The year 2018 marked a disastrous year for air safety with the US-Bangla crash at Kathmandu airport on 12 March. The tragedy pinpointed concerns about aviation safety and governance in Nepal, even though this particular accident was blamed on a mentally disturbed captain. The crash killed 51 people, most of them recent medical graduate students. The air crash tarnished Nepal’s aviation industry and its international image even more, with the European Union (EU) continuing to blacklist the country's airlines.&nbsp;
Migrant workers frequently travel to and from Nepal, and many migrants faced difficulties in traveling, due to expensive tickets, and cheating by middlemen and manpower companies among others. The safety of migrant workers could be ensured by airlines creating a favourable environment for Nepali workers through alliances and corporate social responsibility. Upasana Khadka in #907 wrote:
‘Airlines could set aside some tickets every week for stranded migrants, provide last minute unsold tickets for those who are in dire need of help. These could be based on referrals from embassies and rescue organisations.
Airlines can be an important and natural partner in efforts to promote safe migration by moving from a transactional relationship towards social responsibility.’
Kathmandu hosted the XII World Congress on Mountain Medicine 21-24 November. The Himalayan Rescue Association (HRA) established an aid post in Pheriche in the 1970s, which helped save people suffering from altitude sickness. Mountain medicine expert Peter Hackett in #935 emphasised the importance of mountain medicine and the role of medical personnel, researchers and aid posts in preventing fatalities.
Before the advent of modern transportation, no one could travel high enough fast enough to get into much trouble. Altitude illness is therefore mainly a problem of modern times. Nepal has now developed a large cadre of young physicians &nbsp;specialising in high-altitude medicine.&nbsp;
Mentored by Buddha Basnyat, these young doctors are carrying on the tradition of quality care of victims of altitude illness, research on causes and treatments, and developing systems of administering care to diverse populations.&nbsp;
Altitude sickness also became a concern for Indian pilgrims travelling to Mansorovar. Nepalganj became the gateway for Indian pilgrims travelling to Kailash Mansarovar in Tibet via Hilsa. Many of them use &nbsp;the Nepalganj route to visit Kailash, boosting the hospitality and aviation sector in Nepalganj.
The Bay of Bengal Initiative for Multi-Sectoral Technical and Economic Cooperation (BIMSTEC) meeting was hosted by Nepal in August 2018. The fourth edition of the international convention witnessed the member countries visit Nepal and encourage economic cooperation and connectivity. Matters of hydropower and joint military exercises were discussed, and member countries agreed to cooperate regionally beyond bilateralism. &nbsp;

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Rewind

2018

The first local-level election after the promulgation of the 2015 Constitution was held under a Sher Bahadur Deuba-led government in three phases on 14 May, 28 June and 18 September.
Nepal’s first party-based local elections were held in 1959, and the last successful local election before the federal system was in 1997, soon after the armed Maoist insurgency began.&nbsp;
Ahead of the first phase of the polls in May 2017, Nepali Times traced the history of local level elections in Nepal, and prepared a Village Development Committee map of the 1997 local election results.
From May to September, municipal and ward- level leaders were elected to 753 local units. Nepal has had one more election after 2017, and the general consensus has been that the performance of municipalities has exceeded expectations, but the same cannot be said of provincial governments.
Dasain in 2017 fell between the end of the local election and the upcoming general election. We wrote:&nbsp;
‘We are now finally nearing the end of a two-decade-long political transition. The peace process has dragged on, and we waited years haggling over the kind of federalism and the names of provinces and their borders, only to find out now that all the people wanted were jobs at home.. affordable education and medical facilities, electricity and fuel, and to be left alone to pursue their own happiness.’
Provincial and parliamentary elections were held on 26 November and 7 December. The UML and Maoists had formed an electoral alliance with the intention of merging after the polls, which the NC, RPP and Madhes-based parties countered with their own ‘democratic alliance’.
The UML and Maoists combined to form Nepal’s largest party, the Nepal Communist Party, in 2018 but the merger would be short-lived. The UML consequently swept the polls, and K P Oli went on to be the prime minister in a left-led government. The end of the election operationalised a federal, secular, democratic Nepal.
The work was then cut out for the newly-elected leadership to govern properly. An excerpt from a column after the election in December 2017:&nbsp;
‘There is a Constitution to implement, hundreds of new laws and regulations to enact under it, constitutional principles of local government to be defended, inter-community relations to be normalised, inter-relationships within the new state structure to be defined and rationalised, and a confident new foreign policy put in place, especially to tackle the two ascendant neighbours.’
Nepal also elected leaders to the seven provincial assemblies for the first time in 2017. However, despite Nepalis by and large welcoming a federal system, some felt that federalism was wasteful and should be scrapped, a sentiment that pro-monarchist parties and the RSP have now capitalised on.&nbsp;
Various studies and surveys however show that Nepalis understand the ineffectiveness of the provinces lies in the federal leadership reluctant &nbsp;to devolve power and decentralise. &nbsp;

2017

In January, the blockade was lifted much to the relief of Nepalis. Pushpa Kamal Dahal, prime minister for the second time, travelled to India to patch up relations with Narendra Modi.&nbsp;
2016 was also the 20th anniversary of the start of the Maoist conflict in 1996, and it was ten years after the end of the war. Nepali Times marked the anniversaries throughout the year with coverage of those who were caught up in the conflict to find out what had become of them: photographer Dinesh Shrestha published pictures of the Long March of Maoist leaders during the conflict, an editorial looked back at Maoist ideologue Baburam Bhattarai photoshopping his own revolutionary past, how survivors and families of the victims coped with the grief, bereavement and suffering.&nbsp;
The year was also one in which Nepal took a Great Leap Forward in inclusive leadership: the country’s President, Chief Justice and Speaker of Parliament were all women. We have regressed since then, and former President Bidya Devi Bhandari has ignored critics to rejoin the political fray of the UML party.
The year saw the notorious rise and ignominious fall of Lokman Singh Karki, chieftain of the Commission for the Investigation of the Abuse of Authority (CIAA). Nepal’s most corrupt and ruthless bureaucrat was put in charge of the country’s anti-corruption agency.
Karki went on a full scale witch hunt, extorting and blackmailing businessmen, bureaucrats, civil society, lawyers, and the media. Himalmedia’s own publishers were jailed or left the country to escape arrest on trumped up charges by a man who came to be known as ‘Mr Lockman’.
Nepali Times translated a commentary from Setopati by Ameet Dhakal, which has lessons for today’s politicians:&nbsp;
‘Historically, whenever Nepal’s political class has failed to defend democracy, it has been the media that has had to come to the rescue. The head of the CIAA has tried with all his might to silence the media. He has overstepped his jurisdiction, and mobilised other agencies of government to gag the press … Why isn’t there a debate in Parliament about Karki’s anti-constitutional activities? Remember, Nepal’s political map will change either through rebellion or widespread hopelessness. Either way, it will sweep you away.’
By October, the very politicians who appointed Karki felt he was getting too big for his boots, and sacked him after threatening impeachment. The legacy of that tyranny can still be felt in Nepal: today we have mini-Lokmans populating all three levels of government. &nbsp;

2016

Of all the 25 years Nepali Times has been in print, 2015 is the year that stands out as being most eventful.
It started off with the paper’s coverage of National Earthquake Safety Day on 15 January with an Editorial titled ‘Preparing To Be Prepared’ &nbsp;which in a way prophesied the disaster that was to strike three months later.&nbsp;
In mid-March at the height of the tourist season, an Airbus 330 suffered a runway excursion while landing in Kathmandu with its tail sticking out into the runway. The plane could not be moved for four days and 80,000 passengers were stranded in Kathmandu and in airports abroad.&nbsp;
In Kathmandu itself, the Constituent Assembly was stalemated over the draft Constitution and the disagreement over how many provinces the country should be carved into and on what basis.&nbsp;
The Maoists were still insisting on ethnic demarcation, and the Madhes Movement wanted autonomy for a province spanning the entire Tarai from east to west.&nbsp;
Just then, on 25 April at 11:56AM an earthquake of 7.8 magnitude epicentred in Gorkha district shook Kathmandu and the surroundings. Nearly 9,000 people were killed, the entire village of Langtang was buried by an avalanche killing 300 people, and another 16 people were killed in an avalanche that struck Mt Everest Base Camp.&nbsp;
A fold-out page 1 of Nepali Times carried the photo of six-month-old Sonish Awal who was rescued after 24 hours buried under the rubble of a collapsed home in Bhaktapur (pictured, above).&nbsp;
Along with the death and destruction were stories of rebirth, hope and communities coming together to help those in need.&nbsp;
In 2015 Nepal was rocked not just by geotectonics, but also geopolitics. The Constitution was promulgated by an elected assembly on 20 September which did not meet the demands of the Madhesi parties, and this displeased New Delhi.&nbsp;
The ensuing Indian blockade of the border devastated the economy. Earthquake relief material was stuck, Nepal ran out of fuel and food.&nbsp;
People went back to cooking by firewood and riding bicycles. China gave token help, but it did not amount to much.&nbsp;
The blockade lasted five months and was finally lifted in January 2016.
&nbsp;Excerpt of a report 'Earthquake from Above' in the 1-8 May 2015 issue:
‘It had been an unseasonably cold and rainy Saturday morning. Twelve of us from the staff of Nepali Times were on a hiking retreat on a hill overlooking the city.&nbsp;
The sky was overcast, and we were disappointed not to have a view of the Himalayas to the north. Some of us looked down at the capital spreading out in the bowl-shaped valley below and talked about its rapid, haphazard growth.&nbsp;
Suddenly there was a big jolt and we could barely stand. Puffs, then billows, of dust rose from various parts of the city, within minutes shrouding the whole valley in a brown blanket. Bhaktapur looked like it was being swallowed by a sand storm. Kathmandu disappeared.&nbsp;
Our sense of shock turned to fear as we thought of our families down below. We hugged each other, some of us crying. We reached for our phones. The lines were down.&nbsp;
We ran down to the car park at the foot of the hill, and headed into town. On the road we skirted fallen masonry and tilted buildings. People were clustered in open spaces or in the middle of the streets, as far as possible from anything that might collapse. In front of a hospital, we saw patients lying on mattresses set out on the sidewalk.&nbsp;
Hundreds of thousands of people in Kathmandu and surrounding areas spent Saturday night on the streets as Kathmandu was rocked constantly by 50 aftershocks.&nbsp;
Yet, there is no sign of overt panic, people gathered water bottles and sleeping bags and helped each other.’ &nbsp;&nbsp;

2015

On 18 April, a mammoth avalanche that fell off the West Shoulder of Mt Everest claimed the lives of 16 Nepali guides fixing ropes on the Khumbu Icefall for 31 expeditions during the 2014 season. The serac fell on Icefall Doctors making their way to Camp 1 at the beginning of the season.&nbsp;
On 2 August, the whole side of a mountain fell on the homes of the residents of Jure along the Arniko Highway, taking the lives of 156 people and destroying houses. The Bhote Kosi was blocked, the Kodari Highway and two hydropower plants were submerged.&nbsp;
In his column Strictly Business, Ashutosh Tiwari pointed out the human role in the death toll in ‘Coping Mechanisms’:&nbsp;
‘For a fee, unelected local politicians can give you permissions to rent bulldozers to flatten sections of the hills, to mine sand from the rivers and to extract water from the ground to sell commercially, to construct hotels near the river banks, to let settlements grow into a bajar, and to look the other way when it comes to enforcing building codes.&nbsp;
So, when disasters strike, no one can really be held locally accountable for having let the risks dangerously multiply on the side of people and property.’
After the Everest avalanche, expeditions abandoned their climbs, and the government raised the insurance coverage of high altitude guides and support staff to Rs1.5million. Some called for a moratorium on expeditions for the season, but the Ministry of Tourism &nbsp;urged teams to resume work after a week of mourning. &nbsp;
Worryingly, overcrowding by inexperienced tourists is rampant and the Khumbu Icefall gets ever more dangerous due to climate change. Duty to their profession and clients clouds the judgement of some companies. &nbsp;
Wrote Norwegian climber Jon Gangdal:&nbsp;
‘Every expedition leader (including myself) has made decisions for the progress or profit of the expedition.&nbsp;
They give bonuses for more loads, fixed ropes and high altitude metres climbed. But I haven’t yet seen an expedition leader rewarding a Sherpa for saying: “Sorry, Sir, it’s not the time to go up now, I have a really bad feeling about this.”’ They do it for their families, and they may say “Yes” when they mean “No”.’
Welsh Mountaineer David Durkan wrote an angry piece about mountaineering having become a watered-down farce where Sherpas take most of the risk and clients get all the glory:&nbsp;
‘The Nepali high altitude worker works hard, suffers and is paid poorly, and as we have seen, he dies. The clients return home as heroes to write articles, books, appear on tv, hold lectures, receive sponsorships and even become experts on Himalayan mountaineering.’
The day after the Jure landslide, Narendra Modi visited Nepal and began his address to Parliament in accentless Nepali – elevating Nepal-India relations to a new level. (He undid this in 2016 with a six-month border blockade.) &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

2014

By 2013, the optimism after the ceasefire seven years earlier had more or less disappeared. It was clear that the trust the Nepali people had put in the Maoists in 2008 to lead the country to a new direction had not been realised.
Mohan Baidya breaking away from the Maoists the previous year had weakened the party. In March, results of the annual Himalmedia Public Opinion Poll showed that the apathy, indifference, disenchantment, and cynicism with political parties and their leaders had grown, with more than half the respondents saying they did not trust the crop of political leaders at the time.
That same month, when it became clear that then Prime Minister Baburam Bhattarai’s government could not hold the second Constituent Assembly elections on time, the parties handed over power to a transitional government led by Chief Justice Khil Raj Regmi, who became the Chairman of the Interim Election Council of Ministers.
With the pesky problem of governance out of the way, Nepal’s leaders set their sights on the 2013 race. We wrote that the election would be a referendum on federalism. Indeed, while the Maoists and fringe parties campaigned on ethnicity-based federalism, the NC and UML were against the idea.&nbsp;
Public opinion polls over the years had also shown that Nepalis in general were against the idea of ethnicity-based federalism. Our Editorial &nbsp;after the election in 2013:&nbsp;
‘The people are interested more in bread and butter issues like health, education, jobs, and roads. They want accountable leaders with integrity, they are less than enthusiastic about secularism, and they think federalism based on single ethnicity is a bad idea. Even people from the indigenous communities and the Tarai felt that way, but the Maoists and the Madhesi parties went ahead and made those issues their main plank showing just how out of touch they were.’
Meanwhile, leaders engaged with voters amid a changing media landscape: it was the first election in which they used social media to campaign with various degrees of success.
Six months after assuming power, Regmi’s bureaucratic government conducted the election on 19 November, during which almost 80% of registered voters cast their ballots to elect a new Constituent Assembly. We wrote in our editorial as the results of the 2013 polls began to trickle in:
‘Nepal’s silent majority has spoken, it has rejected violence and given moderate centrist parties one more chance to prove themselves..The high turnout was a strong message to the boycotting CPN-M and support for the traditional moderate parties was an unequivocal rejection of the politics of ethnicity of the non-performing UCPN (M) and Madhesi parties.’
The Maoists, who had won in a landslide in 2008 trailed far behind the NC and the UML. The Maoists lost races in crucial constituencies like Pushpa Kamal Dahal in Kathmandu-10, to which they responded by crying foul.
By year-end, the NC and the UML were tasked with sharing power and writing a new constitution.
We wrote:&nbsp;
‘In their euphoria of victory and overblown vermilion rallies, the NC and UML may think that the table has turned and they can go back to their winner-takes- all behaviour..The first test of whether they turned a new leaf will be if they resort to their dog-eat-dog rivalry in the formation of a new government in the coming weeks.’&nbsp;
And that is exactly what happened. &nbsp;

2013

2012 was declared ‘Invest in Nepal Year’ and it followed Tourism Year in 2011 which increased visitor numbers by 20%. Tourism was the largest contributor of FDI inflow in Nepal occupying nearly one-third of all investments. 
It was followed by the service and manufacturing industry. A Guest Column by Siddhant Raj Pandey in #585 put forward a global glance of investments in Nepal, and highlighted the importance of clear policies and its implementation in Nepal.
Tourist arrivals by air in Nepal increased by 10% from 2011, totaling 598,204. The only international airport was deemed to be congested, indicating potential of a new international airport for Nepal. In 2012, there were 28 international airlines connecting Kathmandu with the world, with other carriers seeking slots. 
There were issues of poor quality and expensive ground handling, raising concerns from international airlines. International airline operators raised issues of traffic congestion, landing slots, the shabby condition of the terminal among others. 
‘Nepal by air’ in issue #625 noted the government should have attracted new carriers and retained existing ones by consistent policies and rational pricing.
‘Eye in the Sky’ in #604 highlighted the important role of pilots in spotting natural disasters from the sky. The story elaborated on how Captain Alexander Maximov managed to spot the rock fall on Annapurna IV that set off a flashflood on the Seti River and warned Pokhara airport which flashed it to FM radio stations – allowing many people to flee to higher ground. 
Still, 70 people were killed, among them seven foreign tourists. The flood was ascribed to permafrost melting on the west face of Annapurna IV, and plummeting the rock face to the glacier below. Our report warned that with global warming, such disasters would be more common in the coming decades.
After a year of Baburam Bhattarai’s prime ministership, there was ennui setting in, as we wrote in this Editorial:
‘We have been arguing here against replacing Baburam Bhattarai as prime minister mainly because he seems the least incompetent of the politicians on offer. Pushpa Kamal Dahal has a track record for being super-ambitious and highly unpredictable. The UML and NC may have democratic minded candidates, but they have been tried and tested, and found wanting. 
In the public perception, Bhattarai still has the aura of being someone with intellect and integrity despite the thoroughly kleptocratic coalition he leads. None of the sleaze seems to rub off on the Teflon Man, though. 
His overnight trips to stay and eat with Dalit families in Jumla and Chepang families in Chitwan are expensive populist stunts, but seem to go down well with the public. His demolition of half of Kathmandu has raised hackles, but also bolstered the perception that he is a doer, because he has sent bulldozers tearing through even the property of the rich and powerful.
Prime Minister Dr Baburam Bhattarai, PhD, is obviously a genius. But we wish he had used his considerable intellect to control this haemorrhage of the treasury, and invest the funds in cost-effective social welfare. Instead, he is presiding over the plunder of the state.‘

2012

Chief Maoist ideologue Baburam Bhattarai was elected Prime Minister on 29 August 2011 as the leader of the Maoist party which got the Madhesi Alliance vote to reach a majority in Parliament through a controversial four-point agreement. This promised half the ministerial portfolios to the Alliance, declaring general amnesty for wartime atrocities, and a federal state with ethnic provinces that would be fully autonomous. 
The editorial in #570, titled ‘Gajanan to Baburam’ (right), referred to Bhattarai’s ancestor who had helped King Drabya Shah to lay the foundations for what came to become the Kingdom of Nepal. 
The piece pointed out that all the elements of the agreement were unlikely to be implemented as it did not involve the NC or the UML, and that Madhesi leaders were only trying to prove to their voters that they were sticking to their principles of a Madhes state. 
The general feeling was one of optimism though, because Bhattarai, despite risking ‘being tainted by his proximity to crooks’ (as a reporter commented) was seen as an intelligent leader with a PhD and integrity. He worked 20-hour days in Singha Darbar, flew economy when he travelled to New York, and rode a Made in Nepal Mustang jeep. Some liked what they saw, others saw it as a publicity stunt. 
Diwakar Chhetri’s front-page toon in #569 showed Bhattarai seething in his Mustang as it was stripped for parts by Madhesi leaders who grabbed the seats, steering wheel, and wheels. 
Dewan Rai’s ‘Getting Down to Business’ featured ‘The Doctor’s Checklist’, detailing the delicate political balancing act Baburam had to play with the Madhesi Alliance, NC and UML, and within his own party, plus the Herculean tasks of completing the peace process within 45 days and making progress on the constitution. 
‘THE DOCTOR’S CHECKLIST
Prime Minister Bhattarai has his work cut out. Here is his check list in order of priority:
1. 	Complete the cabinet
2. 	Complete peace process in 45 days as promised
3. 	Keep NC and UML happy so they don’t throw spanner in works
4. 	Hand over keys as a symbolic step. But regrouping and compromises on integration will be more difficult to push through
5. 	Keep one eye on Chairman Dahal, so he doesn’t wreck things
6. 	Back track on amnesty provision on 4-point deal, this will be a major stumbling block with opposition and international community
7. 	Constitution, take the bull by the horns on ethnic federalism and state structure
8. 	Show the presence of the state, tackle law and order
9. 	Improve investment climate, tame unions
10. 	Hunker down for 18-hour power cuts this winter’ 
The Ass in the Backside Column saw what was really going on behind the scenes, and had some advice: 
‘It is becoming clearer by the day why the Madhesis and the Dhobighaut Cluster decided to back the govt. The main bone of contention is not really about portfolios, it’s more about who gets to be Deputy Prime Minister. There are so many aspirants for the post that it looks set to be a cabinet with more deputy prime ministers than ministers. To break the deadlock, the Ass would like to make a humble suggestion: 
 Deputy Prime Minister-in-Chief
 -Assistant Chief Deputy Prime Minister
 -Associate Deputy Prime Minister
 -Senior Assistant Deputy Prime Minister
 -Joint Deputy Prime Minister
 -Senior Assistant Joint Deputy Chief Prime Minister’

2011

Technology was taking a big leap forward. Schools had started to equip themselves with computer labs with LED screens, and coding was taught to eager students. Rotary Clubs started donating computers to schools so that they could learn and enlighten them with the technology. The ‘One Laptop per Child’ project was launched in rural schools, even as the government schools fell behind because of the lack of investment. Internet was also new, and schools started to install connections to broaden the horizon of knowledge for their students. Chaudhary Group also initiated campaigns through which adults could win a laptop and nominate a student to get it. The coupons to win laptops were put in packets of Wai Wai noodles. Arun Sighaniya, chairman of Janakpur Today, was shot on 1 March spreading concern about on safety of media personnel and journalists. Janakpur Today was the first local newspaper to get a top category classification from the Press Council of Nepal.&nbsp; In response, CK Lal in his column State of the State in #506 wrote: ‘The media stands to play an even greater role in the political contestations of the future. This could be why investors are willing to bear huge losses and hold on to their niches. With the increasing complexity of the cutthroat competition within the media, the responsibility of media watchdogs will only grow heavier.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251016071044_e2b14d2a9c55e241b1cfbda5f37d9c6934b73f54e681f76b8fac3e30f8a2b48a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251016071044_e2b14d2a9c55e241b1cfbda5f37d9c6934b73f54e681f76b8fac3e30f8a2b48a" data-rendition-name="original" width="500" height="581" loading="lazy" alt="Rewind 2010 NT"> </figure>  The community FM culture thrived, but faced a midlife crisis as stations started being bought by people with local and national political affiliations. Many radio stations such as Gandaki FM established themselves as television and print media to tackle the increased competition. Commentaries and featured content were broadcast through donor channels, which further reduced listeners’ brand loyalty.&nbsp; Direct-to-home (DTH) Dish TV connection entered Nepal, with the government granting permissions to six companies to operate the connections. DTH subscribers could choose channels and receive satellite data through their own personal dish, putting an end to the cable tv technology in Nepal. The DTH used set top boxes, and used digital instead of analogue signals, bringing clarity in both the television quality and shifting the way subscribers used to view tv. The energy sector suffered a crisis with black-outs and electricity shortfall. The Nepal Electricity Authority (NEA) tried to promote the ‘20-80 scheme’ for communities to bear 20% of the total cost while the government invested the remaining 80%.&nbsp; Electrification in southern Lalitpur through a cooperative managed to significantly reduce electricity pilferage and loss. Many rural areas faced darkness, but could get light through the scheme. Villagers managed to cut down on diesel usage, and increasingly used electricity to transport their daily utilities via a ropeway. The telecommunications sector was poised for takeoff as mobile usage grew, and Nepal was in the cusp of the digital revolution that would transform the economy, politics and society with the advent of smart phones only a year or two away. &nbsp;&nbsp;

2010

After the Maoists came to power, reintegration of the Maoist combatants and moving ahead with the peace process became a priority. But most of these remained neglected as underlying issues of ethnicity, gender and struggle for power persisted.
The leading political parties: NC and UML were against the integration of Maoists into the Nepal Army. Maoist leader Pushpa Kamal Dahal accused the opposition of the lack of support. Analyst Dhrub Kumar in his column (left) for issue #432 wrote:
‘As long as there are two armies, the peace process and constitution-writing will be in danger. The responsibility lies with the Maoists and the head of government to convince the coalition partners and the opposition through a negotiation process by first building trust. In the present situation, the Maoists can’t do much on their own. They have to work with the other parties and for this they must make the others trust them.’
Prime Minister Dahal had his own plans, he tried to remove Army Chief Rookmangud Katuwal and replace him with a pro-Maoist general. President Ram Baran Yadav overturned that decision, and with a nod from New Delhi got Dahal to resign.
Civilians are the primary victims in most wars, and in the Maoist conflict it is Nepali women who suffered sexual violence. Female guerrillas made up a third of the Maoist militia, but many of them became single mothers after their ex-guerrilla husbands divorced them following the end of the war. &nbsp;
Around 15,000 cases remain unresolved in the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) and &nbsp;the Commission of Investigation on Enforced Disappeared Persons (CIEDP).&nbsp;
The transitional justice process remains flawed, with women having to bear the repercussions of the war at the extreme end.
There were reportedly 1,000 young mothers in the seven UNMIN-supervised camps and 21 sub-camps all over the country. Many women warriors gave birth in camp, and instead of carrying assault rifles were cradling babies.&nbsp;
In issue #439, ‘Children of the Revolution’ revealed a former guerilla giving birth to her second child in an UNMIN demobilisation camp, where her first child was born malnourished. Lack of medical facilities made it more difficult for expecting and new mothers.
Many Nepali women were widowed and had to restart their lives post conflict. But, the government in its 2009-10 budget made a proposal to provide Rs50,000 ‘reward’ to a man if he married a war widow.&nbsp;
In response, Mallika Aryal in #470 wrote:
‘This is one of the most callous, thoughtless and rash decisions the government of Nepal has taken in recent years. As if women didn’t already have enough to struggle against. Marriage is a deeply personal decision, and linking that decision to money demeans women.’
As it turned out, when a war that was fought to liberate women ended, so did the promise of emancipation. Women were fighting for their rights then, and they are still fighting for their rights now. &nbsp;

2009

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

‘Get out of my house.’ ‘All my sickness is because of you.’ ‘You’re a millstone around my neck.’ Arundhati Roy heard these admonitions from her mother over and over throughout her life.&nbsp; This must be a singular, yet universal experience. There must be very few daughters who make it through life unscathed by their mothers. And vice-versa.&nbsp; How many of our mothers look at us and see in us the potential of all of the lives they could have lived? How many resent us for it, or want us to live those lives in their stead? And how many of us look back at our mothers and imagine what they would have achieved had they not been expected and assigned to play the role of wife, daughter-in-law, mother — had we never existed in their lives? How many mothers project their experiences onto their own daughters and continue the cycle? No daughter seems to escape it — no matter how well-behaved, docile, unruly, or rebellious. Certainly not the child who would go on to become a Booker prize-winning author. Arundhati Roy’s memoir Mother Mary Comes To Me chronicles her complex relationship with her mother Mary, or Mrs Roy, as her educator mother had her two children refer to her. In December, Arundhati Roy was in Kathmandu to sign books and briefly interact with readers at two bookshops in the city. She describes a childhood overshadowed by her mother’s volatility towards her and her brother. Mary herself was raised by an abusive father to escape whom she married the first man who proposed — Arundhati’s father who in her mother’s words turned out to be an alcoholic ‘Nothing Man’.&nbsp; Mary left her husband in Assam and eventually wound up with her two children in her town of Aymanam in Kerala, encountering other family members along the way who did not treat her, or her children with respect. The trauma and cruelty her mother endured could not be contained in her body, and spilled out onto her two children, towards whom she was physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive.&nbsp; While she treated her children with disregard, she would build a school in the nearby town of Kottayam from the ground up, educate thousands of children, take up a legal fight that led to the Supreme Court granting Syrian Christian women in India equal inheritance rights, and uplift many orphaned children and women in Kerala.&nbsp; Arundhati lived with both her mother’s brutality and brilliance. And like her daughter, readers must reconcile the indefensible parts of Mary Roy’s personality — the cruelty of calling her nine-year-old daughter a bitch, or shooting the family dog that mated with a stray — with her unyielding drive to educate thousands, fight for equal rights, and challenge the way her world viewed women.&nbsp; Mrs Roy had little kindness for her own children, but plenty for the students, children, and women whose lives she shaped, and made better. And her kindness was not rooted in empathy, but in anger at the hand she had been dealt in life. Eventually, Arundhati decided to temporarily cut all contact with Mrs Roy — not because she did not love her, she writes, but so that she could continue to love her. Her desire to get away from her abusive mother, and her fascination with the ideas inspired by the architect who built her mother’s school, would lead her to the Delhi School of Architecture at age 16. In Delhi, Arundhati became roommates with Hisila Yami before she and her Maoist ideologue husband Baburam Bhattarai went underground to lead Nepal’s decade-long armed struggle. &nbsp; But architecture was not her calling. In Delhi, the heart of India’s statecraft, Arundhati came into young adulthood against a backdrop of the country’s changing socio-politics, which began to take a turn for the hyper-nationalist, Hindu supremacist community that it has now largely become. The winds of those changes have now blown into Nepal. In the city, far from her mother, Arundhati met the man who would become her partner of many years, collaborating with him on several films and screenplays before finding the language (‘I needed to hunt [language] down like prey,’ she writes) she needed to become the writer she is now.&nbsp; She went on to write her Booker prize-winning novel The God of Small Things, but the wealth and status the book brought her did not sit comfortably. So she smashed her newly-built gilded cage, as she describes it, and became more political. Contrary to norm, she published several works of non-fiction, and would only publish her second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, in 2017, 20 years after The God of Small Things. &nbsp;&nbsp; Her fierce opposition to India’s nuclear policies, to a dam that would displace millions of indigenous people and ecologically damage the Narmada Valley, her championing of Kashmiri self-determination, and her time spent with Maoist rebels in the forests of Chhattisgarh as they took up arms to defend their land and resources against corporate interests made her an enemy of the state.&nbsp; Meanwhile, being raised by a single mother had never sat well within her Syrian Christian community. ‘I wasn't Christian enough. I wasn't Hindu enough. I wasn't communist enough. I wasn't enough,’ Roy writes in her memoir. For all her love for India, the nation did not seem to reciprocate. The circumstances might be different, but it might strike a chord with readers in Nepal, many of whom marched on the streets in September hoping for a better tomorrow, but were gunned down by the very institutions meant to protect them. It might resonate with those who are not seen as citizens of this nation simply because they might not fit into an imagined idea of Nepali nationhood.&nbsp; Arundhati’s relationship with her mother, who was simultaneously proud and disdainful of her daughter’s accomplishments, continued to be tumultuous until the end of Mary Roy’s life.&nbsp; One of Mrs Roy’s last messages to her daughter before she passed was: ‘There is no one in the world whom I have loved more than you.’ Arundhati muses that her lifelong refusal to stop loving her mother must have finally breached her barriers. One wonders if that final declaration of love was solace enough, apology enough, for all the pain caused.&nbsp; But for Arundhati Roy, her love for her mother and her motherland outweighs the cruelty both have shown her. This, too, must be a singular, yet universal experience.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Mother Mary Comes to Me review"> </figure>

The sins of our mothers

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

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.