What began as a joint effort to research Nepal’s natural resources has now become a global representation of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-making-of-kathmandu-valley-style">indigenous craftsmanship</a>, and empowering women. Arati Subba and Samriddhi Gurung were raised in the UK, had years of experience in the fashion industry, and found themselves in Nepal during the Covid-19 pandemic. “I always wanted to explore what Nepal naturally offers,” says Gurung. “After a lot of research, we discovered that beeswax is a biowaste that lasts three times longer than soy or paraffin wax.” She researched the local market for lifestyle products, and found only paraffin candles for sale. So, they thought, why not create beeswax candles?  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025012011018_dbdf64ffc6c18c926717a2214e902c4e6600e95aa2f2670e614647fe70d6d984.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025012011018_dbdf64ffc6c18c926717a2214e902c4e6600e95aa2f2670e614647fe70d6d984" data-rendition-name="original" width="5472" height="3648" loading="lazy" alt="Reviving Nepal's craft NT"> <figcaption>Arati Subba and Samriddhi Gurung, founders of Riti Studio. Photo: RITI STUDIO</figcaption> </figure>  Together, they set up Riti Studio and have now diversified from candles to grow into a business in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/seams-sustainable">sustainable lifestyle</a> products.&nbsp; Based in Nepal and Hong Kong, Riti's all-women team now also handcrafts candles, incense sticks, and ceramics. It strives to preserve Nepal’s craft traditions. “Do you know how to hand-roll incense sticks by yourself?” Gurung asks. “My grandmother still does it, but neither my mother nor I know how to do that. So, this is an effort to preserve our generational craft, and take it further.” The entrepreneur duo define their approach as ‘slow luxury of artisanal quality’ and collaborate with local artisans. Each ceramic piece, for example, is hand-crafted, reflecting the skill and dedication of those involved.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025012011018_db44619728c2f031c8412a86206b6166cff7258796d170df73b8db3b85736ebd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025012011018_db44619728c2f031c8412a86206b6166cff7258796d170df73b8db3b85736ebd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Reviving Nepal's craft NT"> <figcaption>Photos: SANGYA LAMSAL</figcaption> </figure>  “Every piece is unique in itself,” says Subba. “The design is the same, but the actual printwork, texture, it is all different.” Sustainability remains a key priority, but financial viability is also important. In the early days, the two scoured nearly every <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/honey-money?s=08">honey shop</a> they could find. Most honey sellers in Nepal also have their own farms where they source raw materials. Their search extended beyond honey, as they also sought local suppliers for ceramics and packaging. After finding the right materials, they sampled to ensure quality. Only then did they move to production and marketing, for which Nepali language was a must.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025012011018_55c551fd62ed7dd91c2d511ab1561b76ad3805f7772cfb005bc6eeb133c479ae.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025012011018_55c551fd62ed7dd91c2d511ab1561b76ad3805f7772cfb005bc6eeb133c479ae" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Reviving Nepal's craft NT"> </figure>  “It was really hard to communicate and try to sound smart in Nepali while meeting with the suppliers at first,” she recalls. The language barrier meant some suppliers did not take her seriously in a largely male-dominated society.&nbsp; Things changed when the men started noticing their professionalism. “Now, the men are much more appreciative of who we are, and we are taken more seriously,” adds Gurung. The name Riti comes from the idea of having one’s own little ritual, focusing on self-care and self-love and the Nepali term रीती रिवाज, meaning rituals. When asked if they had any advice for other entrepreneurs just starting out, Gurung says, “You have to put your head down and get to work. Stop listening to the noise outside and stay focused.” Subba pipes in: “Find what interests you, and make something beautiful out of it.”&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/business/return-to-nature">Return to nature</a>

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Reviving Nepal’s craft

South of Janakpur near the Indian border is the village of Phulgama. Out of its population of 4,500, nearly every household here has at least one son who is a migrant worker abroad.&nbsp; Some 40% of Nepali men between the ages of 20-35 are <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/die-first-get-paid-later">migrant workers abroad</a>, mainly in India, the Gulf states or Malaysia. In the last nine months alone, 741,297 people travelled overseas: mostly to the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Malaysia and Kuwait. This does not include those who left on student visas, and there are no records of how many went to India. Most end up working in ‘3D jobs’ — &nbsp;dirty, dangerous and difficult. There is also a fourth D: dehydrating work.&nbsp; Risky outdoor as manual workers, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/too-hot-to-work">excessive heat of the desert in the Gulf</a> or humidity of the tropical jungles of Malaysia, poor diet, dehydration and unhealthy lifestyles all contribute to a <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/A-mysterious-rash-of-kidney-failures,3639">higher risk of kidney failure among Nepali migrant workers</a>. Dhanusha district has one of the highest proportions of workers migrating for work to India and abroad. Nephrologists call kidney disease ‘the silent killer’ because patients do not show symptoms until it is too late, and migrant workers are especially susceptible to Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD) or End-Stage Renal Disease (ESRD).&nbsp; Increasing demand for cheap labour and minimum pre-departure health awareness training makes migration more risky than it should be. From a survey of hospitals and dialysis centres in Dhanusha and Kathmandu, the risk of kidney failure<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/saving-kidneys-to-save-nepal"> appears higher among male migrant workers</a> than in Nepali men of the same age group.&nbsp; “This disease is idiopathic, meaning it is not caused by one specific factor,” explains Rishi Kafle of the National Kidney Center Nepal. “But after screening migrant workers going to the Gulf and developing End-Stage Renal Disease in 3-4 years, we can say that migration increases the likelihood of kidney failure.” Kafle adds: “Because of the need to maximise earnings, working in extreme heat for long hours dehydrates them. And many opt for Coca-Cola and meat instead of healthier water and vegetables.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250118070128_b86cd132e88fecad9cde6d6faa648f76b40979660e6d28e846b25469668df9d8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250118070128_b86cd132e88fecad9cde6d6faa648f76b40979660e6d28e846b25469668df9d8" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="Dirty, dangerous, difficult, and dehydrating NT"> <figcaption>All photos: PINKI SRIS RANA</figcaption> </figure>  While the risk of kidney failure is higher in returnee migrant workers in Nepal, the disease is on the rise globally due to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/sick-of-it">lifestyle changes,</a> diabetes or undiagnosed hypertension. Currently, there are 28,266 kidney patients enrolled in the <a href="https://dohs.gov.np/">Department of Health Services</a> for free treatment under the government’s <a href="https://mohp.gov.np/program/medical-treatment-of-deprived-citizens/np">Bipanna Nagarik Kosh</a>, of which 17,044 are male and 11,222 female. Just in the past year, 9,176 more patients were added to the fund. Most hospitalised kidney patients are from age 15-65. In a healthy person, toxins and waste in the blood are filtered by the kidneys. But patients with kidney failure need to circulate their blood regularly through a haemodialysis machine. The whole process takes about 3-4 hours and causes blood vessels in the arms to swell over time. Nearly 2 million Nepalis suffer from chronic kidney disease (CKD), which is about 8% of the population. The rise in diabetes and hypertension is contributing to an increase in the disease. Everyone from migrant workers to many of Nepal’s top politicians suffer from kidney failure. Prime Minister Oli himself has had two kidney transplants. Even with dialysis twice a week, some patients develop nausea, swelling and other problems when they eat or drink. The extra dialysis sessions cost money, and the livelihood allowance given to patients is never enough or timely. Not every migrant working in hot climates returns with kidney disease, but a recent yet-to-be-published study led by nephrologist Sailendra Sharma states that one-fourth of all kidney patients in Nepal are migrant returnees. It points to recurrent heat stress as a primary risk factor. The<a href="https://mihs.edu.np/"> Madhesh Institution of Health Sciences</a> in Janakpur has 103 regular patients who come for dialysis. Of them, 30 are returnee migrants not just from Dhanusha, but also Sarlahi, Siraha, Mahottari and Sindhuli. “Not by the nature of the disease, but the way kidney disease is growing, I would call it an epidemic,” adds Kafle. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250118070128_43731248e116cfdc42bfc08b8f7d71e5ff3d44b938065a5ad9e9a337e666b9c7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250118070128_43731248e116cfdc42bfc08b8f7d71e5ff3d44b938065a5ad9e9a337e666b9c7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1463" height="798" loading="lazy" alt="Dirty, dangerous, difficult, and dehydrating NT"> <figcaption>HARD LABOUR: Jagdish Sah shows a picture from his time in Malaysia.</figcaption> </figure>  Jagdish Sah left for Malaysia ten years ago. He had taken a loan for his sister’s marriage and he had to pay it back. As the eldest son, he was also expected to get married next, but he faced multiple rejections. “Women have expectations too. They want to get married to well-to-do families. They didn’t want to get married to a family that lived in a mud house like ours,” says Sah, now 35. Foreign employment was a one-stop solution to his problems. Or so he thought. Sah was 24 when he left for a tailoring job at a garment factory in Malaysia. He often worked overtime, sometimes up to 12 hours a day in the hopes of earning extra ringgits. Even so, his highest monthly income would only be Rs35,000.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250118070128_7dd5030951c805302adec46afdef623bbdbb6fe1c0f12b7a77fd612531865af1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20250118070128_7dd5030951c805302adec46afdef623bbdbb6fe1c0f12b7a77fd612531865af1" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1536" loading="lazy" alt="Dirty, dangerous, difficult, and dehydrating NT"> <figcaption>Sah at a garment factory in Malaysia where he worked, often dehydrated, and not taking toilet breaks to earn more.</figcaption> </figure>  Workers got a 30-minute break for lunch, and there were limited toilet breaks. So, Sah just worked straight out. Back in Nepal for a break in 2017, Sah had blurred vision and fainted. He thought it was high blood pressure, but a few months later at age 28, he was diagnosed with double kidney failure. “Whatever he saved in Malaysia went for his treatment in Kathmandu. We even sold a plot of our land,” recalled Sah’s mother, Mantoriya Devi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250118070128_dc353dd6ce449c05bda6d562907dd961d8900c1b747dc4afec1680bb65b805b7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20250118070128_dc353dd6ce449c05bda6d562907dd961d8900c1b747dc4afec1680bb65b805b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="3995" height="2871" loading="lazy" alt="Dirty, dangerous, difficult, and dehydrating NT"> <figcaption>Sah is now gaunt and frail in this picture taken duing his biweekly dialysis at Madhesh Institute of Health Sciences in Janakpur recently.</figcaption> </figure>  Sah drives his motorcycle twice a week from his village to the Madhesh Institute of Health Sciences in Janakpur for free dialysis. His family says it is as if the Jagdish who went to Malaysia and the one who came back are two different people. &nbsp; “This disease has already doomed my life. Why ruin someone else’s?” says Sah of his lack of marriage prospects. “It is because of dialysis that I have survived so far.” His parents are too old and occupied with their chores to accompany him. Since Jagdish cannot work, his father, Ram Dev sells popcorn by the sidewalk from a wheeled cart. Mithu Kumar went to Saudi Arabia to work as an electrical supervisor two years ago. He was 25. Recently when he started vomiting, he was taken to a local hospital. He was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease and was sent back to Nepal. As Kumar lays down for his dialysis treatment at Save Lives Hospital in Janakpur, he says, “My only wish is that I am healthy enough to work again.”&nbsp; Umesh Kumar Yadav also worked in Saudi Arabia as a guard. He returned with chronic kidney disease, but he says he is the only one to contract the ailment among all the returnees from his village. “Only the ill-fated people have this disease,” says Yadav. “Otherwise, it would have been the same for every other person from the village who is abroad working.” Ambar Bahadur Sarki, 46, travels from Sindhuli for three hours every Monday and Thursday to Janakpur for his free dialysis at the Madesh Institute of Health Sciences. Sarki worked in a palm oil plantation in Malaysia, where heat stress often exceeded the wet-bulb threshold for heat and humidity. “It was extremely hot at all times,” he remembers. He first got hypertension, which made both his kidneys fail. Ram Udgar Mandal from Dhanusha started working in Saudi Arabia in his late twenties. He spent the next 17 years in the desert working as a driver. Now in his late forties, he was diagnosed with End-Stage Renal Disease (ESRD) four years ago.&nbsp; But this is an intergenerational cycle. Mandal’s son has now also gone to Malaysia to supplement the family income. He fears his son will meet the same fate as him. “We do not have a choice, do we?” he says. Lalit Balampaki, 28, from Dhanusa was diagnosed with ESRD a year earlier in Dubai. He stays in Kathmandu along with his older brother’s family on a rented floor. Balampaki worked in extreme heat conditions in a smelting factory in Dubai. He had to work night shifts twice or thrice a week. Sleep deprivation and extended periods without food were part of his daily routine. The pay was good, but his savings have all gone now towards hospital fees. “More than the money, I earned the disease,” says Balampaki. &nbsp; Suraj Thapa Magar, 30, was the sole breadwinner of his family. He installed aluminum windows and doors in Kuwait “It was the hottest in summer and coldest in winter,” says Magar, who worked for 10 hours a day even in 50°C. He also often neglected hydration, and one night he vomited blood. At 26, he was diagnosed with ESRD and has been in Nepal ever since. Thapa has no other choice than to rely on the Rs5,000 allowance, but even that is not timely and not enough. He has to take loans to travel for his dialysis. The government hospitals are supposed to provide some medicines for free, but they are often out of stock. Thapa has looked for jobs, but kidney disease is a stigma and no one wants to hire him. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*** In 2016, Nepal started providing free hemodialysis treatment for the poorest patients. Two years later, a monthly livelihood allowance of Rs5,000 was to be distributed to patients suffering from chronic diseases like dual-kidney failure and cancer. Free dialysis is provided in 107 hospitals across the country, but that is only in theory. Many facilities do not have nephrologists because the government does not provide salaries. The machines also often are not working because they need constant maintenance. Among the 11 hospitals that provide free dialysis in Madhes Province, three are in Janakpur. Nepali Times visited the enlisted hospitals but there were no nephrologists to supervise the treatment, and they were run by general physicians or senior nurses.&nbsp; “The government does not provide adequate salaries for the nephrologists,” says Kafle. “That is why nephrologists are mainly affiliated with the private hospitals.” Bagmati Province has 44 hospitals with free dialysis, which is why many dual-kidney failure patients have opted to live in Kathmandu. The hospitals service over 8,000 kidney patients.&nbsp; Since most of them are migrant workers, the end result is that Nepal’s poorly-resourced health system ends up bearing the cost of treating kidneys that failed while working as labourers in hot, rich countries. &nbsp;

Dirty, Dangerous, Difficult ... and Dehydrating

“यहाँ वाग्नर कोदाली खनिरहेछन्, शेक्सपियर हलो जोत्ता हुन्, टिसियन र टर्नर भेडा चराउँदा हुन्, सोक्रेटिज गुफामा घोत्लिरहेका होलान्... यहाँ कति साहित्य छ, जो लेखिएकै छैन, न लेखिनेछ।” Wagners and Shakespeares could be ploughing fields here, Tissiens and Turners may be shepherds, Socrates must be living in a desolate cave ... there is so much literature here that is not written and will never be written. This excerpt from the essay के नेपाल सानो छ? (Is Nepal Small?) by poet Laxmi Prasad Devkota that most Nepali students have to learn in school, alludes to treasures of Nepali literature that remain hidden because people are too busy trying to survive.&nbsp; While Devkota’s dialectic may still be true, Nepali writers like Samyak Shertok are taking their literature to international platforms and giving it global recognition. Samyak Shertok is the recent recipient of the 2024 <a href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fawpwriter.org%2FAWP%2FAWP%2FContests%2FAWP-Award-Series%2FDonald-Hall-Prize%2FOverview.aspx%3Ffbclid%3DIwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTAAAR2rtN6pn1xy9O42GhznnQekY96bavYGwHz6pDtNaSGh4qaKXsZKSyvCKDU_aem_bsY7bnUoJoSxEpfxw1UdVQ&amp;h=AT0QnfORyOboQ6xeVZYe-r4CLjYIjtZwIcEsR3r54yeHGbMqiMHTjcoT3CP2CD7VXUn9jytxX4FtFmLhINdF8UwGvLy9urNtzxIeUNLOuwLVhSH6hmbVx3oA8rZIY3WNkMani8g6I1c">Donald Hall Prize for Poetry</a>. His poem collection ‘No Rhododendron’ is being published next year by the University of Pittsburgh Press in the Pitt Poetry Series. His poems have also appeared in top literary journals and publications in the US, such as Best of New Poets, Iowa Review amd Kenyon Review.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241013131056_630058ef31163af4def47cbcc247089ee3df925ff6c1bd2014f1008db515f9c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241013131056_630058ef31163af4def47cbcc247089ee3df925ff6c1bd2014f1008db515f9c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1365" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="Samyak Shertok"> <figcaption>Photo: CHANDRA S MAGAR</figcaption> </figure>  ‘If poetry is, as has been defined, a species of magic, Samyak Shertok has conjured an elegant and sophisticated collection that is full of hybridity in form and subject…’ writes Donald Hall Prize 2024 jury member Kimiko Hahn, an American poet. ‘We are given a view into the conjuring, his view on how language expresses and depresses, how language as noise can mix into cacophony or clarify home.’ Hahn goes on to add, ‘There is abiding grief and, in that, surviving to tell and retell stories. This debut collection is an absolute marvel.’ Shertok’s poems immerse themselves in the idea of a mother language, of motherhood, home, ongoingness and his relationship with them, leaving behind a part of himself in each poem. His poems have a haunting grief and memories, and leave food for the soul to dwell upon. “Poems are a permanent home that I can always return to,” Shertok told us in a zoom call. He moved to the United States to pursue a psychology major as an undergraduate which he completed in 2011 from Brigham Young University, and has been there since. Samyak was born Shertok Lama, the youngest child in a Tamang family from Yurung village of Sindhupalchok district. He had always thought a poet had to be someone senior with a PhD, or a long white beard like Nepali poet Lekhnath Paudyal or the Bengali Nobel Prize winner Rabindranath Tagore. ‘Samyak’ means the Buddha’s middle way and ‘Shertok’ is the Tamang word for a golden steeple. Nepaliness is a recurring theme in Samyak’s verse, but he has a fraught relationship with his motherland. As someone from an indigenous community, Shertok grew up feeling stereotyped and judged which is why he opted for a surname that would not denote his ethnicity. He was eight when his older brother recited the poem he had written himself while walking to their school, an hour across mountain paths from his home. “The poem my older brother wrote was about love and destiny. I don’t remember the lines now, but the seed was planted sometime there,” Shertok recalls.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241013141012_e562220a7461f09924480bb991319bfc420ba275b672885815382bb526833301.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241013141012_e562220a7461f09924480bb991319bfc420ba275b672885815382bb526833301" data-rendition-name="original" width="1100" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Samyak Shertok"> </figure>  Shertok has frequent references to his mother who played a part in shaping his career as a poet. He explains: “I believe my Ama is a lived poet. She doesn't know about poets, or how to write poems, but she naturally comes up with her own phrases that are poetic and deeply meaningful.” By Grade 11, Shertok was writing poems mostly in Nepali, but also English. He was prolific, penning short stories, essays, ghazals and managed to impress another <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/writing-about-nepal-from-afar">US-based Nepali writer Samrat Upadhyay</a> and publisher <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/a-novelist-talks-to-his-translator">Ajit Baral of Fineprint</a> when he won the Writing Nepal competition organised by Lalit. "Samyak Shertok is a poet of great nuance and emotional depth," says Upadhyay who was the judge of the Lalit contest. "Even then I had been wowed by the poetry in Samyak’s prose, and it’s no wonder he’s emerged as a poet of considerable power now." He adds: "The fact that Samyak’s poetry is speaking to a diverse and international audience is evident in his numerous publications and awards. The Donald Hall Prize is a big deal. It boasts of many illustrious poets as its previous winners, such as Angela Ball and Reginald Shepherd. Samyak’s win is a win for Nepalis all over the world." Shertok struggled to adjust to a new culture and milieu. He did not feel like he belonged, and strived to feel appreciated. He finally had a MFA in poetry, but no job. “Poetry as a career is never fully secure, there is a compulsion to financially depend on something else,” says Shertok who now teaches poetry to students in Hendrix College in Arkansas. While he has been reading and writing poetry for most of his life, writing still does not get any easier for Shertok. “With practice, devotion and dedication, one might get better at techniques but writing a poem means starting from nothing,” adds Shertok, who is now working on his second book collection. “Something more challenging is to not repeat what I’ve already done in my previous poem.” While he still likes to explore different literary forms, poetry provides him ample room to explore life, living and longing. Even Shertok’s spoken words, carried over from the other side of the planet over Zoom is versified: “Each poem is a being. A poem begins with a haunting, and ends when you are able to release the haunt.”&nbsp;

Pinki Sris Rana

Finding a permanent home in poetry

“अलि अलि अमिलो&nbsp; अलि अलि पिरो&nbsp; अलि अलि गुलियो&nbsp; अलि अलि टर्रो&nbsp; अलि अलि तितो&nbsp; तेसैले त दालभात यति मिठो ।”&nbsp; (‘A bit sour, a bit spicy, a bit sweet, a bit astringent, a bit bitter, that is what makes dal bhat so tasty.’ Inscription at the entrance of the Old Nepal Tokyo restaurant.) Right in the heart of Tokyo’s shopping district of Gotokuji is Old Nepal, a world away from Kathmandu. With an unassuming entrance lit with a dim lamp to read the restaurant’s name, one is immediately transported to the dark, narrow cobblestone alleys of Patan or Bhaktapur.&nbsp; Inside, it is pitch dark with no windows, evoking a traditional Nepali eatery during load-shedding. A narrow corridor reminiscent of Kathmandu’s backstreets leads visitors to an intimate but spacious dining room.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141040_50aa05c951621a704bc2dfadeb7022981782da1539789aae8e7ae8c30581a294.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20241011141040_50aa05c951621a704bc2dfadeb7022981782da1539789aae8e7ae8c30581a294" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Photos: OLD NEPAL TOKYO</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141040_02afc769a35cf66b7deded49c6698973eada2d52cc7302394d827c30d661756c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241011141040_02afc769a35cf66b7deded49c6698973eada2d52cc7302394d827c30d661756c" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141040_fa5bcfaeee6c7ad7746605c4625d7de6e4312f9d4a0dc40a602a4d273200317b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241011141040_fa5bcfaeee6c7ad7746605c4625d7de6e4312f9d4a0dc40a602a4d273200317b" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> </figure>  The design is sparse, with earthy tones and enveloped in the scent of धुप incense. There is a घ्याम्पो clay vessel next to a wall filled with खोपा alcoves, just like in the brick and mud houses of old Nepal. The restaurant is the life's work of Ryo Honda, a chef who specialises in authentic but innovative Nepali cuisine with ingredients that he has explored in Nepal.&nbsp; “Each plate is inspired by Nepal’s diverse culture and landscape, even the colours,” explains the Kobe-native in accented Nepali. Each dish in Honda’s Mustang-themed menu is based on the colours of the rugged landscape of the trans-Himalayan region.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141044_fb7af4208db9dfc1eda5202c8d1ae01aed59950d4eb5ee70b8c9aa968eb50642.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241011141044_fb7af4208db9dfc1eda5202c8d1ae01aed59950d4eb5ee70b8c9aa968eb50642" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Ryo Honda. Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141044_b354f6d850bf262f42199899c2884f03244e2d40924b205499f66910cb0ce097.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241011141044_b354f6d850bf262f42199899c2884f03244e2d40924b205499f66910cb0ce097" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> </figure>  The colour-coded dishes include ‘Shyau’ (red, like Mustang’s apples), ‘Alooko Achar’ (grey, like the pebbles on the banks of the Kali Gandaki), sautéed rock trout with green soup called Ghandhau Macha (green), Thukpa (jet black buckwheat noodles, mixed with bamboo charcoal), Bangur Ko Sekuwa (brown, like the rice) and Dal Bhat and Chamalko Kulfi (yellow desert).&nbsp; “I love Nepal because the country does &nbsp;not have only one kind of people and food culture,” explains Honda, 41, during one of his annual visits to Nepal. On this trip, he was exploring Tharu cuisine in Kanchanpur.&nbsp; Honda and his wife Mari also visited Dhankuta, sampling local mushrooms and other ingredients. Old Nepal sources a lot of its ingredients, especially spices like cumin, turmeric, cilantro, jimbu, timur, and pink Tibetan salt direct from Nepal. Some of these items are also sold separately in a spice shop called Sunya one floor above the restaurant.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141036_d61a6d6910c357f91398c48633e28cd6f73e52e3202470209b7feccd36cd10b5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241011141036_d61a6d6910c357f91398c48633e28cd6f73e52e3202470209b7feccd36cd10b5" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Dal Bhat</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141044_838e083c94b36e8de85ca3532133119d605069d27dddba0a9268202933b27be7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241011141044_838e083c94b36e8de85ca3532133119d605069d27dddba0a9268202933b27be7" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Alooko Achar</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141044_929ded9b7be75beec3295351aaee06d976869d950f70c3166eb93224e9f27c5b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20241011141044_929ded9b7be75beec3295351aaee06d976869d950f70c3166eb93224e9f27c5b" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Nepali spices in Old Nepal Tokyo.</figcaption> </figure>  “Nepali food is what it is because of its distinctive aroma,” says Honda, “and much of this has to do with spices unique to Nepal like jimbu and timur.” Honda’s love affair with Nepal began in Kobe in 2007 when he started working at a Nepali restaurant. He got so passionately involved that he wanted to dive deep into the diverse cuisine of this Himalayan nation that he hadn't even visited yet.&nbsp; “If I were to cook Nepali food better, I decided I had to visit the country,” Honda recalls. “I did, and returned to Kobe with new inspiration.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141048_b30dcf5c610d1c2cd48a21c30501deb65c3a14fabf6ce7d38f97af5d56baf41b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20241011141048_b30dcf5c610d1c2cd48a21c30501deb65c3a14fabf6ce7d38f97af5d56baf41b" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Thukpa</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141048_a0a11578723afd63f5e0079f7a8124a4ac5b8edd1333b9ab86b8d466119516bf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20241011141048_a0a11578723afd63f5e0079f7a8124a4ac5b8edd1333b9ab86b8d466119516bf" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Chamalko Kulfi</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141048_35daaa8f7cdaa03837f2250b47865ac74aa8c90efc43982b825dc3487a321abc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20241011141048_35daaa8f7cdaa03837f2250b47865ac74aa8c90efc43982b825dc3487a321abc" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Ghandhau Macha</figcaption> </figure>  Fast forward a few years and he found himself in Osaka, working at a friend’s restaurant called Dal Bhat Shokudo, where most customers were Nepali students. Ryo and Mari continued visiting Nepal often, traversing the mountains and plains from Dolpo to Bardia, in search of special local ingredients and cooking methods.&nbsp; The trips also gave them crucial insight into Nepali society, and how cooks, many of them women and children, are looked down upon.&nbsp; That is how the idea of Old Nepal Tokyo developed – treating Nepali cuisine with dignity and respect by building a fine dining experience around it.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141048_89b216a6a67e00ea9ffbe9f9d020637237857afb48548140a2d4a50f3eb100ae.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20241011141048_89b216a6a67e00ea9ffbe9f9d020637237857afb48548140a2d4a50f3eb100ae" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Dhok Dhok, Tsampa</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141048_f69e83781ffbd4f717e54099df18cd453515a942f8d8f6437063c5b93bda3c66.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20241011141048_f69e83781ffbd4f717e54099df18cd453515a942f8d8f6437063c5b93bda3c66" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Shyau</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141048_2ce56f29c8114e57e56ceab115f53ee07c8faea79b27f127445e19d18af52cc7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20241011141048_2ce56f29c8114e57e56ceab115f53ee07c8faea79b27f127445e19d18af52cc7" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Bangur Ko Sekuwa</figcaption> </figure>  &nbsp;“In many ways, Nepal is my business and I was wondering what I could do to give back to the country that has given me so much,” muses Honda, sitting in the Juneli Chiyabari tea room in Patan.&nbsp; “Nepali cooks are not generally considered skilled, and do not make much money. Nepali high-end dining would change that.”&nbsp; Old Nepal Tokyo is a reservation-only, set-menu restaurant, with each course costing upwards of ¥13,000 ($90), and it is listed in the Michelin Guide.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141048_71edfab477ff1f5c4ed4878979b6134b6d25674aae0d052d060342583f198560.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="20241011141048_71edfab477ff1f5c4ed4878979b6134b6d25674aae0d052d060342583f198560" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="562" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241011141052_224a388986379ccc5aac13dabae0f37e67febbf5f4b764cdb1c8c61715a1f084.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20241011141052_224a388986379ccc5aac13dabae0f37e67febbf5f4b764cdb1c8c61715a1f084" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Old Nepal Tokyo NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  “Most customers here do not know much about Nepal and have never been there,” says Honda, “but after eating here, they cannot wait to visit Nepal.”&nbsp; Ryo and Mari eventually want to open a fine-dining Nepali restaurant in Nepal itself. They have published a Nepali recipe book in Japanese. One of the items in it is of a festival-themed dessert, called Tihar, that uses marigold, juju dhau and methi syrup. &nbsp; Honda also experimented with making timur beer, and is now selling it in cans at the restaurant. The reviews are good. Newari cuisine is Honda’s favourite among Nepal's cuisine. “It has similarities to the food from Kobe. We also use a lot of internal organs,” he laughs. &nbsp;

Sonia Awale

A taste of old Nepal in Tokyo

Shyam Lama had just fallen asleep on the early morning of 28 September when he heard a loud bang outside his shop on the side of the highway in Dhading, 15km from Kathmandu. It had been r<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/60-dead-64-missing-in-nepal-floods">aining incessantly for two days</a>, landslips and fallen trees had blocked the Kathmandu-Mugling highway. Many buses were stranded, and some of them were parked at a bend on the road in Jhyaple Khola, waiting for the debris to be cleared. The bang that Lama heard was another landslide from the mountain above falling near his shop and covering the highway with 4m of mud and stones. Some of the buses were damaged, and injured passengers were running for safety in the darkness and pouring rain. In the light of dawn, they could see the damaged buses heading to Kathmandu from the west. But it was not till later in the day that Lama and some of the other rescuers saw the top of another bus sticking out of the mud.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241008141044_a0b528829a4230da6b7b26102a42f0a061de6c26a4fb1d1e201dabfcfc647519.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241008141044_a0b528829a4230da6b7b26102a42f0a061de6c26a4fb1d1e201dabfcfc647519" data-rendition-name="original" width="5726" height="3817" loading="lazy" alt="jhyaple khola landslides"> <figcaption>Photos: SUMAN NEPALI(Photo: suman)</figcaption> </figure>  They dug through the slush to find 11 bodies. But then they spotted the tyre of another vehicle, then a van. Altogether 35 passengers perished that night in the three buses heading to Kathmandu from Chitwan, Butwal and Gorkha.&nbsp; “The buses were all stuck because the highway was blocked, and the landslide fell and buried them with the passengers sleeping inside,” Lama says. “If the debris up the road had been cleared in time, the buses would have been able to continue on to Kathmandu.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/a-flood-of-tears-on-the-rosi">A flood of tears on the Rosi</a>, Archana Darji Archana Koirala runs a convenience store nearby, and was also awoken by muffled shouts for help almost drowned out by the sound of the rain on the tin roof. “In the darkness, I saw people escaping from two buses, some of them injured and covered in blood,” recalls Koirala. “I gathered up my little girls and ran for my life.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241008141044_ec79cc7198b54bad77c3f03bc1420ea64cb6776eaaec29581209614194b862fa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241008141044_ec79cc7198b54bad77c3f03bc1420ea64cb6776eaaec29581209614194b862fa" data-rendition-name="original" width="5680" height="3787" loading="lazy" alt="jhyaple khola landslides"> </figure>  Another shop owner Ajita Tamang, heard the landslide coming down and nearly burying her house. She ran with her mother to the nearby woods. Her shop did not survive. Krishna Tamang heard the sound of a bus windshield shattering, and went outside to check. &nbsp;He saw one of the buses half-buried in debris before it disappeared before his eyes, swallowed up by a fresh wave of mud. Unable to do anything to help, he ran up the mountain to save his own life.&nbsp; Shop owners and residents in Jhyaple Khola say that the landslide was so massive and came down so suddenly that the passengers in the vehicles probably did not even know what hit them. A week later, the mangled mass of the three buses are all that remain on the roadside, and excavators were trying to open the road for the expected heavy Dasain traffic on the arterial highway that connects Kathmandu to western Nepal. A visit to the site shows the mountain above scarred by open red wounds of landslides. The biggest slope failure originates in a local road about 100m above the highway and has brought down debris that was just dumped over the edge by bulldozers. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/flood-of-despair">When the record-breaking rain came</a>, the mud turned into paste and raced down the mountain carrying tree trunks and large stones. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241008141044_64f6af7e300ed517f6bd161491a69d85706caed35839cfeee7c87e6671a8fdc3.png" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241008141044_64f6af7e300ed517f6bd161491a69d85706caed35839cfeee7c87e6671a8fdc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="1346" loading="lazy" alt="jhyaple khola landslides"> <figcaption>The bend on the highway where the landslide, triggered by a sub-standard road up the mountain buried three buses, killing 35 people on the night of 28 September. Other buses also blocked by another landslide further up the road were also damaged. Photo: SOCIAL MEDIA(Photo: Sonia Awale)</figcaption> </figure>  Typically, Dasain is the busiest time of year for businesses along the highway in Jhyaple Khola as people leave Kathmandu by busloads to get home for the festival. “We do not stay here for long anymore, we are already home before the sun sets,” says Krishna Tamang. “We fear another landslide will hit us at any time.” In July, a debris flow <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/100-101-102-hh5uvzf9">swept two intercity buses into the Trisuli River</a> along the Mugling-Narayangad Highway 60km west of here. Of the 62 passengers on the two buses, only three were able to swim to safety. Search and rescue teams recovered 27 passengers from the river in the aftermath of the landslide, but neither the buses nor the rest of the passengers have been found.&nbsp; A committee formed by the government to investigate the Simaltal disaster concluded that a new local road constructed farther up the mountain was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/managing-the-monsoon">mainly responsible for the debris flow</a>. The Jhyaple Khola mudslide was a repeat of the July disaster. Locals in Dhading say that the Department of Roads had just completed the retaining wall, and the debris from the excavation done to construct the road had piled up, which the rain swept down to the highway below.&nbsp; Similar unplanned roads constructed further above in Nagdhunga have also clogged up the culverts, which remain uncleared.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241008141044_d46e7f612ce53b0c3133219a36ab81c5ef8f7494dc002452580c086d70028652.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20241008141044_d46e7f612ce53b0c3133219a36ab81c5ef8f7494dc002452580c086d70028652" data-rendition-name="original" width="2340" height="1560" loading="lazy" alt="jhyaple khola landslides"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI(Photo: Sonia Awale)</figcaption> </figure>  “This disaster occurred because of the locally elected representatives, the Road Department and the contractors,” says local business owner Shyam Kumar Lama. “<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-it-rains-it-pours-ksqprbu3">You cannot blame it on a natural disaster</a>." “They keep tearing down the retaining walls to build haphazard roads, and replace them with brick walls,” adds Lama. “How is a barely one-foot-thick wall going to stop a landslide?” Geologist Sri Kamal Dwivedi says that the Department of Roads has not heeded the geological risks in excavations for road expansion across the country. “The soil above Jhyaple Khola was loosened by torrential rain, causing a high-speed debris flow onto the highway below,” &nbsp;explains Dwivedi. “Additionally, the possibility of disasters like landslides increases when slopes are cut to make way for road expansion.” Transport expert Kamal Pandey says that disasters like the ones in Simaltal and Jhyaple Khola happen frequently because environmental risks are ignored during investments in road expansion. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-revenge-of-the-rivers">The revenge of the rivers</a>, Shamshad Ahmad “New roads are dug up like it is some kind of competition,” says Pandey. “But as long as unmanaged excavation continues without plans in place to mitigate landslides, disasters like the one at Jhyaple Khola will continue to happen.” Indeed, this is not the first time a disaster of this scale has struck in Jhyaple Khola. In 2001, a similar debris flow from higher up the hill buried a vehicle on the highway below, killing nine people.&nbsp; Landslides of smaller scales occur in the area every monsoon, but they do not make it to the news. But even as they are used to the frequent landslides, there is now a new kind of fear among residents.&nbsp; “I am overcome with terror every time I look up to the overcast sky,” says Shyam Lama. “We will never be safe in this place as long as the mountains keep falling on top of us.” &nbsp;

"The mountain fell on top of us"

The Rosi Valley is a ravaged landscape of boulders, tree trunks, overturned tipper trucks, tilted concrete houses and the surrounding mountains with claw marks. A week later, survivors are still in shock. Many who witnessed the 2015 earthquake say this disaster was worse, and it was made even more deadly because of unregulated quarries and stone mines in the Rosi watershed upstream. They blame collusion between contractors and municipality officials. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-revenge-of-the-rivers">The revenge of the rivers</a>, Shamshad Admad  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241007131020_c55becabe58855ee897cacf411e0889923bd699b07d563444f16c009362ed50e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241007131020_c55becabe58855ee897cacf411e0889923bd699b07d563444f16c009362ed50e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Rosi flood"> <figcaption>Panauti and quarries in the Rosi watershed in this Google Map image taken in May 2024.</figcaption> </figure>  Kumar Gurung, 54, was bailing out muddy water from inside his half-demolished house. He had bought the home only two days previously in the village of Bhaleswar with Rs3 million that his son, Dinesh, saved after working in Qatar. “My son’s years of hard work were washed away in minutes by the Rosi,” said Gurung in a raspy voice due to fever. Upriver in Panauti, Ganesh Dahal stares with his head resting on a hand, at what is left of his house which is buried by mud. This was the spot from where he had helped dig out the bodies of his 2 month old grand-daughter and daughter-in-law.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241008151024_2ec425286997c5f75e6d43e8e6a6c5cbf17d9bfe55899518fbddcb9bb87f34ce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241008151024_2ec425286997c5f75e6d43e8e6a6c5cbf17d9bfe55899518fbddcb9bb87f34ce" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Quarries along the Rosi River in Khusadevi."> <figcaption>Quarries along the Rosi River in Khusadevi.</figcaption> </figure>  “It took just minutes for ten lives to be lost,” he says, explaining that he is counting his daughter-in-law, her baby, and eight goats which were also like family. Ganesh’s wife is weeping silently nearby as relatives console her. Their daughter Puja had just come down a few days previously from her husband’s house to spend time with her parents. It was early morning on 28 September, and it had been raining constantly for two days already. Puja had got up at dawn to feed her baby, given the goats fodder, when the mudslide hit the house and she raised the alarm. The whole family decided to move up the mountain for safety. Ganesh’s daughter-in-law, Gopini, carried the baby and told Puja to run ahead. Just then a bigger slide buried them. “I was a little way behind, but saw the landslide take Gopini and the baby away,” Ganesh remembers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241007131020_ce23b02a81f46223f4be66d65fc2fa015fc3952ec53234258bfe9b0b0d4370b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241007131020_ce23b02a81f46223f4be66d65fc2fa015fc3952ec53234258bfe9b0b0d4370b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="4080" height="1884" loading="lazy" alt="Rosi flood"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241007131020_5c078a7eb2fe3b15f653ad7d0c9047339bb2dddd538c395f07e20689eb9c3e63.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241007131020_5c078a7eb2fe3b15f653ad7d0c9047339bb2dddd538c395f07e20689eb9c3e63" data-rendition-name="original" width="4080" height="2296" loading="lazy" alt="Rosi flood"> <figcaption>Photos: ARCHANA DARJI and SHAMSHAD AHMAD</figcaption> </figure>  The wall of mud also buried the home that he had rebuilt after it was damaged by the 2015 earthquake. His sons rushed home from Banepa, and started digging but it was not till the next morning that they found Gopini’s body still clasping the dead baby. “No one helped us, neither the police nor the officials we elected to the municipality,” says Ganesh. “They still have not come.” Homesteads in these mountains are scattered along the slopes, and help is hard to reach. Still, even a week later, no government agency has visited the village. The roads are damaged, so the family cannot even go anywhere. At nearby Jorghatta village, Guman Singh has just retrieved household items from his home which was buried by a mudslide. Scattered around him are bottles of spices, cooking oil and some food.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241007131020_25aa6caddc4d3f305bbdce2809375d1a8a5e2579cc9b3ff50aba8e4f661f9c8f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241007131020_25aa6caddc4d3f305bbdce2809375d1a8a5e2579cc9b3ff50aba8e4f661f9c8f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4080" height="1884" loading="lazy" alt="Rosi flood"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241007131020_8eb71c38cd867ce7e5ead08be2455ddde91a012e04442484499e310a24ca412e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241007131020_8eb71c38cd867ce7e5ead08be2455ddde91a012e04442484499e310a24ca412e" data-rendition-name="original" width="4080" height="1884" loading="lazy" alt="Rosi flood"> </figure>  &nbsp;Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/flood-of-despair">Flood of despair</a>, Rastraraj Bhandari “It’s gone, everything is gone,” he mutters. “We heard it coming down, so we ran for safety. But we lost the house and everything in it. Neighbour Namrata Nagarkoti’s house was also swept away. “It is like I am not conscious, and watching myself going about,” she says, still in shock of what has befallen her family. There was a lot of commotion that morning from neighbours who shouted: “Run, run, there is a flood coming.” She and her family managed to climb to higher ground, but watched the flood take their home away. “We had no time to take anything out,” she says. “We had just harvested the paddy and corn, we had some cash. We have nothing except the clothes we are wearing.” The Rosi River has changed course and is now flowing through Tilak Tamang’s house which only has one wall left. His roadside eatery is filled with slushy mud. “We had no time to take anything out,” Tamang says. “I just have this T-shirt and half pants I am wearing. The Rosi took everything.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241008151028_c2cb6d1529b0f9b6419cc97ab5199ef9aab4a8e54f0bacfa8c4bedcba570560e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20241008151028_c2cb6d1529b0f9b6419cc97ab5199ef9aab4a8e54f0bacfa8c4bedcba570560e" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="640" loading="lazy" alt="Downstream from the Rosi after it joins the Sun Kosi, a 200m section of the B P Highway was washed away by the flood on 28 September, cutting off Kathmandu from the eastern parts of the country."> <figcaption>Downstream from the Rosi after it joins the Sun Kosi, a 200m section of the B P Highway was washed away by the flood on 28 September, cutting off Kathmandu from the eastern parts of the country. PEMA LAMA / RSS</figcaption> </figure>  Nearby, Dil Kumari Raut was luckier. She managed to save her livestock and her home, but her paddy field ready for harvest is all gone. “What is important is that I am alive,” she tells us. Of the total 244 people who are so far known to have lost their lives in Nepal’s flood last week, 69 died only in the Rosi Valley. Of the 71 injured, most are still in Dhulikhel Hospital. Some villagers had walked all day to Bhaleswar to get relief supplies and food, they were resting by the road and looked tired, hungry and traumatised. Panauti Municipality is distributing 35kg of rice, 2kg dal, salt, and cooking oil to each family. But some of the villagers complained they got only half the rice. “Most of the relief supplies are going to friends of the local officials and those living along the roads,” says Dinesh Gurung. “For us from up the mountains there is nothing.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241008151028_2dd3673e5ff21a10e60fd3a25b5944292f1c89d04f8f486782679b0505b92d99.png" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20241008151028_2dd3673e5ff21a10e60fd3a25b5944292f1c89d04f8f486782679b0505b92d99" data-rendition-name="original" width="858" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="How the floodplain of the Sun Kosi at Mulkot, downstream from the Rosi, has been overbuilt between 2003 and 2024. The resort was swept away, as was a part of the highway."> <figcaption>How the floodplain of the Sun Kosi at Mulkot, downstream from the Rosi, has been overbuilt between 2003 and 2024. The resort was swept away, as was a part of the highway. Photo: SOCIAL MEDIA</figcaption> </figure>  With Dasain around the corner, most villagers up here say they have nothing to eat, no safe drinking water, no electricity and no homes. “Where do we go now?” asks Indra Tamang. “Where is the government?” Most villagers said they had never got the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-it-rains-it-pours-ksqprbu3">forecast warnings</a> the Department of Meteorology put out about the heavy rainfall a week before the flood hit. Although most in Kathmandu had heard the warnings on the radio or phones, the information had not gotten up here in the mountains of Kavre. “It was normal to expect rain, but we did not know it was going to be so heavy,” says Tanka Banjara, who is the disaster management coordinator for his ward council. “If we had been forewarned, we could have moved to safer places.” Many seniors here do not recall <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/60-dead-64-missing-in-nepal-floods">rain and flood damage on this scale</a> before. There was a flood in 1981 also, but the damage was not as bad. “Our village has become a cemetery. How can we survive here?” asks Ganesh Dahal.&nbsp;

A flood of tears on the Rosi

Ayan Dallakoti spent his childhood in Japan, speaking Japanese and for all intents and purposes, considered himself Japanese. It was only as he grew older that he realised he was actually from Nepal. &nbsp; Ayan was eight years old when his mother Pratibha brought him and his younger brother Avan back to Nepal. Their father Anjay, who is still in Japan, had decided to send the boys home so they could “become Nepali”. Ayan was somewhat familiar with the Nepali language and the country, but in Kathmandu, everything felt foreign, including the education system. “Things were a little easier when he had a classmate who had also returned from Japan, but making Nepali friends did not come easily for them,” remembers Pratibha.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240922040928_c4a683bc4723ce1f5b5683d41add972c915ea6b6fc229a44b713c707381d8787.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240922040928_c4a683bc4723ce1f5b5683d41add972c915ea6b6fc229a44b713c707381d8787" data-rendition-name="original" width="5856" height="3904" loading="lazy" alt="Japan-born Nepali children NT 3"> <figcaption>All photos: GOPEN RAI</figcaption> </figure>  Japan is now a major destination for Nepali families like the Dallakotis. Officially, there are 180,000 Nepalis in Japan and 35,000 more left just in the past year – a 30% increase from the year before that.&nbsp; Japanese embassy figures show that of those who left last year, 23,124 were on student visas, 8,566 were on working visas and 7,849 were dependents. While most of the older generation of Nepalis in Japan are cooks who went as ‘skilled labour’, the new crop of migrants are mostly on student visas, working part-time. For the Japanese government, a student visa is a carefully calibrated temporary migration system to fill the country’s labour shortage in the service sector. Unlike the Gulf, Korea, Malaysia and other countries, Nepalis in Japan can also take along their families. Which is why Nepali schools have sprung up in large cities in Japan. These schools teach Nepali language, culture, and also English. But for families who work far away from those cities, the children have no option but to get a Japanese education.&nbsp; Anjay Dallakoti initially went to Japan as a student, but extended his stay with a working visa. Pratibha joined him a few years later as a dependent. Ayan was born in Japan, and six years later Avan. After 12 years, Pratibha is back in Nepal with both her boys.&nbsp; In many Nepali families in Japan, it is the children who are having to adjust to being caught in between two worlds. Many have to cope with the double adjustment of first arriving in Japan, and then returning to school in Nepal. According to Masako Tanaka, a professor at Tokyo’s Sophia University, nearly 20,000 Nepalis in Japan are minors. Tanaka has been working closely with Nepali migrants in Japan, and says many mothers are bringing their children back to Nepal because of worries that they are losing touch with their identity and culture back home. The other reason is that the children are not learning enough English, and the parents fear they will lose out in later life. &nbsp; “Returning to Nepal and studying in schools here helps create an environment for the children to either stay and work in Nepal in future or go to a third country,” says Sapana Kharel, who also returned to Nepal with her two children. For Nepali families who have not yet got permanent resident status, staying on in Japan and continuing their children’s education is too uncertain. They worry that this could interrupt their children’s education if they have to leave Japan midway through school.&nbsp; “There is fear that the children will neither have a place in Nepali schools nor there in Japan,” adds Kharel. Others say that they would have returned to Nepal for the sake of the children no matter what, even if they got permanent residence in Japan. Indeed, there are Nepali mothers who are already permanent residents who have opted to return with their children.&nbsp; Take the Subedi family who have permanent resident status in Japan, but brought their daughter Shibika to Nepal after she completed Grade 1 in Japan.&nbsp; Many migrant children like Shibika had to repeat grades they had already studied in Japan. She had to repeat Grade 1, and is now in Grade 9. Her mother Nitu Bista Subedi feels that repeating a year was necessary to strengthen her daughter’s foundation in the Nepali curriculum.&nbsp; “Shibika has fond memories of Japan and misses being together with the whole family there, and she worries that her Japanese classmates are getting ahead of her,” says Subedi. Ten-year-old Ahana Odari had her own struggles when she was brought to Nepal by her mother a year ago. She too had to repeat Grade 3. “She just wouldn’t speak for the first few months because of the language problem,” remembers her mother, Balika Odari. “Ahana took a whole year to adapt and adjust to Nepal and its ways. But this was necessary.”&nbsp; Like a lot of parents, Balika feels that although Japan’s education system is one of the best in the world, children there are more reclusive and do not socialise as much. “We were worried our children would turn out the same way, and that is why we decided to bring them back and introduce them to their country and culture,” she explains. In more extreme cases, migration can hinder the psychosocial development of returning children. &nbsp; “Early-age children are good at learning dual or multiple languages, but because of the limited vocabulary they are exposed to, they might not always have words to express how they are feeling. And that is where the problem lies,” says Srijana Adhikari, a clinical psychologist at Happy Minds.&nbsp; “For healthy development, the environment the child grows up in and the needs to be stable,” she adds. “If not, this may lead to problems adjusting, separation anxiety and struggles in building relationships.” Sneha Khatri, now 14, oscillated between Nepal and Japan over the years. She was born in Japan but was brought to Nepal when she was six. She studied here until Grade 3 and then went to the Nepali-run Everest International School in Tokyo.&nbsp; Sneha came back to Nepal a month ago to appear for her Basic Level Examination (BLE) but is worried about her results. She is taking extra tutorials in mathematics.&nbsp; Ayan is now in Grade 7, and is also worried about his BLE next year. He says in Japanese-accented English: “Social Studies is my first hardest subject, and Nepali is the second hardest.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240922040932_3ddaf6b56253baac855f2b4de4f9a646b1c80a677cc8e9d73d469a3c37496ea7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240922040932_3ddaf6b56253baac855f2b4de4f9a646b1c80a677cc8e9d73d469a3c37496ea7" data-rendition-name="original" width="5477" height="3651" loading="lazy" alt="Japan-born Nepali children NT 4"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240922040932_3b59646b4c1f30831b039caf8c5e9018fb0ce23349dacebfa0cbee024b4bd885.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240922040932_3b59646b4c1f30831b039caf8c5e9018fb0ce23349dacebfa0cbee024b4bd885" data-rendition-name="original" width="5928" height="3808" loading="lazy" alt="Japan-born Nepali children NT 5"> </figure>  Speaking Nepali with family and friends is not hard for the returnee migrant children, but Nepali as an academic subject is difficult.&nbsp; Professor Tanaka says migrant children have fallen through the cracks between Japan and Nepal. She asks rhetorically, “Who will think about the welfare of the migrant children? Who is responsible for them?”&nbsp; Tanaka was in Kathmandu recently for a workshop on Nepali language education for migrant children during which she presented research findings of her Migrant Children Language Education project. Tanaka’s conclusion is that mother tongue Nepali language education is the best way to help the reintegration of children returning from Japan. “The government can start by developing Nepali language learning resources for online or home learners abroad, training teachers abroad, and organising and encouraging events for Nepali children overseas,” Tanaka told Nepali Times.&nbsp; “Nepal can learn from countries like Myanmar, Thailand, Vietnam and Brazil which are working on national language education for their migrant children in Japan.” To be sure, there are also students who are doing well despite the culture shock of moving back and forth between Japan and Nepal.&nbsp; Sapana Kharel’s daughter, Saurya was born in Japan. She came to Nepal when she was six to study in Nepal. Soon after, she went to Japan. She came back when she was 12 to appear for the Nepali BLE. She initially struggled and had low confidence, but soon overcame it and did well. “Now, I’ve realised the importance of learning my mother tongue and have taken up Nepali classes as part of my course,” says Saurya, now 17, in flawless Nepali. But for other migrant children whose parents do not speak enough Nepali when they were in Japan, mastering the mother tongue is still a big hurdle.&nbsp; Ayan’s mother looks at her two children playing at her home in Kirtipur, and says, “The sacrifice we made as a couple, living far from one another, is for our children, their education and for a better future.”&nbsp; <h2>Nepali in Nippon</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240922040928_bb476f3818df3d28240779b520cb93b2aee216f9a1023e0bbe0fccd3abbcd6f6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240922040928_bb476f3818df3d28240779b520cb93b2aee216f9a1023e0bbe0fccd3abbcd6f6" data-rendition-name="original" width="6000" height="4000" loading="lazy" alt="Japan-born Nepali children NT "> </figure>  In June, when the SEE (Secondary Education Examination) results came out, one of the students who passed was a Zambian national student from Japan. He was studying at the Everest International School Japan (EISJ) in Tokyo which follows the Nepali curriculum, and accommodates the need of families in Nepal and other countries in Japan to also learn English. Initially started in 2013 by the Nepali community, this school came under Nepal’s Ministry of Education (MoE) in 2015. EISJ is the only school in Japan that is certified to take Nepal’s SEE in Japan.&nbsp; Other schools that follow the Nepali curriculum have also opened up, over the years. But only two of them, Tokai Batika International School in Nagoya and Himalayan International Academy in Tokyo are certified to conduct Nepali curriculum as per Nepal’s Ministry of Education. But both provide education only below Grade 10.&nbsp; “As of now, the only country to have schools that follow Nepali curriculum is Japan,” says Parshuram Tiwari, director at the Education Review Office at the MoE in Kathmandu. The majority of Nepali families and a few non-Nepali families working in Japan decide to send their children to schools like EISJ because of the English medium. But these are private international schools, unlike the Japanese government schools which are free of cost. And because these schools are not certified, the Japanese government provides no subsidy, no transportation discount among other privileges to these schools, says Professor Masako Tanaka at Sophia University in Tokyo. &nbsp;“Most importantly, graduates of EISJ cannot get visa status independently even after graduation from high school level, while the migrant students who graduate from Japanese schools are eligible.” Many Nepali families enrol their children to such schools without knowing this, adds Tanka. But even those who know about drawbacks want to provide their children with the opportunity to get international exposure with English language skills. Nepali curriculum schools are mostly based in and around Tokyo, and many Nepali families who live in the suburbs of Japan opt to come to Nepal for their children’s education. (Adjoining article) “We lived in Niigata. It would take us six hours to travel to Everest International School in Tokyo. So, we came to Nepal to give our children English medium education,” says Pratibha Dallakoti, who returned from Japan with her two sons in 2020. While schools that follow the Nepali curriculum in Japan have been a relief for Nepali parents who want their children to pursue Nepali curriculum education, these schools getting certified by the Japanese government would be better. “There are several other international schools in Japan that are certified by both Japanese and foreign dual standards like the &nbsp;Kyoto Kokusai School,” wrote Professor Tanaka in an email interview. “It is for the better that these Nepali curriculum schools like EISJ become similar to KKS which makes it easier for the children as they can get a certificate from both the government. ”

Japan-born Nepali children struggle to ‘be Nepali’

A warming atmosphere also warms perennially frozen mountains. The stability of frozen rocks decreases with increasing temperature similar to how butter just taken out of a fridge &nbsp;becomes softer and less resistant to &nbsp;the cutting force of the knife. Thawing frozen mountains means softening them, making them less resistant against gravity, leading to breakage of small to large sections, resulting in rock falls, rock avalanches, and landslides. There is growing concern about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/for-destruction-ice-is-also-great-and-will-suffice">the impact of global warming</a> on the stability of icy peaks in mountain ranges around the world, which several recent events in the Himalaya well illustrate. Permafrost is a technical short form of ‘permanent frost’ for frozen ground which remains at temperatures below zero degrees throughout the year.&nbsp; Permafrost is below the surface, is not directly visible, and therefore often escapes the attention of scientists and political authorities. Sophisticated methods must be used to explore it, such as drilling, geophysical soundings, or climate-related modelling.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240907160944_bbe43b730a10b861f318285a1999a1f6f4d245287618ff49ebfc8e51d154f573.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240907160944_bbe43b730a10b861f318285a1999a1f6f4d245287618ff49ebfc8e51d154f573" data-rendition-name="original" width="4108" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The not so permanent frost Page 6-7 #1228 NT"> <figcaption>Even small glacial lakes, such as these currently forming near the terminus of the Kangchenjunga glacier in eastern Nepal, can be dangerous. Photo: ALTON C BYERS(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  Generally, temperatures at surface level and directly below match the temperature of the air immediately above it. Polewards to around 60°N and S latitude, mean annual air and ground temperatures are mostly below 0°C. Permafrost is widespread in Alaska, northern Canada and Siberia. The lower limit of negative mean annual temperatures is at &nbsp;2,000-3,000m at mid-latitudes such as the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/in-high-places">European Alps</a> or the Southern Alps of New Zealand, to 3,000-4,000m in the Himalaya, and to 5,000m near the equator in the Peruvian Cordilleras. Above these elevations, permafrost affects peaks. In high mountains the permafrost area is often far larger than their glacier-covered regions. In Nepal, the permafrost-affected area is about 2 to 3 times bigger than the glacier area, while in China with the perennially frozen Tibetan Plateau this factor is about 30. Temperatures decrease by 6-7°C for every 1,000m of altitude increase, and the coldest and most deeply frozen rocks are found in the highest parts of the peaks. The frozen zone inside mountains can reach depths of hundreds of metres. It is not just the ice on peaks in the European Alps or the Himalaya that is frozen throughout the year, but so are the rocks.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240907160944_b75f78e4ee6d146e797f06536491c445891fbeb578f60105f57247a8dc066bbd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240907160944_b75f78e4ee6d146e797f06536491c445891fbeb578f60105f57247a8dc066bbd" data-rendition-name="original" width="916" height="674" loading="lazy" alt="The not so permanent frost Page 6-7 #1228 NT"> <figcaption>Mt Chamlang (7,319m) with creeping frozen debris (rock glaciers, yellow arrows) and Lakes 464 and 465 (blue arrows) from glacier retreat at its foot. Mt Makalu (8,485m) is in the background.(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  The sunny side of mountains are warmer, and the permafrost is thinner there than slopes in mountain shadow. Temperatures are not constant throughout the year, so a thin surface layer up to a few metres on top of permafrost that thaws in summer and freezes in winter. This seasonal freezing and thawing surface layer on permafrost is called the ‘active layer’. Deep, long-term freezing influences geomorphic processes inside mountains, drastically changing their properties. Growth of ice in cracks and fissures within solid rock tends to expand already existing openings, and even create new ones. The related weakening of bedrock, however, is compensated by strong adhesion and increasing strength induced by the ice fillings and related cold temperatures. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/tracing-past-glacial-floods-in-kangchenjunga">Tracing past glacial floods in Kangchenjunga</a>, Alton C Byers Not only the ice itself, but also rocks, rock-ice, and rock-rock contacts increase their strength with lower temperatures. Perhaps most important is the effect of freezing and ice filling of cracks between rocks containing water. Deep frozen rocks are essentially impermeable to water as an often-decisive factor of stability inside mountain slopes. In the abundant debris masses at the foot of high mountains, deep, long-term freezing causes even more spectacular changes. Formation of ice inside and beyond the pores can create a mixture of ice and debris with ice lenses, enabling such ice-rich frozen masses to slowly creep down the slopes of mountains. Landforms resulting from permafrost creep over past millennia look like lava streams and are called ‘rock glaciers’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240907160944_dc86dc2e254de22afefcd3f6c2df76af6c0aab87555f702dc853992987dcb3fc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240907160944_dc86dc2e254de22afefcd3f6c2df76af6c0aab87555f702dc853992987dcb3fc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1072" height="625" loading="lazy" alt="The not so permanent frost Page 6-7 #1228 NT"> </figure>  Thawing out From long-term temperature measurements in deep boreholes, we know that global temperature increase of the atmosphere during the past about 100-150 years has warmed up mountain slopes down to depths below the surface of about 100m. The effect of this deep warming is the reversal of the freezing and cooling effects. It reduces the strength of rocks or debris with ice and makes them ‘softer’ and more permeable to water. Over the past decades, creep rates of frozen debris in rock glaciers have markedly increased, and the frequency of large rock-ice avalanches from high-mountain permafrost has accelerated. In the Peruvian Andes, two major events from mountain permafrost occurred in 2020 and 2023. Both had volumes of 1-1.5 million m3, reached lakes at the foot of the slope, and produced flood waves. The 2020 Salkantay flood caused loss of lives and heavy damage at Santa Teresa, 35km down valley. The flood wave at Rasac was fortunately retained within the lake at lower altitude. On 5 May 2012, a massive rock, ice, and debris avalanche from Annapurna IV <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/remembering-the-seti-disaster">cascaded into the Seti River gorge</a>, plummeting into a rockfall-dammed lake. The impact triggered an air blast that levelled thousands of hectares of forests, a dust cloud covered the countryside in fine white rock powder, and a hyper-concentrated slurry flood that killed 72 people downstream.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240907160944_81860cf5896090449c7fd074796f683c164e2bff782a46390cd43eee6202f19b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240907160944_81860cf5896090449c7fd074796f683c164e2bff782a46390cd43eee6202f19b" data-rendition-name="original" width="780" height="539" loading="lazy" alt="The not so permanent frost Page 6-7 #1228 NT"> <figcaption>Rock failure from Annapurna IV led to a series of cascading events that resulted in the Seti River flood of 2012 that killed 72 people. Map: J  KARGEL / D REGMI(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  On 20 April 2017, a high altitude breakage of solid rock from the east face of Saldim Peak (6,388m) in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-mountains-are-melting">Barun Valley turned into a 1.1 million m3 debris flow</a> of ice and sediment that plummeted 1,200m down to the Langmale Glacial lake below. Although the lake was less than 0.01km2 in size, the combination of lake water with melting ice from the ice-debris flow triggered a massive hyper-concentrated flood that destroyed forests, pastureland, and trekking lodges for several dozen kilometres to the Barun’s confluence with the Arun. In India’s Uttarakhand state bordering Nepal, the Chamoli event of 7 February 2021 was catalysed by the detachment of 20 to 30 million m3 of rocks and ice from a frozen, ice-clad peak. The ensuing avalanche developed into a rapidly flowing mass of rocks, ice and water, killing 204 people and heavily damaging an under-construction hydropower infrastructure 35km downstream.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240907160944_c7284846f8a571d8d1f5596b7731e7c4c2521f764aaf9e5df23ad9d0ad41d986.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20240907160944_c7284846f8a571d8d1f5596b7731e7c4c2521f764aaf9e5df23ad9d0ad41d986" data-rendition-name="original" width="798" height="462" loading="lazy" alt="The not so permanent frost Page 6-7 #1228 NT"> <figcaption>This massive breakage (below) of solid rock from Saldim Peak in 2017 fell on a lake and unleashed a flood downstream on the Barun River. Top photo is of the peak before the collapse. Photos: ALTON C BYERS(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240907160944_6e686f290b44e89cce8a1b822a74895c8d6a4ac4122572223ba3c4160b88879f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20240907160944_6e686f290b44e89cce8a1b822a74895c8d6a4ac4122572223ba3c4160b88879f" data-rendition-name="original" width="799" height="470" loading="lazy" alt="The not so permanent frost Page 6-7 #1228 NT"> </figure>  On 3 October 2023, the collapse of about 15 million m3 of debris from a perennially frozen moraine into <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/sikkim-flood-is-warning-to-nepal">South Lhonak Lake in the Sikkim</a> Himalaya produced a flood wave and debris flow which killed 14 people with over 100 missing, destroyed a hydropower reservoir at Chungthang, 60km downstream, and caused destruction of houses, roads, and agricultural land. Similar processes may have been involved in the Birendra Tal glacial lake flood of 21 April 2024 and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lives-on-the-line-in-the-himalaya">the Thame flood of 16 August 2024</a>. Each of the above cases show the potential hazard over long distances related to process chains, especially in connection with impacted mobile water bodies in glacial lakes and artificial reservoirs.&nbsp; <h2>12 TIPS: Awareness and Protective Measures</h2> Changes in high altitude permafrost, and the devastating geomorphic events they cause are still poorly understood by Nepal’s scientific community and government. Earthquakes and heavy rainfall are usually reported by the press to be the primary causes of catastrophic events, both of which are impossible to predict. However, climate change and gravity, the two major forces at work on Himalayan permafrost, are constants. As permafrost continues to destabilise at the highest altitudes in the Nepal Himalaya, more and more devastating events can be expected to occur.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240907160944_dd2d77fb090fb2f5c836411d61bd6e7bb4e2e40ea2abae3d8eee8a686e9457dc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20240907160944_dd2d77fb090fb2f5c836411d61bd6e7bb4e2e40ea2abae3d8eee8a686e9457dc" data-rendition-name="original" width="977" height="733" loading="lazy" alt="The not so permanent frost Page 6-7 #1228 NT"> <figcaption>Gabions installed near Chukung in 2015 protected the village from a similar flood from the Lhotse Glacier in 2014. Photo: ALTON BYERS(Photo: Shristi Karki)</figcaption> </figure>  The question is, what can we do about it? Based on our collective experience in the European Alps, Peruvian Andes, and Nepal Himalaya over the past several decades, we offer the following suggestions: 1. Encourage more permafrost and hazard research. Nepal’s scientists and practitioners need to better understand and acknowledge the role of permafrost change in the growing list of climate change-related impacts in the high mountain environment, and more research of an applied nature is indicated. Interdisciplinary approaches that include and involve local people usually yield the most promising and effective results. 2. Standardise glacial lake risk assessment methods. Currently, scientists use various methods to assess a lake’s potential danger of flooding, with predictably mixed and widely differing results. Imja glacial lake in Khumbu, for example, is considered by some scientists to be extremely dangerous, and by others to have a low to moderate risk. The result is confusion among local people, local governments, and scientists alike. 3. Update and revise the current list of potentially dangerous glacial lakes in Nepal. The inventory should incorporate the changing permafrost factor, including smaller lakes less than 0.01km2. Even very small glacial lakes, such as those above Thame and the Langmale glacial lake in the Barun, can be as destructive as large lakes under the right conditions and cascading processes. 4. Develop new feasibility study protocols for large hydropower projects. These guidelines must incorporate the changing permafrost factor as well as the heightened threat of glacier floods. The potentially disastrous impacts of climate change upon major hydropower projects in Nepal have been predicted by scientists for decades, and yet the construction (and destruction) of major, multi-million-dollar installations continues. Hundreds of lives, and millions of dollars of infrastructure, stand to be saved through the use of more detailed, comprehensive evaluations of permafrost and glacier-related risks prior to project implementation. 5. Develop zoning policies. These should discourage the location of farms and infrastructure (homes, tourist lodges) within known and active floodplains. Some scientists believe that most of the deaths from the 2012 Seti flood could have been prevented had settlements not been located directly in the floodplain. 6. Simple is beautiful. Rock-filled wire cages (gabions) can be engineered to effectively divert floods and should continue to be promoted in high mountain regions. In the village of Chukung located directly in the floodplain of the Lhotse Glacier in the Sagarmatha National Park, for instance, the installation of gabions after a glacier flood in 2015 protected the village the following year when a second similar flood from the same glacier occurred.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240907160944_ce975f82275c7936c7948fbf7fd7231b61adecc01d5510760144a8f3d0467859.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="20240907160944_ce975f82275c7936c7948fbf7fd7231b61adecc01d5510760144a8f3d0467859" data-rendition-name="original" width="1005" height="695" loading="lazy" alt="The not so permanent frost Page 6-7 #1228 NT"> </figure>  7. Build higher bridges. This can effectively address the growing frequency and magnitudes of glacier floods in the high mountains, eliminating the need for continuous rebuilding. 8. Increase awareness. Nepal’s mountains will continue to destabilise and become even more dangerous in future. Exercising extra caution while crossing a landslide, an active torrent, or a debris-covered glacier is a fact of life in today’s high Himalayan regions. Likewise, constructing a lodge, school, or community building beneath a small and seemingly harmless glacial lake should be discouraged. 9. Promote simple and effective early warning systems. In spite of their much-touted role in disaster mitigation, early warning systems installed to date at potentially dangerous glacial lakes in Nepal have proven to be expensive disappointments. They are typically installed by a remote and distant government agency, little training in their use by local villagers is offered, and local people say they have no idea what the warning sirens sound like nor what they should do if one goes off. Thus far the most effective and proven EWS tool has been the cell phone. Hundreds of lives were saved during the Seti River flood of 2012 when upstream witnesses phoned warnings to their downstream family and friends. 10. Improve mechanisms that allow scientists to communicate. The results of their permafrost and glacier hazard research should directly, quickly, and effectively be communicated to decision-makers. This has proven to be easy to recommend but difficult to implement in most of the world but is nevertheless in need of our constant efforts to achieve. 11. Encouraging transboundary permafrost research. Increased cooperation between scientists and researchers in Nepal, China, and India is needed to help identify potentially vulnerable crossborder rockfall, avalanche, and catastrophic flooding risk. 12. Develop and implement adaptation planning. Continue planning and training programs targeted at permafrost-related floods and other highland-lowland hazards. Local Adaptation Plans for Action (LAPA) have proven to be an effective tool for increasing local awareness of climate impacts as well as planning for mitigation measures. Dr Wilfried Haeberli is with the University of Zurich and Dr Alton C Byers University of Colorado at Boulder.

The not-so-permanent frost

Chandra Basnet started walking from Jajarkot and five days later after climbing passes more than 5,300m high, she reached the desolate tent camp of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19381">yarsagumba harvesters in Upper Dolpo</a>. The 21-year-old joined the seasonal migration with 40kg of supplies on her back and a baby daughter wrapped around her front with a shawl. Her husband carried an additional 20kg of supply. “Bringing my baby was the toughest part, it is hard to carry her,” says Chandra, who is on the third week of her stay. “There are no hospitals around here, so if she falls sick we have to pack up everything and walk back.” The Basnet family is among tens of thousands who move to the high mountains on the Tibet border in the pre-monsoon <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/its-yarsa-picking-time">yarsa gold rush every year</a>. Yarsagumba (Cordyceps fungus) is a fungus that grows on caterpillar larvae at between 3,500-5,000m elevation, and is prized in traditional Chinese medicine fetching up to $110,000 per kg in Shanghai.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024083018080_212fa6dfb8c231d21a6af7b7e87e0ffe9028c1feeabb22f833a19e7dfa4cc443.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2024083018080_212fa6dfb8c231d21a6af7b7e87e0ffe9028c1feeabb22f833a19e7dfa4cc443" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush NT"> <figcaption>All photos: Shrijan Pandey</figcaption> </figure>  The Shey-Phoksundo National Park in Dolpo issues harvest permits every year for a month starting mid-May. This year, there were 8,584 entries – double last year’s total. But climate breakdown and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/overharvesting-yarsa-and-income,1546">overharvesting means that yarsa pickings have fallen</a> in quantity and quality. The Basnet family spent Rs500,000 to come here, expecting high returns but were able to make only Rs200,000. Says Chandra, “We went through a lot of hardships, but hoped we could at least make up the cost of coming here to help raise our daughter, but it was not worth it.”&nbsp; Until recently, yarsa was a lucrative albeit risky undertaking in Nepal’s highlands where subsistence farmers depend on it to <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18321">supplement their income</a>. But it is a dangerous occupation. Just this season Karnali Province reported the death of 12 harvesters. Conditions are tough. Most pickers cannot afford proper tents and clothing to cope with the harsh weather. Most bring their children along, and they are the first to fall sick. The health post at Dho Tarap was open, but there was no staff.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024083018080_dea884b9a059c76cbbecc3cf6cae70d7de5e08b069e87637c0ad297446661546.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2024083018080_dea884b9a059c76cbbecc3cf6cae70d7de5e08b069e87637c0ad297446661546" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush NT"> <figcaption>Chandra Basnet walked from Jajarkot to Upper Dolpo with 4okg of supplies and a toddler daughter.</figcaption> </figure>  Jamuna Bista, 22, died on her way back down to Rukum because she could not get medical care in time. Her family cremated her by lighting a pile of shrubs and roots gathered from the arid slopes.&nbsp; Apart from the difficult terrain, yarsa harvest is getting riskier because of higher temperatures, winter drought and unseasonal rain caused by climate breakdown. This affects the yarsa which needs a temperature of between -15°C &nbsp;to -5°C during the winter and pre-monsoon rain to grow properly and emerge partially from the ground.&nbsp; “Looking at the declining yarsa harvest and climate change, we are forced to question if yarsa will soon be extinct,” says Bishwo Babu Shrestha, warden of Shey Phoksundo National Park.&nbsp; This means a major source of livelihood for underserved families in the lower valleys of western Nepal will be in jeopardy, exacerbating the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/brain-gain-into-brain-drain">outmigration trend</a>. As more pickers return empty-handed or with losses that have driven them into debt, the families struggle to support their children.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024083018080_b6e6cb98c55696a49569229554a59686ec32e39096e1a03c37857e6e2940e34e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2024083018080_b6e6cb98c55696a49569229554a59686ec32e39096e1a03c37857e6e2940e34e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1416" height="877" loading="lazy" alt="The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush NT"> </figure>  Kunsang Dorje Gurung, 38, of Tinje in Upper Dolpo harvested his first yarsagumba when he was 12. “It was like finding a gold nugget,” Dorje recalled. “I felt an intense energy.”&nbsp; However, in 26 years since, he has noticed a steep decline in the pickings, and the few yarsa that are collected are of poor quality. “I used to make up to Rs300,000 a season back in the day but now, I barely earn Rs30,000,” he says. Gurung blames this on a prolonged drought that also sparked wildfires across the mountains. Some families even performed rituals, praying for rain and a good yarsa harvest. “I don’t have any other job,” says Gurung. “The only thing I know is collecting yarsa. If I find enough, it’s a good year. If not, I have nothing.” Researchers have also plotted the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/giving-yarsagumba-a-chance-for-regrowth">decline in yarsa harvests</a> in the past five years. A kilogram of high-quality yarsa would have between 2,500-2,900 pieces, but now even 4,000 yarsa pieces do not make 1kg.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024083018080_daa088be0c5fa992dc5bba26be84e9ee89f66b161cdc9134cb7113992f71ddf2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2024083018080_daa088be0c5fa992dc5bba26be84e9ee89f66b161cdc9134cb7113992f71ddf2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1043" loading="lazy" alt="The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush NT"> <figcaption>A local woman prepares cooking fuel at 4,500m in Upper Dolpo.</figcaption> </figure>  “Yarsa has been a huge source of income, but its ecological, economic, and social impacts are far-reaching,” says Suraj Upadhaya, of the School of Agriculture, Communities and the Environment at Kentucky State University.&nbsp; There is also a tax of Rs31,000 for every kg of yarsa, which pickers often avoid paying. Shey Phoksundo National Park also collects a Rs500 yarsa fee from every resident and Rs2,000 from those outside, making it easy to track the number of harvesters. Last year, Rs85,000 was collected in fees, whereas this year the figure jumped to Rs10.86 million, hinting at enormous overharvesting. Trampling is also another cause of low harvests, researchers say, increased human activity on the slopes means the top soil is compacted, preventing the next cycle of growth.&nbsp; All this means that the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19382">poorest Nepalis </a>are losing an extra source of income that was allowing them to survive.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024083018080_df7b151ecb439ead56150934aba4b65786b946d46383f4ba542a61008ac6984e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2024083018080_df7b151ecb439ead56150934aba4b65786b946d46383f4ba542a61008ac6984e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush NT"> <figcaption>Harvesters look for yarsa in steep slopes of Upper Dolpo.</figcaption> </figure>  Warns Warden Shrestha: “This is going to unleash an economic crisis in the region, families will not have the money to buy food leading to starvation.” &nbsp; The desperation is already apparent in the rise in crime. Robbers loot pickers on their way down from the mountains, stealing their yarsa or money, or both. There are also territorial disputes between locals and pickers from outside. In 2009, seven people were killed in Manang in a fight.&nbsp; Overharvesting of yarsa also impacts on many other species in the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/saving-shey-phoksundo-in-nepal,3596">Shey Phoksundo National Park’s fragile high altitude ecosystem</a> where plants take a lot longer to grow. The endangered animals here like the snow leopard, Tibetan wolf, and blue sheep are also affected by the human impact on their food chain, as well as poaching. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024083018080_4a3c0997036eec9fee4cf561f2afdbf8a42a80996d3c7f42b1a92847ce065dda.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="2024083018080_4a3c0997036eec9fee4cf561f2afdbf8a42a80996d3c7f42b1a92847ce065dda" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush NT"> </figure>  “We have not been able to manage this systematically,” admits Shrestha, adding that despite funding from the government, royalties, and tariff collection from locals, many of the security posts lack staff to enforce regulation. “Dolpo used to be a self-sustaining barter economy, but now everything has to be bought,” says Upadhaya whose research suggests that alternative crops like olives can provide a good source of income in the region. Yarsa’s instant reward, however, means local people cannot wait for returns from such long-term investment.&nbsp; Worryingly, much of the income generated from yarsa hasn’t been diverted to productive sectors either. Most of the locals have spent their money on renovating their houses and on consumer items. &nbsp; As Nepal’s road network expands and snakes up through Dolpo, the remotest corners of the Himalaya are being connected. This <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/dazzling-dolpo">can open up new opportunities </a>including the region’s potential for religious and eco-tourism that can provide an alternative livelihood for yarsa pickers. <h2>Easy pickings</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024083018080_bebf6aaf638cf8ffeed7ac09ae1a3eb93ff4a4f206e39e291c4654d73711ea3c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="2024083018080_bebf6aaf638cf8ffeed7ac09ae1a3eb93ff4a4f206e39e291c4654d73711ea3c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush NT"> </figure>  Pratap Rokaya, 48, is a social studies teacher at Shree Shelri Drugdra School in Saldang in Upper Dolpo, and like his students, started collecting the fungus when he was 17. Despite having a government job, Rokaya says he needs the additional income.&nbsp; Such is the economic significance of yarsa that schools in the region are shut during the harvest season, allowing children to tag along with their parents so that they can also help pick with their keen eye-sight and nimble fingers. &nbsp; “Even though such long breaks are not good for students, their guardians are left with no choice,” Rokaya adds. “We are heavily dependent on yarsa because traditional farming is not enough to support families.”&nbsp; Dhanbir Bista is in Grade 5 but has not been to school for more than a month because he is up here scouring the steep slope on his hands and knees. “I feel bad for leaving school but I have to come here to support my father,” he tells us. Dhanbir’s father, Bhim Bahadur, adds, “It’s very risky to bring young ones, especially after I heard that people from my own village have died. But we need the extra pair of hands.”&nbsp;

The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush

It is like any other evening in Kathmandu’s Gongabu neighbourhood. But at seven every day as the market starts to shut down, Sunita Pradhan Limbu steps out with a heavy bucket in one hand and a packet of plates in the other. Some 30 dogs wait outside, tails wagging furiously. They are used to Sunita appearing every evening, and encircle her. Sunita pours out the meal of rice and meat on each plate and the dogs gobble it all up. This has been Sunita’s routine for the past few years. She does not collect funds from anyone and buys food on her own to feed the community dogs out of affection for the animals, expecting nothing in return except love. “I’ve gotten back from them more than I could ever give them,” says Sunita, who started feeding the dogs during the Covid-19 lockdowns when she saw many pets abandoned on the streets by owners who returned to their hometowns. Sunita, 50, is a musician, and could not allow the dogs that were used to home and family not to be cared for. So she became their guardian. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/suburban-tales/one-more-to-remember">One more to remember</a>, Pratibha Tuladhar  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240802070820_03c83448f095ddb9a67dce15c814ff9e28617568927ac2cc8ea3643da02c13d5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240802070820_03c83448f095ddb9a67dce15c814ff9e28617568927ac2cc8ea3643da02c13d5" data-rendition-name="original" width="1576" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="One dog at a time NT"> <figcaption>Photos: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Sunita’s maternal grandfather was a veterinarian, and she had grown up sharing his affection for animals, which left a mark on young Sunita. As a child, she grew up with a pet dog named Johnny. After her marriage in 1998, Sunita lived in Hong Kong with her husband. She came back to Nepal in 2014 to release her solo album Arohi. During that time, as she was running errands for the album launch, she came across a mother dog who was lying lifelessly, surrounded by her young pups. She did not do anything that day, but two days later when she went back to rescue the pups, it was too late. They were nowhere to be found. That day, Sunita made a promise to herself that she would care for other dogs in distress. “I remembered my childhood and was determined to revive my love for dogs and care for them,” she recalls. But caring for the neighbourhood dogs has forced her to drastically change her lifestyle. Sunita was an outgoing person, candid and lively with friends. Now she hardly has time to meet friends or go on a holiday. “I can no longer enjoy overnight stays or meet up with friends because I can’t stop thinking about my kids,” she says of her strays. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/must-love-dogs-js05baah">Must love dogs</a>, Benjamin Zimmerman  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240802070820_0c067d57596b5821e701dad779a99a7fd9117427fcc738f95c6f83711a879f06.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240802070820_0c067d57596b5821e701dad779a99a7fd9117427fcc738f95c6f83711a879f06" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="One dog at a time NT"> </figure>  Her love for music has taken a hit too. She has had to invest in recording her songs, but cannot think of doing that now when the same money will buy food for the 60 or so dogs in her neighbourhood. Sunita also always has the door on the first floor of her house open in case the dogs need shelter. It is particularly useful on rainy nights and in winter. Dogs know where to go, and there is always a soft sack to sleep on. Apart from the stray dogs, Sunita also has nine pet dogs of her own that she rescued from the street after she found them injured. The first one was rescued by her daughter, much like young Sunita used to do with stray pups and kittens. Seeing Sunita spend her day and night caring for the dogs has also made her mother and family support her wholeheartedly. Initially, her neighbours complained that the dogs were littering their sidewalks. But her selfless love for the dogs has won them over too, so much so that her neighbours now also help keep a bowl of water and food for the strays. Everyday is now Kukur Tihar in this Gongabu neighbourhood. Says Sunita: “If you can, love and care for them. If you cannot do that, at least do not hate or beat them.” &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/kalle-s-cross-continental-journey">Kalle's cross-continental journey</a>

One dog at a time

Between the 1980s and 2000s, over 5,000 <a href="https://download.ssrn.com/11/01/06/ssrn_id1736064_code1383023.pdf?response-content-disposition=inline&amp;X-Amz-Security-Token=IQoJb3JpZ2luX2VjEBkaCXVzLWVhc3QtMSJIMEYCIQCiYUc7BuJ7zaDn%2BOTCFOWBgNKqYarnapqY%2FWZbamFVsgIhAOC%2FPFXHR9Dx6xTicWMj5%2BJXdIEGZ7LxKRyjrCe61Ng9KsYFCPL%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2FwEQBBoMMzA4NDc1MzAxMjU3IgzWD1Y1XNz2kaOS3jEqmgX0TbxyBTTrZrpd%2B5N72pFzJAwc%2BxTF8Dc0GnVG2tUGUYyxBt1YmfEqAw5cdOuRCZV23SSKkJwndg9IwI3yrjZGBp9XKxg4lK4Vq0Qy9RMmma5hNCVnA2T0MwGghlnmkgWPZA5ouZPiKFAecf4PE5qml2fu1wj72LEAig5R77cN6nC6%2BxTcygMiuiHrR9yZB4RyvTD9s58avGqUcn9hcIUdku3ydvAGVEgczzgEMCesRMtSgqzHz3E9bju9QLR5RpcDRp0wptfQ89uGXgyBGLCX%2BAl6uareSxQCSaDOthP4PmswWI7y7kBJbQp1pZq8r56Yoa3Qf5WVtmxbsWmDtbOsaSBa0yB6EIS8RKFGeQ%2Bcz%2BnEsOoPHIS%2BqO1k1%2BQuihjN0T66SnWFo8rl8Cv2g4GghY9p9DR3wopBJ6cE%2FtDJMY%2BZ03LkUwS%2Fc7ckyaRpfPX5g6Bb9J56a%2BNA5lnIV5o%2Fpjp%2BZJaVIvEzciyzzTwP58wznmcy3xppvK%2BwXBzBR96cPMXKTdNv9%2FqJ5jlnsgSRJpHWE3UyHbFucwQYXi19i7mCglFSuSkkL5Tg9nQWvXpuP9Z9VmMlQfQ%2F%2FpsfA6KlL81K3UK%2Bp%2FJB2mxQD9SYexZvAf1g21NUSF%2F8I19orsNrT6LutAnoJU%2FOTgO3qMbdgnR%2FuBytI3POnQAEIfbG0Za%2FrEDJ9j8CEbasNXsBMqkx8JKGRG2PUHMRC2xl5Z%2BNIbpsqGB8t%2BvAt40osDpgZStiyeiGdC1nMakUzZtBjWlttzoirCdemwPKJ8M%2BEohj2%2BLEN92yaOKdFewns0gjh%2BUxcotGvBo%2F7QZFappBNjLlR0PyanjcuB4MndEQjeIrd67ntscTKiLDI%2FfzwCHulsl6nbMpewpWFAYwg67guwY6sAGb3VJ2q%2F36hWhrVa8igP2hswnnLlcIU2uhOZa5ge2hCXkUYhL1BcSJfoWy2LwrWCXtdFo%2BT7KMU3p6O3jySdxSop8F4iO%2BJBiXVjSiXm%2FqZo3ri8sVwUgo4ksJI%2BT4AbfK3D3VGYapBgU5LdX%2FjkNwSVoR1vz4vMIyF56i7MKeYG1nFLgc0l9cIjrQI6eY869uIbgZ1XKqqBsuavCbYjSbSy7dMP0QSym%2FgmoWILGE0Q%3D%3D&amp;X-Amz-Algorithm=AWS4-HMAC-SHA256&amp;X-Amz-Date=20250103T172339Z&amp;X-Amz-SignedHeaders=host&amp;X-Amz-Expires=300&amp;X-Amz-Credential=ASIAUPUUPRWE65YAH56X%2F20250103%2Fus-east-1%2Fs3%2Faws4_request&amp;X-Amz-Signature=9b654b526e0779da4fa9f54e2fcde04ac9f7e91fb50d4f8094b1039ebb19e21b&amp;abstractId=1736064">Nepali children were adopted abroad</a>, primarily to the United States, France, and Spain. While international adoption was intended to provide vulnerable children with better opportunities, child trafficking and irregular practices prompted Nepal to suspend adoptions in 2007, and overhaul its policies. By 2010, stricter regulations aligned with the <a href="https://www.hcch.net/en/instruments/conventions/specialised-sections/intercountry-adoption">Hague Adoption Convention</a> drastically reduced adoption numbers. Today, many of these children, now adults, are returning to Nepal in search of their roots, only to encounter a society that no longer recognises them, legally or socially. Behind the statistics lie the <a href="http://hdl.handle.net/1854/LU-01GRNPPXAC1Z3AETV9HARNCG5Q">deeply personal and emotional journey</a> of adoptees returning to reconnect with their past, seek family, and rediscover a sense of belonging. These stories reflect a broader struggle for identity and the complexities of bridging two worlds. Maya Adopted at 9 by a family in Barcelona, Maya carried fragmented memories of her early life in Nepal including the painful recollection of the day her mother and sister vanished, leaving her and her younger siblings behind. She had faint images of her mother, elder sister, and the village where she once lived. In June 2017, Maya came to Nepal accompanied by Chandra Kala and two friends, Jay and Vikram. With only a few photographs of her mother Tulsi, her elder sister Pargati, and her brother-in-law Kamal, along with a street name, Maya arrived in Birendranagar after a 20-hour bus ride from Kathmandu. “Now that we’re close, I feel like I can’t face them,” she confessed to Chandra Kala, wrestling with anxiety about what she might uncover. “I’m nervous. I don’t know if I’ll recognise them or if they’ll recognise me. I don’t know how they’ll react or what they’ll say. And then there’s him [Kamal]. I have such bad memories of him. I don’t know if I can handle this.” Chandra Kala reassured her, reminding her of her courage and the importance of this moment. Maya and her companions asked around the town with little success until a shopkeeper recognised Kamal and directed them to a nearby village. Jay went to confirm and returned excitedly, shouting, “It’s her! It’s your sister!” Maya froze, paralysed by fear and anticipation but she pushed ahead. At the village, Maya’s sister Pargati initially struggled to recognise her. Jay introduced Maya: “Do you recognise her? This is your younger sister. She’s come all the way from Spain to find you.” Slowly, realisation dawned, and the two women embraced, bridging the decades of separation with tears and disbelief. The next day, Maya met her mother Tulsi in an emotionally overwhelming reunion. Tulsi rushed into the room and embraced Maya tightly, sobbing uncontrollably: “Mero chhora-chhori, gaye, gaye… my children they went, they went …” Once the tears subsided, Tulsi and Pargati began recounting the heartbreaking circumstances of their separation. After the death of her husband, Tulsi faced relentless judgment in their village when Kamal stayed with the family before his marriage to Pargati. The villagers accused Tulsi of impropriety, calling her पापी (sinful) and demanded that the family leave. “We didn’t want to leave, but the village didn’t want us here,” explained Pargati. “We left intending to bring you and your siblings later. But when we returned, you were gone.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250103120140_da7482d222e0a03b783c5e1df25536ed416d7b7475442e7fd40e54451572142e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250103120140_da7482d222e0a03b783c5e1df25536ed416d7b7475442e7fd40e54451572142e" data-rendition-name="original" width="384" height="512" loading="lazy" alt="Searching for a homeland away from home NT"> <figcaption>An adoptee and companion return to Bal Mandir in Kathmandu after 19 years. Photo: CHANDRA KALA CLEMENTE-MARTINEZ</figcaption> </figure>  Tulsi recalled how she had entrusted Maya and her siblings to relatives, hoping they would be cared for temporarily. However, when she returned, the children had been sent away without her knowledge. “I only trusted them because I had no other choice,” Tulsi said through tears. “I didn’t know they would send my children away. What kind of mother does that make me? They called me a bad mother, but what else could I have done?” The reunion brought healing and answers but it also exposed the societal pressures that had fractured Maya’s family. Despite the challenges, Maya spent the rest of her visit bonding with her sister, nieces, and younger half-sister, Sunita, slowly bridging the gaps created by time and distance. Maya’s journey was a testament to the courage required to confront the past, the pain of uncovering difficult truths, and the hope of rebuilding connections once lost. Her story highlights the enduring emotional complexity faced by adoptees navigating their history and identity. Ashmita Unlike some adoptees whose main focus is reuniting with their biological family, 26-year-old Ashmita’s priority has been to uncover the institutional details surrounding her adoption. She wanted to understand what the orphanage and the government knew about her background and why so much information seemed concealed. “I just want to know where I come from,” she said. “Even if I never find my biological family, having a better sense of the places and people connected to my story would mean so much.” For many adoptees, returning to Nepal is not just about reconnecting emotionally, it is about seeking formal recognition as members of the Nepali community. However, the legal framework in Nepal often fails to acknowledge their unique status.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250103120144_bf0158b7829cf5db44382d7386d3b123032adad3f9e10e28096b80cd09170ba6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250103120144_bf0158b7829cf5db44382d7386d3b123032adad3f9e10e28096b80cd09170ba6" data-rendition-name="original" width="384" height="512" loading="lazy" alt="Searching for a homeland away from home NT"> <figcaption>A mother reunites with her don after 18 years. Photo: CHANDRA KALA CLEMENTE-MARTINEZ</figcaption> </figure>  In Nepali law, adoptees are left in limbo: their birth parents are not considered legal parents, and their ties to the country are effectively erased upon adoption. This lack of recognition creates significant hurdles, particularly in two key areas: accessing pre-adoption records and obtaining Non-Resident Nepali (NRN) status. Despite international norms like the Convention on the Rights of the Child, which guarantees the right to know one’s origins, institutions often refuse to cooperate. Orphanages and non-profits in Nepal, which hold critical pre-adoption records such as birth certificates and citizenship documents, frequently withhold this information, reflecting the systemic reluctance to provide transparency. In numerous cases, records that should include family names, addresses, or relinquishment agreements were either incomplete or falsified. These practices not only prevent adoptees from reclaiming their histories but also perpetuate their disconnection from their heritage. Ashmita’s initial requests for information from her adoption agency were met with delays and incomplete responses. When she turned to the orphanage where she spent her early years, she encountered even greater resistance. At one point, the director of the orphanage issued veiled threats. Nevertheless, Ashmita persisted and managed to find the name of the individual who had brought her to the orphanage. However, the person had disappeared, leaving yet another gap in her story. A breakthrough came when Ashmita accessed a police report that suggested she might have been born in a different municipality than the one in her adoption records, prompting her to seek help from local authorities. The police took an interest in her case and began investigating possible connections to her birth family. While progress was slow, they meticulously followed leads to help her trace her origins. “It’s not easy,” Ashmita said of the process. “But every small step feels like I’m piecing something back together.” She also noted that societal perceptions could add to the difficulty. At times, she felt questioned about her identity and her right to seek answers. “People have asked me why I care so much or even suggested that I’m not Nepali anymore because I was adopted abroad,” she reflected. Ashmita’s story is a complex account of persistence in the face of institutional and personal challenges. While her search has not yet provided all the answers she seeks, it continues to offer her insights into her early life and the systems that shaped her adoption journey. &nbsp;“These records are sealed for a reason. They are not meant to be reopened,” said a government official. Even an NGO representative said: “It’s better for everyone if the past remains in the past.” An orphanage director asked: “Why are you asking these questions? This is not your place anymore.” Hari Prasad Sacré The Non-Resident Nepali (NRN) card is a lifeline for Nepali diaspora members, granting them residency and property rights in Nepal. Yet, adoptees are notably excluded from this framework. While the law stipulates eligibility for individuals whose parents or grandparents were Nepali citizens, it makes no provision for adoptees whose legal ties to their Nepali parents were severed by adoption. When Hari Prasad Sacré, a Nepali adoptee, sought to obtain an NRN card at the Nepal Embassy in Belgium, he encountered officials unfamiliar with processing an NRN request from an adoptee. His case was the first of its kind, setting a precedent but also highlighting the systemic barriers adoptees face. "You are not eligible; your surname is Sacré, it is not a Nepali name," an embassy staff said.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250103120140_9bdc24b7e34930059f895048ab7dc0ad3ca23b16907c572f01a8d5404a5feac5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250103120140_9bdc24b7e34930059f895048ab7dc0ad3ca23b16907c572f01a8d5404a5feac5" data-rendition-name="original" width="446" height="512" loading="lazy" alt="Searching for a homeland away from home NT"> <figcaption>Hari Prasad Sacré receives tika from his father Khul Prasad Adhikari during Dasain, a few weeks after receiving his NRN card. Photo: HARI PRASAD SACRÉ</figcaption> </figure>  Sacré’s situation was legally ambiguous. Although his biological parents, including his father, Khul Prasad Adhikari, are alive and he maintains contact with them, he no longer had “legal” ties to Nepal due to the adoption process. Carrying a Belgian surname the embassy staff was initially convinced the adoptee couldn’t claim Nepali origin. Nepali law, which does not recognise biological parents as legal guardians once a child is adopted, created complications for the NRN application. To navigate this complexity, Sacré relied on a testimony from his father. Issued by a local government body in Kaski, the testimony affirmed that Hari had been put up for adoption and was of Nepali origin. While this enabled the embassy to approve his NRN card, the process was unnecessarily protracted and emotionally charged, highlighting the inadequacy of current policies to accommodate the unique situations of adoptees. Sacré’s case represents a rare instance where biological parents were alive and willing to provide testimony, but many adoptees are not as fortunate. A large number of adoptees were declared “orphans” during the adoption process, even when their parents were alive. This severed their legal ties to Nepal, stripping them of documentation that could later prove their origin. For others, the absence of living biological relatives or access to their original adoption records creates insurmountable barriers. Without clear documentation or a family member to vouch for their Nepali heritage, adoptees are excluded from the NRN framework. This denies them the rights and privileges afforded by the card, including property rights, legal recognition, and a formal connection to their homeland. Current laws fail to account for the complexities of adoptees’ legal status, leaving them disconnected from their cultural and legal heritage. Adoption papers, as evidence of Nepali descent, should be accepted as proof, granting adoptees rightful access to the NRN card and ensuring their inclusion in Nepal’s diaspora. Such reforms are crucial to ensure that all adoptees, regardless of their circumstances, can reclaim their heritage and establish a sense of belonging in Nepali society. Without these changes, the systemic exclusion of adoptees will persist, perpetuating inequities and denying them the opportunity to step up as active members of the Nepali diaspora. Sacré’s case serves as both a precedent and a call to action. It exemplifies the challenges and triumphs of adoptees navigating complex bureaucracies and advocates for a more inclusive and equitable approach to reconnecting adoptees with their homeland. Nepal can draw inspiration from South Korea, where the government has actively supported the reintegration of adoptees into their society. The F4 visa, established through efforts by organisations like the Global Overseas Adoptees’ Link (GOA'L), grants adoptees the right to live and work in Korea, while dual citizenship acknowledges their dual identity as members of the diaspora and their country of origin. GOA’L further fosters reconnection by offering language classes and cultural exchange programs, creating opportunities for meaningful reintegration and belonging. As Nepal refines its NRN citizenship framework, explicitly including adoptees could address the severance of legal and cultural ties caused by international adoption. Such inclusion would provide adoptees a pathway to residency, citizenship, and rights, enabling them to reconnect with their heritage. Complementing this with programs for language acquisition, cultural immersion, and historical education would honour Nepal’s responsibility to the approximately 5,000 children sent abroad. Nepal could establish a dedicated organisation similar to South Korea’s GOA’L and help adoptees access pre-adoption records, navigate legal processes, and engage in cultural exchange initiatives. It would also serve as a bridge between adoptees and Nepali society, fostering mutual understanding and collaboration. This article is based on doctoral studies by <a href="http://hdl.handle.net/1854/LU-01H4Z85GPS63ZWDJ3WB2E6KS70">Hari Prasad Sacré</a> and <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/10357823.2022.2142932">Chandra Kala Clemente-Martínez</a>. Hari Prasad Sacré, PhD, is a postdoctoral researcher at Ghent University in Belgium, specialising in cultural translation, multilingualism, and identity in education. His PhD, Reading Illiteracy, explored fractured multilingualism and illiteracy in displaced identities such as adoptees, with work published in leading journals like Critical Arts and the European Journal for Cultural Studies. Chandra Kala Clemente-Martínez, PhD, is a postdoctoral researcher at the AFIN Research Group, Autonomous University of Barcelona, with a PhD in Social Anthropology. Her research focuses on family strategies, reproductive decisions, and adoption, with extensive fieldwork in Spain and Nepal examining adoptee reunions and related governance and rights.

Searching for a homeland away from home

A young non-resident Newa person in Dallas emails a New York Times article to his grandfather in Nepal who cannot read English.
Grandad copies the English text, pastes it into Google Translate to read it in Newari.
This translation feature, available to the world’s major languages, can now also be used by the indigenous people of Kathmandu Valley to translate their <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/decoding-diversity?fbclid=IwAR3P0GygTCQ7HE-LaaVOhmKSyUDLlIrR2l9VzXKwCFJ8Em7YFHSAOiiXqQE">mother tongue</a> into English and vice versa.
This involved three-and-a-half years of effort and will impact everyday life in the study and preservation of Newa culture. It also shows a path forward to Nepal’s 123 other languages and dialects.
The World Newah Organisation (WNO) in 2011 invited Newa people from around the world to a convention in London. Software engineer and historian Sanyukta Shrestha was involved, and now leads WNO.
The top priority for discussion was how to conserve the language which was classified as ‘definitely endangered’ by UNESCO, with only 850,000 speakers left.
“The Newa people are diverse: there are different sects, religions. The language and the calendar are what is common,” explains Shrestha. “The strategy was to unite the community behind an existing technology.”
Ujjwal Rajbhandari, an engineer at Google who does not even speak the language, got involved. “I thought why not take advantage of a great tool that already exists,” Rajbhandari, who is co-founder at Qubrid AI in Austin, Texas, told us on the phone.
Work started December 2020, but the prognosis was bleak. Engineers said that the project may take up to 10 years. Translate runs on a ‘transformer’, a machine learning neural network designed to take sequences as input, uses math to understand the context, and outputs a probable output. It uses an ‘attention’ mechanism, which looks at the input text and tries to work out the relationships of each word to each other word.
The more data you feed this statistical monster, the better it gets. But that was the first problem. There was a dire lack of digital material, either in Newari, bilingual Newari-Nepali or Newari-English dictionaries.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/languages-are-both-software-and-hardware">Languages are both software and hardware</a>
“Tens of thousands of digital pages of content were needed, so in 2021 we met with the editors of Newa magazines and asked to scan and digitise their material,” Shrestha recalls. “We hunted down writers, publishers, songwriters, invitation cards - anything that was written in Nepalbhasa.” &nbsp;
Google gave WNO a sheet of 1,200 sentences from random contexts, to be translated. WNO formed a committee to complete this task, and by April 2021, Translate could at least identify the language.
Nepalbhasa can be written in 13 different scripts, the two most popular are the Ranjana and Devanagari. The team chose the latter because there is a lot more material in Nepalbhasa in Devanagari, and many more people who can type in it. “Devanagari is what has allowed any of this work at all,” points out Shrestha. “Translation was the much harder problem to solve, converting output to another face is much easier.”
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lost-in-translation">Lost in translation</a>, Alisha Sijapati
Now the model needed a large volume of input from the community. “<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/tech-and-transition-in-nepal">Every AI model</a> is dependent on the volume of data, even that which is introduced later. User corrections are fed back, which makes the model more robust,” says Rajbhandari.
This happened to be at peak pandemic-time. People knew how to video-chat and had time on their hands. WNO members met for one or two hours in the evening, on a Zoom call that they also broadcast on Facebook. People worked together translating. Which was very effective, because they could get instant input or feedback from others on the call. “It was cool to see was how this brought together elders who knew the language deeply, and the youngsters who have the tech skills,” says Rajbhandari.
By February 2024 there were 500,000 contributions, and Google deemed that this volume of data was sufficient for the model to ‘level up’. Translate added Nepalbhasa to its list of supported languages in June last year. The language had now been intergrated into a tool that can be used for free from anywhere with an internet connection. Accuracy was unusally high, over 90%.
It opens up a whole different world on the internet, for those who only know Nepalbhasa, since any website integrated with Google can be used automatically and instantly converted to that language.
The translations are already being used in East Europe to translate legal documents, Newa songwriters, like Ujan Shakya, use it to convert English lyrics. And when Rajbhandari speaks to WNO over video, his English is instantly translated into Newari subtitles.
“Older people are happy that language will now not die. Younger ones can use it to self-learn the language, now they can’t blame elders for not teaching them,” says Shrestha.
Yet another use is the integration with large language models, like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/chatgpt-news-about-nepal">ChatGPT</a>. LLMs encounter Nepalbhasa in their training data, so they can already generate rudimentary responses.
Says Shrestha, “You can ask questions about a Newa book in English, and the LLM &nbsp;gives you a coherent answer and even cite the page number.” This makes the use of Newa books for research possible and a lot faster.
Leading this mammoth task led Shrestha to a better appreciation for his mother tongue. “I saw the richness of Newari. There are onomatopoeia and proverbs that only elders use, and it is these and the dialects that need to be saved,” he says.
The next step is a text-to-speech, speech-to-text interface, which would open up its use by those who speak and understand Nepalbhasa but may not read, write or type it. Tourists to Nepal would also benefit.
Rajbhandari wants to work on similar projects for other endangered languages of Nepal, and the team has shown that it does not need government to do such work.
Says Rajbhandari: “We have learned many things that would make integration of future languages more efficient so we can solve problems in other projects.”

Nepal Bhasa on Google Translate

Villages along the proposed alignment of Nepal’s ambitious <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/putting-nepal-on-the-right-track">east-west train project</a> are excited about the connectivity and development it will bring. But here in Hariban village there is only apprehension. While elsewhere, there are environmental concerns about the train track slicing through national parks and protected forests, here along the densely populated Tarai plains there is worry about losing farmlands. “This project will cost me a big chunk of my land,” says Dinesh Mahato, who farms a small plot in the Ghurkauli village near the East-West Highway. “Why should I agree to give it all away when I will only be compensated partially?” Hari Narayan Mahato echoes his brother’s anger. “The map shows that I have to give up nearly 700 sq m of land, but I know the area is going to be three times bigger once construction begins,” he says. “It’s just not worth it.” There is also opposition in the Dhanpati locality, and 10 households from these two villages have refused to accept the government’s compensation rate for land which they say is much less than market value.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250105050152_41071574c82ba8f9698b8b7fdecb3ebf280dd314b1175262d961f76dc6d6ad5b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250105050152_41071574c82ba8f9698b8b7fdecb3ebf280dd314b1175262d961f76dc6d6ad5b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1292" height="821" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal train project struggles to stay on track NT"> </figure>  The East-West Electric Railway project will ultimately be <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-journey-to-electric-public-transport">Nepal’s transportation </a>artery stretching from the eastern border with India in Jhapa to Kanchanpur, connecting 24 districts. It will intersect with the proposed Birganj-Kathmandu railway at a junction in Sarlahi district. When completed, Nepal’s 950km long ‘gateway to prosperity’ as it has been dubbed, will have 123 stations, 10 tunnels, 334 bridges, a dam, and a 132kV transmission line to supply electricity to the locomotives. The project will require the acquisition of about 4,520 hectares of land, including 518 plots belonging to 4,000 households. Some of this will be along corridors through Chitwan, Bardia, Banke and Sukla Phanta <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/does-nepal-need-the-army-to-guard-parks">National Parks</a> and other nature reserves. Controversy about land acquisition and compensation as well as environmental impact have stalled the project since 2010. “The biggest issue has been compensation for land,” admits Kamal Kumar Shah of the Department of Railways. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/india-china-rail-race">India-China rail race</a>, Shristi Karki This means less than half of the work along the 70km Bardibas-Nijgad segment has been completed and 16 bridges built, and this is the first section of the railway where construction started 15 years ago.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250105050148_9e1de8c104dcbd239a70d4a3abda71579f86502c8b9f4cdd7e184aeef90eb638.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250105050148_9e1de8c104dcbd239a70d4a3abda71579f86502c8b9f4cdd7e184aeef90eb638" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal train project struggles to stay on track NT"> </figure>  Says Senior Division Engineer Kiran Karki: “It is difficult to work here, people have built houses in public land, knowing that the railway is coming. How do we ask them to leave?” Part of the delay is also due to lack of budget, and this has increased the initial estimate of the total cost because of the increase in land value. The government has nationalised over 190 hectares for the Kakadbhitta-Inaruwa section of the railway in the eastern Tarai for which it will have to distribute Rs24.41 billion in compensation. But the budget allocated for that is only Rs1.5 billion. This means farmers have lost their land, but have not yet been compensated. The East-West Railway line was initially estimated to cost around Rs1 billion per km, but this has increased to Rs1.5 billion per km. Just the first Bardibas-Nijgad section will need an additional Rs50 billion to complete. The estimate for the entire project was estimated at Rs955 billion, but a revised budget has already surpassed Rs1.5 trillion. A major bridge across the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/kosi-now-kathmandu-next">Kosi</a> north of the barrage on the Indian border is expected to cost more than Rs410 billion. The &nbsp;Detailed Project Report (DPR) has been revised to build an elevated line over towns in the Butwal section, for example, to avoid paying exorbitant compensation. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-railways-janakpur-test-drive">Nepal Railways Janakpur test drive</a> “This project works on multi-year contracts, which have been difficult to award due to a lack of budget,” says Shah. “So the date of completion of the project depends on money being forthcoming.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250105050148_addd8a08b727efb1bf1f71752dce1a28d6ea2e9d5f76dafe5dbc9a53a223c5e0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250105050148_addd8a08b727efb1bf1f71752dce1a28d6ea2e9d5f76dafe5dbc9a53a223c5e0" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal train project struggles to stay on track NT"> </figure>  Meanwhile, activists have raised concern over the project’s environmental cost. The Railway Department has prepared DPRs for four sections of the railway, but <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/from-nowhere-to-nowhere">Environmental Impact Assessments (EIA)</a> have not been carried out. In Chitwan, the proposed route was realigned to avoid Chitwan National Park following a Supreme Court stay order. However, Chitwan residents have now formed a Railway Victims’ Struggle Committee, saying that the new route would cut through their densely populated communities. “We only found that our land would be part of the railway line when the people from the Railway Department came here last year,” says Hari Thapaliya of Bharatpur Municipality. “The decision to reroute the track was made overnight without any consultation with us.” Angered locals had set fire to a Railway Department vehicle when a survey team reached Krishnapur in July. Bharatpur Deputy Mayor Chitrasen Adhikari says the Railway Department did not even coordinate with the municipality about the new route. “We have proposed an alternate route to the Department,” she adds. “This project affects the livelihoods of people across <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/fogbound-tarai">the Tarai</a>, their concerns must be heard, and they must be included in the decision-making process,” says infrastructure expert Surya Raj Acharya.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250105050148_682ed3ef3e398592f098d1ac638faa4d3b7517515e0f1b2014cb9c4383e6d9c3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20250105050148_682ed3ef3e398592f098d1ac638faa4d3b7517515e0f1b2014cb9c4383e6d9c3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal train project struggles to stay on track NT"> </figure>  The problem is that 53% of Nepal’s total population now lives along the narrow strip of plains along the Indian border through which the railway line will pass. The Railway Department is squeezed between the need to balance environmental concerns with high compensation demands of locals. Conservationists have maintained that the railway alignment will go through ecologically sensitive areas, disturbing and fragmenting the habitat of endangered species, blocking their migration routes and disrupting water and food sources. All of this could in turn increase <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/human-animal-interface-in-nepal-wildlife-corridor">human-wildlife conflict</a>. Experts have suggested measures to invest in ‘ecological offsetting’ programs that help in the creation of new protected areas, restoration projects, and wildlife underpass and overpass corridors. There is also <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/more-pre-monsoon-forest-fires-in-nepal">concern about the forests </a>that have to be sacrificed. Already, 13,500 trees have been cut down in the Bardibas-Nijgad section alone. The Sagarnath Forest, which stretches from Sarlahi to Mahottari, and areas under the Rautahat Division Forest also lie along the proposed alignment. Surya Raj Acharya blames inadequate monitoring and evaluation during the preparation of the DPR because government agencies lack sufficient technical capacity and experience in the railway sector.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250105050148_7823653d3f037122441c11f6485c5407acc716811bedf464255aefe3a76d97f8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="20250105050148_7823653d3f037122441c11f6485c5407acc716811bedf464255aefe3a76d97f8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal train project struggles to stay on track NT"> </figure>  He adds, “Transparent financial planning and management are necessary to ensure the project’s sustainability and economic viability. But the contracts have been hurriedly awarded without proper land acquisition. An urgent review is necessary.” All this needs stronger political will and coordination between various agencies which is sorely lacking not just in the east-west railway project, but in other infrastructure schemes as well. When built, the nearly 1,000 km long railway will streamline cargo and passenger traffic, making it cheaper and more convenient for ordinary people. Railway junctions can also facilitate the north-south transshipment of goods and passenger traffic when coordinated with public transport. Transport costs for exports and imports from India will also be slashed. “A high-speed train running at 200 to 250km per hour will mean that trains will get from Kathmandu to Dhangadi faster than planes, and at much cheaper fares,” notes Acharya. Trains will also reduce carbon emissions by up to 30% compared to trucks and buses. Train lines will be the backbone of Nepal’s transportation system, boosting tourism in the Kathmandu, Chitwan and Lumbini triangle.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250105050148_ee137f417c5712be9d2d16f295ba7e30fc207e878214103e387346dfed3a9815.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20250105050148_ee137f417c5712be9d2d16f295ba7e30fc207e878214103e387346dfed3a9815" data-rendition-name="original" width="577" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal train project struggles to stay on track NT"> </figure>  Ultimately, the Kerung-Kathmandu trans-Himalayan railway will connect with the Birganj-Kathmandu line and in future be a future non-maritime corridor for India-China trade. Nepal has been trying to get the East-West railway project funded through foreign investment, but so far there has not been much interest. There also needs to be a better viability study for future railway links, otherwise Nepal may be straddled with loans it cannot repay. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-and-china-to-study-trans-himalayan-railway">Nepal and China to study trans-Himalayan railway</a>, Ramesh Bhushal “The border region along the Tarai remains behind in terms of education, health, and the economy,” says economist Bishwo Poudel. “A railway line alone will not do much to improve their quality of life, there have to be other interventions.” Poudel adds that a north-south railway through Kathmandu to connect India and China through Nepal makes much more economic sense. China has been studying the Kerung-Kathmandu track with tunnels under <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/cleaning-up-high-places">Langtang National Park</a>, which would have technological and financial challenges. India is also working on a railway alignment to connect Kathmandu to its border town of Raxaul. At present the only operational passenger railway in Nepal is the 35km cross-border Jaynagar–Janakpur–Bardibas line. The former Department of Railways Director General Rohit Kumar Bisural is a road engineer, and says: “Very few people in Nepal have experience in railways.”

Nepal train project struggles to stay on track

When a dozen tiger range countries met in St. Petersburg for a summit in 2010, they committed to doubling the population of their big cats in 12 years. Nepal became the first country to not just achieve the target but nearly triple the figure, from 121 in 2010, to 355 in 2022. But some people in Nepal, including Prime Minister KP Oli, now think Nepal has been too successful and the number of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-counting-its-tigers">wild tigers</a> should be reduced. This was the same prime minister who last year had urged people to help in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-tigers-now-number-235-1iulcaq1">conservation of tigers</a>, calling it “the pride of Nepal”. But last month, in his own pithy language, Oli said <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-tiger-conservation-too-successful">tigers had become as numerous</a> as dogs, and they could not be allowed to breed at the cost of human lives. “The tiger population should be proportionate to our forest area, why not gift the extra tigers to other countries as economic diplomacy?” Oli added at a debriefing on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/bad-cop">COP29</a> last month. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/human-animal-interface-in-nepal-wildlife-corridor">Human-wildlife conflict</a> has indeed claimed lives, since tigers are venturing outside crowded parks to find prey. So, the prime minister’s proposal to promote wildlife diplomacy may not be such a bad idea since it would raise Nepal’s international profile and highlight <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/is-wildlife-conservation-a-victim-of-its-own-success-in-nepal">the country’s conservation success story</a>. “Tigers can be sent to other countries through diplomacy, but the receiving countries must have the right capacity and environment,” says Ghana Gurung of World Wildlife Fund (WWF Nepal), adding that tigers to be sent must also be chosen carefully. “The Prime Minister gave an emotionally charged statement, which probably came after he spoke to affected groups,” Gurung added. “We tripled the tiger population, but if proper steps for management and cooperation are not taken, we can lose them all as easily.” However, member countries of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES) would have to follow strict protocols and paperwork to transport the tigers. Previously, Nepal has sent <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-many-rhinos-is-enough-rhinos">rhinos</a> to China in two batches through the completion of complicated procedures. Naturalist Sushila Mahatara at <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bardia-s-birds">Bardia National Park</a> does not agree that Nepal has too many tigers. She tells us: “Tiger numbers are not excessive according to the areas allocated for them. If there are too many tigers, they fight and kill each other to keep their numbers in control.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025011008010_8cf30b15459a919f1d72d06ca02b3515255460c025a62222a219218787c08bc6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025011008010_8cf30b15459a919f1d72d06ca02b3515255460c025a62222a219218787c08bc6" data-rendition-name="original" width="640" height="481" loading="lazy" alt="No. of tigers"> <figcaption>Photo: WWF</figcaption> </figure>  Bardia National Park has 125 adult tigers, and Chitwan National Park has 128. There were about 12 fatalities from tiger attacks in the past year, and some of the maneaters are darted and caged. However, many of them soon die in the confined space. Dhan Bahadur Tamang, a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/unsung-heroes-of-nepal-s-tiger-recovery">tiger conservationist </a>with over 50 years of experience explains exactly why tigers venture out when they do: “Those that enter human settlements are usually young tigers which have been separated from their mothers. Some are injured tigers who cannot attack traditional prey.” The other reasons include encroachment as a result of human settlement and infrastructure projects in close proximity or within the protected areas with no wildlife-friendly components such as overpasses. The water shortage made worse by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/those-who-stay">the climate crisis</a> has added to the challenge. Although an average of 3,000 people in Nepal are killed every year by venomous snakes, tiger kills get far more media attention. This has led to tigers being seen as a threat rather than an important apex species in an ecosystem. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/borderlines/the-snake-bite-emergency">The snake bite emergency</a>, Chandra Kishore The other threat to tigers is from commercialisation. Last year, then Minister for Forests and Environment Birendra Mahato of Janata Samajwadi Party (JSP) &nbsp;proposed auctioning tigers to trophy hunters because Nepal had “too many tigers”. He calculated that the country could earn $25 million through tiger hunting licenses which would underwrite the cost of maintaining national parks. His statement created widespread outrage as well as mockery from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/conservation-vs-conservatives">conservationists</a> and environmentalists, just as Prime Minister Oli’s statement last month did. Tigers are also a major source of revenue for national parks, and a highlight for tourists. “The tigers being in the jungle means that there is the presence of a balanced environment,” says Mahatara at Bardia. “Any <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/between-existence-and-extinction-in-nepal">loss of biodiversity</a> in the parks could lead to a decline in the influx of tourists.” Eco-tourism and tiger safaris are a big source of income also for homestays and the local communities in Chitwan and Bardia. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/saving-tigers-to-save-the-economy">Saving tigers to save the economy</a> Says <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/conversation-with-mr-conservation">Ghana Gurung</a> at WWF: “Tourists visit national parks in anticipation of viewing tigers. At present the number is 355 and if tourists don’t spot a single tiger during their safari, then how will they see one if the numbers are reduced?” Better management of wildlife is the key, and involves a mix of approaches including the idea of tiger diplomacy. But because many human-wildlife conflict cases take place when locals go to the forest to collect firewood or fodder, they should be aware of safety precautions. “We have worked continuously through skill development and behaviour change campaigns to help the locals live and maintain a livelihood in the buffer zone and protected areas,” adds Gurung. “This has been one of our major goals, to uplift the living standards of the locals so that they can coexist with wildlife in the area.”&nbsp;