know a lot about what happened during the first Trump presidency. We knew much of it at the time, and we know even more now. The same is true today: every day, there is another revelatory report about what’s happening in this administration. Many front-line journalists, and the editors who work directly with them, are committed to holding the government to account – to finding out what this administration is really up to, who’s influencing it, and how its policies are affecting people. I deeply admire them for it. The real failure regarding Trump’s first term actually came before he became a candidate. We didn’t do a good enough job of understanding how we could end up with a president like Trump. We didn’t understand America well enough. We didn’t spend enough time traveling around the country, listening to people’s grievances, and explaining them to others. We still don’t do enough of that. The press needs to serve as a bridge between communities, helping people better understand one another and what they’re going through. That requires reporting without a trace of contempt or condescension, grounded in real empathy. It’s also important to remember that most people don’t spend their days thinking about politics or democracy. They’re focused on making a living, ensuring their kids get a good education, and maintaining access to health care. We need to understand why people feel these things are under threat, why they believe they’re worse off than before, why their kids have fewer opportunities, and why the social problems in their communities are not being addressed. So, how should journalists approach the coverage of populist leaders who actively seek to delegitimize the press? How do you present both sides, or adhere to the cherished principle of impartiality, when one side is clearly lying? You’ve talked about the idea of “objective reality” in journalism. How should journalism today reflect this idea? I have long been an advocate for what’s been known as objectivity in journalism. I know that word can make a lot of people uneasy, but I think it’s been grossly mischaracterised. What I mean by “objectivity” is that reporters should start their work knowing they don’t know everything. That’s the whole reason for reporting. Reporting means finding out about things you don’t know about, or don’t know enough about. So, we should do our jobs without thinking we have all the answers. Instead, we should be focused on asking the right questions. Objectivity – approaching every story with humility, acknowledging what we don’t know, and being willing to learn – is how we preserve our independence. But objectivity is not “both-sidesism.” It doesn’t mean pretending every issue is split 50-50. If the evidence points in one direction, we should say so, rather than pretending otherwise. Only after we’ve done rigorous reporting can we tell people that what we’ve found is true. “Truth” is a big word, so I’m reluctant to use it. The goal is simply to get as close as possible to reality and understand the facts. And to do that, in any field – whether you’re a judge, a scientist, or a journalist – you have to begin with a hypothesis but keep an open mind, knowing it could be wrong. People used to describe journalism as the “first rough draft of history,” and that remains true: it is a draft, always incomplete and constantly evolving. I often think we’re looking at the world through a keyhole; we don’t see everything, yet sometimes we can push the door open a little and get a clearer view of what’s really going on. If we’re skilled and lucky, we can swing that door wide open and see the whole picture. That doesn’t happen every time, but with each discovery, the draft becomes more refined and our confidence in it grows.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251215141240_653d1ccac6b20b3d0d51e587477d90edc641f7ab4d11a8db54269e0645bb4547.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251215141240_653d1ccac6b20b3d0d51e587477d90edc641f7ab4d11a8db54269e0645bb4547" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Martin Baron"><figcaption>Martin Baron</figcaption></figure>  It seems that many people today are eager to tell others what they know – or think they know – despite having no background or formal training in journalism. Influencers and “content creators” have built huge followings on Substack and social media. What does this mean for the future of the profession? I’m not attached to the traditional ways of doing things. Technology has fundamentally changed how people consume information, and that naturally changes how we convey what we know, or think we know. This shift has created an entire ecosystem of influencers, Substackers, YouTubers, and podcasters. The core principle everyone should follow is verification. Is the information you’re communicating authentic and accurate? Alternatively, is it misinformation, or even disinformation? Upholding that standard is critical. Everyone in this business has a duty to share only what they know to be true. Passing along information you haven’t verified is simply irresponsible. Share it only if it’s been checked and comes from trustworthy sources. But how do you do that? That’s the hard part. You need to rely on sources that have proven to be reliable over time. As much as people criticise traditional news organisations, when there’s a natural disaster, guess where they go for information? Whether it’s a hurricane, an earthquake, fires, floods, or war, people turn to the traditional news organisations. That suggests that they believe the information they find there will be accurate. What opportunities and risks does generative AI present? Is this, in your view, a turning point for news media and for journalists? People always sound wiser when they say everything is terrible. Doomsayers tend to sound more profound, and people are more inclined to believe them than the optimists. AI, of course, is a powerful tool capable of many great things. But like every technology, it comes with risks as well as benefits. Social media is a good example: it connected us in unprecedented ways while also deepening polarization. The same is true of AI. It’s an extraordinarily powerful reporting tool that can make journalists more efficient by allowing them to sift through vast amounts of data. Reporters have already used it to analyse bomb strikes, identify the weapons used, and piece together what actually happened. At the same time, the risks are enormous. AI makes it easy to fabricate images, video, and audio. You can hear a recording that perfectly imitates someone’s voice – tone, cadence, and speech patterns. It’s fake, but people may still believe it. Or they may conclude that distinguishing truth from falsehood is impossible and not even worth trying. That’s a precarious position. It threatens not just the press but democracy itself in ways we have yet to grapple with. When we can’t even agree on a basic set of facts, progress becomes impossible. That uncertainty enables people to exploit the situation for personal, commercial, and political gain. This is already happening in US politics. An unflattering image appears, and a public figure says, “That wasn’t me. That was AI.” You hear their voice on a recording, and they say the same thing. Some denials may even be true. But as fake images and audio spread, even authentic ones will be dismissed. People will claim that anything that contradicts their narrative or casts them in a bad light was fabricated. Without a shared sense of what’s real, we lose any firm foundation for public debate. You’ve warned that democracy cannot survive without a free press, which underpins many other freedoms. What reforms or protections do you think are most urgently needed to safeguard press freedom around the world? First, it’s important to make clear that free-speech rights are not reserved solely for the press. They belong to everyone. In many countries today, including the US, even business executives are afraid to speak openly for fear of government reprisal. What we need is a broad coalition of people who understand that free expression is essential to a functioning society. Clearly, there have been many encroachments on free-speech rights in the US recently, and I worry about where they may lead. But we still have judges who recognise the importance of those rights, and many who continue to stand up for the rule of law. That’s the model other countries should aspire to: constitutional protections for free speech, judicial systems that enforce those protections, and governments that respect them. What lessons can emerging democracies draw from US efforts to protect press freedom and uphold institutional resilience at a time of democratic backsliding? You can’t just declare yourself a democracy and sit back. The greatest defender of US democracy has always been its institutions, and Trump is systematically trying to destroy them, with far too much success. Yet they still exist, and they continue, in their own way, to push back against these assaults. That is the key lesson for emerging democracies: you must defend your institutions and protect their independence while recognising how easily they can be subverted. People around the world are horrified by what’s happening in the US precisely because they saw it as a bastion of free expression and the rule of law. Emerging democracies should remember how fragile these pillars really are and resist the temptation to take them for granted. In the US, we’ve done that for too long, which is why so many people once asked, “How much damage can Trump really do?” We took the press freedom for granted. But many more people now understand that the press is often the only institution willing to listen to them, investigate wrongdoing, and hold the powerful to account. And they know that if the press isn’t there, none of that work gets done. And yet the press is increasingly demonised and blamed for various crises around the world. There is a notion that the news media finds itself in its current predicament because it has somehow failed. Do you think this criticism is fair? Has the media done a different – or lesser – job in recent years? It seems to me that many of these criticisms come from people who claim the press is irrelevant and then insist that, had we covered something differently, the outcome somehow would have been different. I don’t know how to reconcile those two ideas. If we’re irrelevant, why would our coverage make a difference? Often, the people who criticise the press haven’t actually looked into what we reported. In many cases, we did cover those issues – people simply weren’t paying attention because they didn’t see them as urgent at the time. When something doesn’t feel urgent, it’s easy to ignore. Some people seem to think the media runs the world. In the US, for example, there’s a notion that the press somehow got Trump elected in 2016. That’s complete nonsense. There was extensive reporting on Trump. At the Post, we published an entire series on his personal and professional history. We wrote so much that it eventually became a book: Marc Fisher and Michael Kranish’s Trump Revealed. If you read that book now, it’s striking how prescient it was. Yet people say, “You didn’t write about this,” or “Why didn’t you tell us that before he got elected?” Many of these criticisms just aren’t borne out by the facts. More often than not, the issues people say we ignore were, in fact, covered – and covered thoroughly. Or else we simply didn’t know then what we know now. Over time, new information emerges, documents surface, and more people come forward. So how can news organisations get people to pay attention, especially younger audiences? You’ve said that without younger readers, journalism has no future. What strategies do you believe are most effective in reaching them without compromising journalistic rigor? I’m not sure we’re communicating in the ways people actually want to receive information. People read less nowadays. They’re more passive consumers; they don’t want to go searching for information. We live in a digital age in which more people get their news visually or through audio rather than text. If I had my choice, it would be different, but that’s the way it is. We should study what works for audiences and apply those lessons ourselves, even if it makes traditional journalists uncomfortable. A journalist recently asked me, “What should I be focusing on? What should I be learning?” I told him, “Short-form video.” You’re a long-form writer? Great, you should still learn how to do short-form video. You may not want to, but you need to provide a tasting menu that makes people want the full course. Most people are not going to read a 10,000-word story or a ten-part series. They don’t have the time or patience. That said, merely adapting isn’t enough. We have to embrace these new formats with enthusiasm, because they’re teaching us how to reach people in a world where communication habits have changed dramatically. We could sit around blaming audiences for the current state of journalism, but that would be a waste of time. © <a href="https://www.project-syndicate.org/">Project Syndicate</a> Martin Baron is a former executive editor of the Washington Post.

Defending press freedom in the age of Trump

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Twenty years ago this week, we reported about how malnutrition was indirectly responsible for 70% of all child mortality in Nepal, and how inadequate food increased susceptibility to diarrhoea, measles and acute respiratory infection.
In 2025, malnutrition is still one of the biggest causes of child mortality, except now it is not simply a lack of food but also too much junk food in the diet. Purchasing power has increased, but we are eating more of what we should not be eating.
Excerpt of a <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=570">report </a>published in <a href="https://d1i1jdw69xsqx0.cloudfront.net/digitalhimalaya/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_256.pdf">issue #256 15 – 21 July 2005</a>:
Despite recent official statements about rising average living standards, grinding poverty and the conflict, the effects of junk food in cities have made undernourishment and malnutrition a serious national epidemic.
Protein-energy malnutrition affects 63 percent of Nepali children which means they don't get enough food to ensure normal physical and mental development. More than half of Nepali children are therefore physically stunted, and although this is reversible if the child starts eating enough after age two, they may suffer learning disabilities as well if undernourishment persists .
Hunger increases their susceptibility to diarrhoea, measles and acute respiratory infection. Diarrhoeal dehydration alone causes an estimated 30,000 child deaths every year as undernourished children are weaker and more likely to be brought down by the vicious spiral of disease and malnutrition. Combined with worms, undernourishment is seen by many as Nepal's primary health concern for children.
Malnutrition hits many Nepali children even before they are born because their mothers don't have adequate food while pregnant. Between 30-50 percent of Nepali children are born underweight, below 2.5 kg.
For archived material of Nepali Times of the past 20 years, site search: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/">nepalitimes.com</a>

Malnutrition

The Kangchenjunga Trek in far-eastern Nepal is a remote and less-crowded adventure that offers raw wilderness, diverse cultures, and breathtaking terrain below the world’s third highest mountain. Kangchenjunga (8,586m) grabbed the world’s attention before Mt Everest ever did because its imposing rampart dominated the northern horizon from Darjeeling, the summer refuge for the British in India. The Kangchenjunga massif is more a mountain range rather than a peak, its high ridge stretching 25km from Nepal to Sikkim.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251211111236_1f51f10becbb6bd01248f5845c6055479201365b1357fbbc6479b6724ea2185c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251211111236_1f51f10becbb6bd01248f5845c6055479201365b1357fbbc6479b6724ea2185c" data-rendition-name="original" width="938" height="726" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga trail map"></figure>  Sikkim considers the mountain sacred, and has banned mountaineering expeditions. But the various prominences of Kangchenjunga are increasingly popular for climbers via the north face in Nepal. For non-mountaineers, even the Kangchenjunga trek can be arduous, especially in winter. It is one of the last pure wilderness areas in Nepal, traversing sparsely populated valleys that are rich in biodiversity because of the high annual rainfall. Even when Nepal was a forbidden land, among the first foreign visitors was British botanist J D Hooker who explored the Nepal side of Kangchenjunga in 1850 to collect plant samples. The peak was first climbed in 1955, two years after the first ascent of Mt Everest.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251215071228_7dd4ddc943554012654df0a2f5065ed364b8349c31888ac8cbe175b4540d1dfd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251215071228_7dd4ddc943554012654df0a2f5065ed364b8349c31888ac8cbe175b4540d1dfd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_a857e5e9cfc7fea2f5f0b060b8f6e9f6582abc1ac1fd1a60abad90a9d55adbff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025121509128_a857e5e9cfc7fea2f5f0b060b8f6e9f6582abc1ac1fd1a60abad90a9d55adbff" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  The establishment of Kangchenjunga Conservation Area in September 2006 was accompanied by tragedy when 24 people, including Nepal’s nature preservation pioneers were killed in a helicopter crash. The Conservation Area is now the only one managed completely by the local indigenous people. It has 70 varieties of orchids, 30 rhododendron types, and 15 out of 28 endemic plants of Nepal. Kangchenjunga still gets very few of the 200,000 foreign trekkers who visit Nepal every year, but improved road access in recent years is making it more popular. Trekkers have a choice of exploring the North Base Camp (Pangpema) or the South Base Camp (Yalung Glacier), or combine both for the full Kangchenjunga Circuit (map). This trek is considered strenuous, with long walking days, high altitude, and tea house accommodation that is much more basic than the Everest or Annapurna regions. Trekkers have to be fit and with prior hiking experience. Most teams take tents and camp, and carry most of their food.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_895ccc1d918f88c255dbeccea19c990bcaa792f384750559cb7257b99f177be7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025121509128_895ccc1d918f88c255dbeccea19c990bcaa792f384750559cb7257b99f177be7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  FULL CIRCUIT Because the region is restricted, trekkers must obtain a permit and be accompanied by a licensed guide. A full circuit can take three weeks, while doing only the North or South Base Camps will take two weeks, including flying from Kathmandu to Bhadrapur and jeep to Taplejung or a rough trail to Hellok. The lower forested stretches are teeming with wildlife, and this is red panda and snow leopard country. The streams and ponds have amphibians and reptiles, some of which have not yet even been classified. The route also passes the homelands of the Limbu, Rai and Tibetan communities with the local culture and architecture more intact than in most other mountain areas of Nepal.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_90c129a639376621ece0aa067a601573f8b06d934c089a0fa929a7ce9c12018b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025121509128_90c129a639376621ece0aa067a601573f8b06d934c089a0fa929a7ce9c12018b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_f51e595e5a18d573365cc611dbf1a49cfb19b2b8ee40164ed500179e2a2b04f8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025121509128_f51e595e5a18d573365cc611dbf1a49cfb19b2b8ee40164ed500179e2a2b04f8" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  The best seasons to trek are spring (March–May) and autumn (September–November). There are fewer trekkers and climbers in winter, and many of the birds and wildlife have migrated down to warmer climes. Despite its beauty, trekkers should be prepared for challenges like long distances between villages, unpredictable weather, and limited emergency rescue options due to the remoteness of the area — all even more challenging in winter. Norbu Lama is an international hiking guide with www.dolpocaravantreks.com and just returned after leading a trek to Kangchenjunga Base Camps.

Kangchenjunga in winter

Amber Tamang leads his group of trekkers through Lumsa village, past traditional houses with sturdy stone walls and hemlock tile roofs. He stops on the trail to point out his childhood home.&nbsp; He is taking the team to Pikey Peak (4,065 m), the ideal lookout from where on clear days eight eight-thousander peaks from Annapurna to Kangchenjunga, including Everest, are visible. Tamang, founder of the Three Jewels Adventures agency, takes his clients to lesser-known trails as part of his Lower Everest trekking route, on the way up to Pikey.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251211111236_baf0c06386d4fee07a2105020459033e959e30c269e6ece7338f4b28c0a44ba8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251211111236_baf0c06386d4fee07a2105020459033e959e30c269e6ece7338f4b28c0a44ba8" data-rendition-name="original" width="815" height="808" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey Peak Lumsa Trail"> </figure>  Trekkers usually do not take the Lumsa route because the quaint villages do not present as much excitement as the scenic panorama of mountains.&nbsp; But hiking through the bucolic countryside provides insight into the community’s deep Lamaist faith reflected in the chorten, mani walls, sacred inscriptions on stones, prayer flags on houses, the festivals and in the way the villagers interact with one another.&nbsp; “I wish more people would soak in the villages and their culture on their trek, rather than just wanting mountain views,” says Tamang.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251214091212_862b5098bec366ac32bde26b95a126889a5a1cf9b20eb8c7f09c1025fe293d72.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251214091212_862b5098bec366ac32bde26b95a126889a5a1cf9b20eb8c7f09c1025fe293d72" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="680" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey trek via Lumsa in winter NT 1"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251214091212_321cea9eab93e109efc09f45d1de9086b4626f84f77a9b2e4ae52b9fd4777be5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251214091212_321cea9eab93e109efc09f45d1de9086b4626f84f77a9b2e4ae52b9fd4777be5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey trek via Lumsa in winter NT 1"> </figure>  Jangbu Sherpa owns the Lama Hotel in Lumsa, one of just two accommodations in the village. There is no signage along the trail advertising his business, and guests are still few and far between. So in the evenings, he calls his neighbours over to his lodge for some beer, conversation, and dancing. And on special occasions, a group welcomes guests with a traditional Syabru dance.&nbsp; “I’m working on expanding this little lodge,” he says with a smile. “Lumsa could become a buzzing stop on the trekking route.” Jangbu’s son Nima is a porter-guide, and is preparing to take a group of trekkers to Pikey Peak and the Thupten Chholing Monastery above Junbesi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251214091216_2fea6bc873eed2de1ddf4d129a771bcefcb0e67c3526838b718b7f409b01c4d5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251214091216_2fea6bc873eed2de1ddf4d129a771bcefcb0e67c3526838b718b7f409b01c4d5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey trek via Lumsa in winter NT 1"> </figure>  There is a downhill bicycle route from Pikey, and lucky trekkers might even spot red pandas on the forest canopy. “I saw a red panda with my own eyes once,” interjects Pemba Tamang, a veteran guide, from across the room. He begins listing other wildlife he has encountered enroute to Pikey — danphe pheasants, their wings resplendent in the sun, ghoral blue sheep jumping nimbly on rock cliffs, a lumbering black bear, and once, memorably, a leopard.&nbsp; Amber Tamang, Nima Sherpa, and Pemba Sherpa are among the men in Lumsa who are most often away from home, leading trekking and mountaineering expeditions. Some from the village have summited Everest multiple times. To get to Pikey Peak, drive up the BP highway to Dhap, with Numbur and Karyolung towering up the valley to the north.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251214091216_2fea6bc873eed2de1ddf4d129a771bcefcb0e67c3526838b718b7f409b01c4d5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251214091216_2fea6bc873eed2de1ddf4d129a771bcefcb0e67c3526838b718b7f409b01c4d5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey trek via Lumsa in winter NT 1"> </figure>  Up in Pikey Base Camp at 3,700m is the Tunga Baje Lodge, now operated by his son Pasang Lhamu Sherpa. If they are lucky, guests will catch baje in a performance, singing and strumming his tunga.&nbsp; The trek can be made a circuit— hikers do not have to come down the same way they went up. Winter is not the best time for a Pikey hike, but the views of the mountains, especially after snowfall, are dazzling. It is best to go in early spring when forests are ablaze with rhododendron. The region is home to 32 different types of the flower.&nbsp; Says Pasang Lhamu: “Tourism is picking up, but it is tough to keep things running. I hope for stability &nbsp;so we can invest in the lodge.”&nbsp;

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