The pronunciation of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/english-is-not-the-be-all-and-end-all">English</a> words can be quite difficult for those of us who attended government schools where phonetics were not part of the curriculum. English pronunciation has no rules anyway, and way too many exceptions.
While we may understand the meanings and proper contexts of words, we often struggle with their correct pronunciation. However, this is not my primary concern. Admittedly, my pronunciation can also be odd, incorrect, and even amusing at times, but I have something else that is serious to discuss.
I often feel a sense of discomfort in my mouth when I come across words that contain many letters. There seems to be a disconnect between what my mind intends to say and what actually comes out. My thoughts may be clear, but when I try to speak, the sound that comes out is different from what I intended.
At times, my nerves get the better of me, making it difficult to even say the word at all. I understand that these situations are normal but they still can affect my self-esteem. It makes my learning process tough. The only relief for me is that I have acknowledged the issue.
The first time I truly recognised my struggle with the word ‘acknowledgement’ was while reading a book to my daughter. I noticed the author’s acknowledgment section and thought it would be a great opportunity to show her how many people contribute to getting a book published.&nbsp;
However, when I attempted to read it aloud, I found myself unable to do so. I tried to mentally dissect the word and speak it, but nothing worked.
Despite preparing myself repeatedly, the moment I tried to say it, my tongue felt paralysed. That day, my daughter stepped in to help me pronounce it, but it took nearly a year before I could say it without feeling anxious. Generally, I rely on those around me or an online dictionary for assistance. I break the word down, write it in Nepali, and practice it multiple times, which helps me pronounce it correctly.&nbsp;
Yet, the very next day, when I need to use it again, my nerves kick in, and I find myself questioning whether I should just choose a different word. I stay committed to improving, and while I do make mistakes, I continue to learn. But sometimes, I feel like giving up and search for an easier word instead. Yet, when I’m speaking, that challenging word often resurfaces in my mind and slips out. Others may not notice, but I certainly do, and it disrupts the flow of my conversation, leading to more mistakes.
I know, over the time, I have improved a lot. However, there are thousands of such words and they come my way in different circumstances. I worked in the &nbsp;subscription department of a magazine for a short time. There I learned the meaning of ‘subscription’ but it took many years for me to pronounce it correctly.&nbsp;
After leaving the job, I encountered with the word when I switched myself from TV to YouTube in 2014. &nbsp;
Every this and that YouTuber was asking their audience to subscribe their channel. I used to utter the word every time the Nepali YouTuber said ‘subscribe my channel’ (without the ‘to’). I would laugh thinking until and unless I can pronounce the word correctly, who would ‘subscribe my channel’ if I had one. I could not say “Grahak Bannus” for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/mobile-nepal-is-hooked-on-youtube">YouTube </a>as I used to request while working for the magazine subscription.
I have been exploring a new approach lately. When I anticipate discussing a specific topic, I create a list of key words that I know I need to include. If there are words I find challenging to pronounce, I take the time to practice them. Although this method has not produced immediate results, I remain committed to reducing my mistakes. How long will it take? I am not sure, but I continue to practice diligently.&nbsp;
Recently, I delivered a presentation at a conference in Sri Lanka on how the Constitution and laws have protected <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/can-nepal-elections-change-its-male-stream-politics">women’s roles in Nepal’s politics</a> over the past decade. I had mentally prepared myself to avoid the term ‘constitutionalised’ but my ingrained habits took over.&nbsp;
As I spoke, that word slipped out, and I found myself struggling. However, surprisingly, I did not feel nervous. I maintained my flow and continued speaking. The word came up again, and while I felt uncomfortable, I did not let it derail me. I focused on sharing other points confidently and remained composed throughout.
A few weeks ago during a meeting, I found myself struggling with the word ‘accompanied’. I had gone over it the night before, hoping it would come to me easily.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/lionel-messi-the-goat">Lionel Messi the goat</a>, Anbika Giri
Unfortunately, it popped into my mind at the wrong moment. It was the first time I openly acknowledged that certain words can trip me up. Thankfully, my colleagues stepped in to help me finish my accompan…ied.
Since that day, I have been diligently practicing it, hoping that next time it will flow smoothly and not trip up my tongue. I will not deny that I felt a wave of nervousness and shyness, but I also managed to laugh at myself, which helped me relax and keep the conversation going.
Lately, I have been working on getting comfortable with the term ‘statistician’. I know I will be using it a lot soon. I am just hoping that by the time I need to say that ‘the data I am discussing has been analysed by a skilled statistician’, my brain and tongue are in sync.

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Angrezi

Keeping brain and tongue in sync

Before the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/trumpet-call">US presidential election </a>last month, my 17-year-old daughter asked, “Who do you think will win? How will it affect the world?” Just as I was about to respond, she jumped in with her own insights.&nbsp;
“I don’t believe American economic and foreign policies will change much, but the global perception of the US election will shift,” and she continued, “if Kamala wins, she’ll be the first woman president and the first woman of colour to hold that office. On the other hand, if Trump wins, it could hurt American’s pride.”
My follow-up question led to a new word that I was about to be introduced to in my life-long quest to master the English language: ‘felony’. She said: “How can Americans take pride in having a president with a felony conviction?”
I nodded vaguely, trying to figure out what ‘felony’ meant. What has Trump done now? My daughter simplified it for me, and explained that he has been convicted of numerous criminal offenses.&nbsp;
Since that conversation, the word ‘felony’ has popped up often both online and in my conversations with people. Does some human algorithm also exist, that has a way of figuring out what you are talking about?
My daughter has become my most steadfast English language teacher. And the best thing is, I do not have to pay her. And I do not have to feel embarrassed about asking questions. It helps that she is incredibly patient with me, and is usually available whenever I need her help.&nbsp;
She has also worked hard to help me improve my unusual pronunciation of the word ‘available’ which for some reason I could never say properly. She attended an English medium school from a young age, and this helped her to learn the language naturally.&nbsp;
Back when she was in Grade 1, she asked me why I seemed uncomfortable speaking English. Had I struggled in school, or had I failed English? As she grew older, she realised that in Nepal there are two distinct educational paths: one in which students struggle to speak and read in English, and another in which they face similar challenges with Nepali.
Sometimes, my daughter takes advantage of my unfamiliarity with certain words. A few Dasains ago, we went out for lunch together. She had a full pocket of cash, and when the bill arrived, she suggested we either split it or “go Dutch”.&nbsp;
I wasn’t sure what Holland had to do with it, so I opted to split the bill. She had ordered more items than I did, and in the end, I ended up paying more than my fair share. After we settled the bill, she explained what “going Dutch” meant. I knew the concept, but did not know how it was referred to in English. I still joke that she took linguistic advantage of me.
It is not just the English language, my daughter has been instrumental in helping me grasp the global discourse on sexuality. She encouraged me to approach the topic with curiosity instead of judgment, especially when I do not know enough about the subject. It was through her insights that I learned about the evolution of the term “gay” which originally described a sense of carefree joy and happiness before it came <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10644">to signify homosexuality</a>, particularly among men.
Together, we explore new words that have entered the language and their context, deepening my understanding. She continually shares the latest Gen Z slang like IDK, fr, sus, and iykyk, etc. Sometimes I ask her for clarification, and other times I google them before responding.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/english-is-not-the-be-all-and-end-all">English is not the be-all and end-all</a>
During a conversation about my friends, she candidly told me that I was being “salty”. At​ first, I struggled to understand, thinking it had to do with my feelings being hurt. Noticing​ my confusion, she took the time to explain that I was upset over trivial matters, which I​ really shouldn’t be.
I had heard the Argentinian football legend Lionel Messi was referred to as ‘the GOAT’ and often wondered why. He is such an incredible player and always so kind in public. So, whenever I heard or saw the term GOAT, I would picture an actual goat in my mind.&nbsp;
During one of our casual conversations, I asked my daughter why people refer to Messi as a goat, is it because he is so incredibly agile? At first, she burst out laughing, but then she explained that the acronym meant ‘greatest of all time’. Nowadays, whenever Messi is playing my daughter points to the monitor, and explaims: “Look, Ama, Messi the goat.”
My daughter has become like a life coach, teaching me English while offering straightforward life lessons and helping keep me grounded. When she showed curiosity about my English abilities, we both agreed to help each other grow and my daughter has truly embraced that commitment with heartfelt sincerity and love.&nbsp;

Lionel Messi the goat

For a long time, I believed that being able to speak, read, and understand English meant having the power of knowledge. In hindsight, I also realise that if learning English was simply like picking up another language, my journey would have been much smoother and definitely more enjoyable.&nbsp;
I took pride in learning Maithili from my mother and Tharu from my father’s workplace, and those experiences were both fun and fulfilling.
Previous episodes of this column, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi">Angrezi</a>, explain how I struggled with self-doubt, feelings of inferiority, and low self-esteem because of my deficient English language. When I came to the capital, I realised that English held a different significance in this city.&nbsp;
In <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/the-thappad">my village in Sunsari</a>, it was often seen as a way to show off. In Kathmandu, it represented much more than that: it was a source of power, a means of access, and a gateway to opportunities.
During my first visit to Kathmandu in the late 1990s, I listened to a relative unleashing every possible curse word she knew in English to her sister-in-law. That outburst was triggered by the sister-in-law reporting her brother for domestic violence.&nbsp;
I found the sister-in-law to be incredibly courageous in taking that stand. It was also the first time I heard English being spoken among family members within a home, which surprised me. But this family was considered intelligent simply because its members could speak English. Even though I was only 13 at the time, I couldn’t help but question how someone who believed that domestic violence should be hushed up could be considered smart.&nbsp;
When I came to Kathmandu for my Bachelor’s I encountered a few individuals who enjoyed <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/leonardo-and-drew">discussing English films</a>, books, and music, and felt out of place and had little to contribute to the conversations.&nbsp;
At times, I would pretend to engage, while other times I would make excuses to leave early. I also attempted to learn more about the books and films being discussed, but it was exhausting. Despite my silence, I realised that they had information, but lacked deeper understanding.&nbsp;
They seemed captivated by popular music and literature, yet did not grasp the underlying messages those songs and books conveyed. Throughout my nearly year-long <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/from-humiliation-to-humility">work experience at a school library</a>, I remembered there was only one parent who visited. Not a single parent inquired about the types of books their children were reading or what genres excited their interest.&nbsp;
Their primary concern revolved around their child’s English proficiency. Many expressed frustration over their children’s struggle with the language, feeling embarrassed when their children could not communicate effectively in front of relatives and friends.&nbsp;
I recall Wangdi Sir saying that a school is not a language institute. A child may struggle with English, but they may excel in other subjects like science and math. Unfortunately, he struggled to persuade parents who had invested thousands in the hope that their children achieved fluency that it was not that important.&nbsp;
I encountered similar attitudes among parents across the country over the years. Many had moved from rural areas to cities, working tirelessly abroad to afford to send their children to English medium schools. There was also a noticeable bias, as families often prioritised sending sons to these more expensive schools and not their girls.
No wonder, society considers those who can speak English as intelligent, smart, or even a genius. To be sure, mastery of the English language can unlock a wealth of knowledge and provide opportunities for employment worldwide.&nbsp;
However, many do not understand that simply speaking English is not equal to intelligence, if one lacks access to enriching content in literature, art, music, or film. Ultimately, it is an individual’s upbringing, socialisation, choices, and the guidance they receive that plays a crucial role in knowledge and wisdom through English.&nbsp;
The English language is often misinterpreted as a sign of knowledge, not just in Nepal but in other developing countries where education is sometimes prioritised for language skills over true learning.
Ramesh Kumar, an economic journalist with Himalkhabar.com, recently shared on X that Nepali press releases from the World Bank and UN agencies in Kathmandu read like they were Google translated. He noted that hiring communications officers should not solely depend on their proficiency in English, they should also be skilled in the local language.&nbsp;
Relying on Google Translate or AI without understanding the context can lead to lots of embarrassing misunderstandings. Ultimately, all languages serve as tools for expression, but the messages conveyed can vary greatly.
My 5-year-old niece was already speaking English fluently even before she started pre-school. She lives in the village with my parents, where English is rarely spoken unless absolutely necessary. Yet, she picked up the language as if she had grown up in an English-speaking environment.&nbsp;
How did this happen? The secret was her love for cartoons, which she only watches in English. She has been learning both Nepali and English simultaneously, much like I did with Nepali and Maithili. I often wonder how her understanding of being a person, a woman, and a citizen will develop.&nbsp;
Language alone will not shape those identities. I hope we, as Nepalis, can grasp this concept. I also wish that our education system would instill in our children the values of humanity, equality, diversity, and not consider someone ‘civilised’ just because they can rattle off some English.
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal.

English is not the be-all and end-all

Samjhana and I landed together at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport one afternoon in December 2009. Samjhana was greeting everyone as “Sir” or “Madam”, and I started to do the same. However, when she called the taxi driver “Sir”, I could not help but ask why she was using those titles for everyone, making it feel like she was addressing government secretaries back home in Nepal.&nbsp; She explained that Nairobi was colonised by the British, who like the Sir/Madam form of address. It was the first time I realised that learning a language involves more than just memorising new words, pronunciation, idioms, and phrasal verbs. I understood that it also includes learning about the culture associated with the language. I went to Kenya as a participant in the FK Exchange program (now known as Norec Exchange) for a year. Initially, there was a preparatory course which introduced us to the culture, food, and communities of the African continent.&nbsp; During the preparatory course, I was accompanied by Samjhana. It was the first time for both of us to be constantly surrounded by the English language. Throughout the day, we made an effort to speak in English and even tried to speak English like the Kenyans did. But at night we relaxed by speaking in Nepali until late. Since I was hosted by a Kenyan organisation, Association of Media Women in Kenya (AMWIK) we visited their office where an Ethiopian woman also joined us. Lillian, who would be my manager, introduced us to the Director of AMWIK. During the introduction, she pointed out that the Ethiopian woman’s English was excellent even though Ethiopia was never colonised by Britain. I mentioned that Nepal also was never colonised, but Lillian ignored that remark. In fact, she gave me a strange look, as if to say directly to my face: “No wonder your English is not fluent.”&nbsp; This made me even more determined to improve my English language skills. When our exchange program started in January, Samjhana went to Uganda. I was left on my own. I needed to become better at both English and Swahili because we were going to the outskirts of Nairobi. I realised that not all Kenyans speak English, even in Nairobi. Although my teacher, Chacha, was a good language instructor, there were times when I wanted to escape the city where I was supposed to master Swahili in English simultaneously.&nbsp; I have to admit that I was not very serious about learning Swahili. Instead, I took advantage of Chacha’s excellent English. He pointed out that I struggled to distinguish between ‘sh’ and ‘s’ sounds, which I knew was a challenge for most native Nepali speakers. Chacha also used English to educate me on topics like different sexualities, why Kenya still upheld the polygamy law, the ethnic conflict of 2008, and the cultural influences left behind by the British.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241015151024_7d49c7be36a8e99f3d1a89d35f6835b3778d075111b992863fb8e8bcc91454bd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20241015151024_7d49c7be36a8e99f3d1a89d35f6835b3778d075111b992863fb8e8bcc91454bd" data-rendition-name="original" width="4000" height="3000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalin in Kenya"> <figcaption>Giri by the beach in Mombasa, Kenya. Photo courtesy: ANBIKA GIRI</figcaption> </figure>  As I was assigned with media monitoring for the Truth, Justice, and Reconciliation Commission (TJRC), Chacha assisted me in understanding key terms such as rule of law, impunity, reconciliation, and grievances. I could see he had given up on my Swahili. Even though I made mistakes, I stopped being embarrassed by it. One day I was stuck in traffic for almost two hours, and I texted Lillian: ‘I am jammed. I will be late.’&nbsp; She responded: ‘Great, we have it with some bread.’&nbsp; By the time I reached the office I knew I had made a language gaffe, and Lillian taught me how to say ‘stuck in traffic’, and not ‘jammed’. Such language mis-steps happened regularly in a country where English was not the mother tongue for any of us, but it was the only common language we had.&nbsp; Once, when we were out in the field, it was 3PM and we had not had lunch yet. We walked to the restaurant, and Lillian said she was “starving”. There was starvation in parts of Africa, but I found out that was not what she meant, and I asked her why she was not hungry.&nbsp; She laughed aloud at my lack of vocabulary, and joked: “I am hungry enough to eat a horse, Anbika.” I once believed that all Africans and white people only spoke English. But when I arrived in Kenya, I realised that not all Kenyans speak English. It took me a while to also realise that not all white people speak English, either.&nbsp; An Italian documentary maker yelled at me for not following his instructions. “Anbika, I is telling you, listen to what I is saying,” he said in a thick Italian accent that bulldozed through English syntax. &nbsp; Whether or not I was fluent in English, I had to speak it because I had no other choice. This encouraged me to learn from them and take risks with the language and not be worried about making mistakes.&nbsp; Coming from a country that was not colonised, most people were understanding and supportive of my effort to speak English. They would not make fun of me if I made mistakes, and instead help me get the grammar or pronunciation right.&nbsp;

‘Jammed’ and ‘starved’ in Kenya

After I joined the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16458">United Nations Mission in Nepal (UNMIN</a>) in June 2007 as the Language and Admin Assistant, I was assigned to the Arms Monitor section in Nepalganj. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14221">UNMIN</a> was established by the UN Security Council after the end of the Maoist conflict to monitor and implement the Comprehensive Peace Accord of 2006. Aside from other peacekeeping work, UNMIN maintained and administered <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17163">demobilised Maoist guerrillas</a> in seven main and 21 satellite <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17020">camps across Nepal</a>.
My main role in Nepalganj was to assist the international Sector Commander during meetings with various officials in the Mid-western region, including CDOs of various districts, politicians, security personnel from the police and army.
The first meeting of the Jordanian Sector Commander was at the Nepal Army barrack in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bardia-s-birds">Bardia</a>. Our group consisted of 9 people from the Arms Monitor section from various countries. The Jordanian’s English was easy to understand but the accents of others was harder to comprehend.
Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lost-in-translation"> Lost in translation</a>, Alisha Sijapati
We received a warm welcome from the Nepal Army, and the Battalion Commander explained the situation in the area, and gave us a tour of the base. I was nervous, but thought I had handled the interpretation well enough. Following the meeting, the soldiers served us breakfast.
Inside the personal dining room of the Battalion Commander, I noticed sandwiches, sliced mangoes, Coke, toast, jam, and butter laid out on the table. As we were getting ready to begin, a soldier approached the Commander and whispered something in his ear. The Commander then looked at me and asked, “लोकल कुखुराको मासु र चिउरा खान्छन् कि सोध्नु त?”
I turned to the Jordanian Sector Commander and was relaying the question but got stuck, “Would you like to eat local chicken with...”
Looking back at the Commander I asked: “चिउरालाई के भन्छन् अङ्ग्रेजीमा?” He found it hilarious that I did not know what चिउरा was is in English, and said, “Bitten Rice, हैन त?” He responded as if I had confirmed his unofficial translation. I then finished my sentence to the Sector Commander, asking whether he would like local chicken with “bitten” rice.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/mai-commin-sir-qfdjg2uw">"Mai commin, Sir?"</a>, Anbika Giri
Being an interpreter was fun because of gaffes like that that are funny in hindsight. The international staff of the Arms Monitor section were friendly, and were understanding of my difficult sometimes interpreting their English accents. They spoke in brief, simple sentences to make it easy for me.
After the ‘bitten rice’ episode, one day our team was being led by a Swedish military officer for a meeting with the Senior Superintendent of the Nepal Police. We arrived at his station, but he was not there because his force had been busy evicting members of the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16873">Maoist Young Communist League (YCL)</a> from a house where they were occupying.
Luckily, both sides resolved the situation through dialogue, and the tension subsided. After meeting the YCL leader, we wanted to get the Police’s side of the story. When the SSP finally arrived, he looked preoccupied and we began promptly once he took his seat.
Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19640">"If I were to tell you everything I know about Prachanda ..."</a>
As I was translating his lengthy introduction of himself into a more concise version, I mistakenly referred to him as a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) rather than an SSP, which seemed to upset him. He asked me to repeat his full introduction correctly, including details about his long and illustrious career.
I quickly apologised and translated his introduction accurately. The Swedish army officer was seated across from him, jotting down notes. The SSP could read his English notes, and instructed me to tell the Swede to write down everything. (“मेरो पुरा परिचय लेख्न भन”)
I told the SSP politely that I was just the interpreter and could not tell the UNMIN officer what to write and not to write in his notebook. The short meeting ended, and the SSP insisted again that I tell the Swedish army officer to add a few more sentences of his introduction to his notes, and not just write ‘SSP’. (“एक दुई वाक्य थप्न भन्नु । ठ्यास्स एसएसपी मात्र त के लेखेको ।”
I held back my laughter because there was no way I could translate “ठ्यास्स” into English. There just is not an equivalent word, and it would need a whole sentence to get the thought across: “Perfunctorily just jot down the bare minimum and get it over with”, or words to that effect.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/from-humiliation-to-humility">From humiliation to humility</a>, Anbika Giri
Having a limited English vocabulary, making tons of grammatical errors, and feeling nervous were even more challenging when meeting politicians. It was hard to figure out where politicians put full stops and commas in their sonorous speeches.
Once in <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/northwestern-tip-of-nepal-Humla,3430#google_vignette">Simikot of Humla district</a>, I was interpreting speeches at a gathering of over 100 members from various political parties. Everyone spoke passionately as if it was their last chance to be heard. I struggled to understand the local dialect – this was northwestern Nepal, and I am from the southeast.
The subject of the speeches was the rehabilitation of those <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/the-lingering-trauma-of-war">forced to flee during the Maoist insurgency</a>. A young man, who seemed agitated, was yelling loudly. I stepped in to translate that his family had been forced from home due to the conflict when he was just 16. He was sent to Kathmandu for further education while his parents stayed in a rented house in Nepalganj.
Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13684">Youthful rivalry</a>, JOHN NARAYAN PARAJULI
All this was fairly easy to translate, but then he began angrily criticising a leader of the Maoist Party, using rude language. How could I translate such words into English? Besides, I did not even know the English equivalent of those local swearwords.
“मेरो कुरा अङ्ग्रेजीमा भन्दिनु” thundered the man in a menacing voice, asking me not to leave anything out. The Sector Commander asked what the man was going on about, and I told him I did not understand and apologised, while the man kept interrupting and accused me of not translating his tirade, and being biased.
I finally told the man: “तपाईंको गाली मलाई अङ्ग्रेजीमा भन्न आएन। गाली ट्रान्सलेट गर्न आको हो म?” (I cannot translate your curses. Am I here to translate your profanity?)He shouted back (expletives beeped out): “किन जागिर खाको त ? बाउको सोर्स होला... beep... beep... beep..” (Then why were you hired? Your Dad must know someone…)
I moved on to next person in the audience and completely ignored him. However, today as I think back at that day in Humla his angry words still ring in my ears. I wish now I could have told him that I got the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17292">UNMIN</a> interpreter job because a friend had heard about the opening and I filled out the UN’s complicated P11 application form. My Dad had no idea what I was getting into.
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Read earlier instalments of Angrezi, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/from-humiliation-to-humility">here</a>.

Me, the Interpreter

“Did you know this interview was supposed to be in English?” he asked with a smile. I reciprocated, although it was clear that his smile conveyed a sense of pity towards me. My smile, on the other hand, was more an expression of private shame.
I was being interviewed for the position of librarian at a residential English-medium school by the Managing Director. His personality was domineering: tall, well-built, and a pony tail.&nbsp;
I knew some of the questions he asked would be in English, but did not realise that I had to respond entirely in English too. I had some basic English language communication skills, but I was not fluent at the time.&nbsp;
“How are you planning to get by here? You clearly cannot speak the language, and our working language is English,” he said looking me directly in the eye. This interview was starting to scare me.
“म कथा भन्न सक्छु,” I blurted out in Nepali, trying to salvage my job prospect by highlighting my story-telling skills.“Okay. एउटा कथा सुनाउ,” he replied, as if to put me at ease. I immediately launched into a children’s story that had recently been published in Kopila, Kantipur’s school supplement.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/journalism-is-all-about-storytelling-and-money">Journalism is all about storytelling (and money)</a>
The story was about a letter that transformed the life of a girl with low self-esteem. She had felt unappreciated by everyone until the letter arrived from a dentist whom she had earlier helped by giving directions. The letter thanked her for being so helpful, and expressed how proud her mother must be for having such a smart daughter.&nbsp;
Despite my lack of English, the Managing Director must have found the story and my narration compelling. I got the job, but on probation and with condition attached: “You’re on your own. If you can’t connect with the students within a month, you’ll be let go.”&nbsp;
I started my job at the school library in 2006 just as the students were getting ready for their three-week summer break. Excitement and English chatter filled the air, but I could not quite follow what they were saying. They were too preoccupied with their vacation to notice me.&nbsp;
The library itself was a disaster zone. Books were scattered everywhere. And even though I had no prior knowledge of library management, I tried to bring some order into the chaos.&nbsp;
I was a voracious reader, but most of the books were in English and I felt overwhelmed. I dedicated long hours at the library, sometimes working late into the night. My goal was to familiarise myself with every single book in the stacks before the school year began, hoping to impress the students.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/read-and-let-read">Read and let read</a>, Anil Chitrakar
The holidays were coming to an end, and I felt the pressure mounting. Searching for a solution to ensure a smooth start, I came up with what I figured was a brilliant plan to convene a meeting with class captains before opening the library for all students. My reasoning was that if they were on board with enforcing library rules, the rest of the students would follow.
I was working late, and the Managing Director looked in, noticing the lights were still on. He seemed pleased to find the library in perfect condition, the books all organised.&nbsp;
“Don’t work late, a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/nepal-brings-back-the-snow-leopard">leopard</a> may show up,” he said.&nbsp;
“Really? A लियोपार्ड?” I gasped, pronouncing it ‘Leo-Pard’. “Yes, तर लियोपार्ड हैन लेपर्ड चाहिँ आउँछ and they will chew you up,” he said, chuckling, and pronouncing the word leopard properly.Embarrassed, I corrected myself, silently repeating the correct pronunciation of लेपर्ड. I only understood later that he was jokingly referring to children chewing me out, not an actual leopard. This humiliation destroyed my confidence, and I lost the confidence to engage in conversation, even in Nepali.
Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/mai-commin-sir-qfdjg2uw"> "Mai commin, Sir?"</a>, Anbika Giri
The students returned and were informed about their meeting with the new Library Miss. There were two captains each from Class 4-10, and one school captain, totaling 13. I thought I was fully prepared, and it all began well.&nbsp;
But the assertiveness of the students and their fluency in English caught me completely off guard, and I fumbled for English words as my vocabulary vanished. Till this day, I feel the sweat on my forehead.
At first the class captains were taken aback, some attempted to correct my pronunciation, and then their giggling erupted into uncontrollable laughter. I could not bear the failure, and switched to Nepali but my confidence was shattered. I was not getting through at all. They walked away, making fun of my English pronunciation in a loud voice just to make sure I heard them.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/hi-hee-and-haha-hihi">Hi-Hee and Haha-Hihi</a>, Anbika Giri
Deflated, I also felt embarrassed in front of the teachers, fearing that the students may have mocked me. They insisted I speak to them in English. I avoided making eye contact and interacting with the students, I hardly spoke to the teachers, and if I did it was in Nepali.
After two months, Wangdi Sir noticed my silence. He was an English teacher from Kalimpong and was rigorous yet popular among students. He stood out among his colleagues as one of the few who preferred to spend time in the library, engrossed in reading.
One day, he asked me why I was so quiet. I shared my story, unburdening myself. He chuckled initially, but offered practical tutorials about<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepali-students-underperform"> handling students </a>in English with sentences like “Why don’t you try the fiction section?” or “May I help you find your book?”
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-about-teaching">Learning about teaching</a>, Prakriti Kandel
Before Wangdi Sir’s help, whenever a student requested a book I would simply get it and hand it over to them without uttering a single word. Wangdi Sir taught me that recognising weakness was the first step in overcoming it. Steadily, my confidence level improved, and I started to build rapport with students. Whenever I mispronounced something, I would politely ask them to correct me.
My eight-month tenure transitioned from a state of humiliation to a one of humility. This was when my interest in children’s literature blossomed, and the library gave me a deeper understanding of the students’ perspectives and interests.&nbsp;
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Find her previous columns <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi">here</a>.

From humiliation to humility

Back in July 2007, while living in Kathmandu I had most of my evening meals at Angan’s Tripureswar outlet, since at the time I had no clue how to cook a proper meal.
The most I could manage was to make tea, haluwa, and chauchau, which I did not care much for during my pregnancy. But since I had a huge appetite, every evening I would be at my table at Angan for a South Indian thali and sweets, and even pack some dhokla for later at night.&nbsp;
On my first visit to Angan, I sat down and patiently waited for someone to take my order. Five minutes later, I was still waiting. I called a waiter over, and said, “Menu दिनु न.”
“यहाँ त प्रीपेड सेल्फ-सर्भिस हो।” he replied in an offhand manner, telling me to order at the counter, pay and get a receipt.&nbsp;
Thanks to Nepal Telecom, I understood what a ‘pre-paid’ service was. But I had no concept of a ‘self-service’ restaurant with waiters. Looking around, I noticed everyone was getting their own food and refilling water glasses themselves.&nbsp;
I grasped the concept of self- service, but I was not all that thrilled about it. If I went to a restaurant, I preferred to be served at the table no matter where I was. It was probably the only time I was not excited to learn something new in English, and I regretted choosing that outlet. But it was already 7PM and I was starving, and did not have the energy to search for another place to eat since I was new to the area then.
I lazily made my way to the counter, I placed my order, paid, and returned to my seat. I had sworn to myself that I would not set foot in this place again, but for today, I let it slide. My hunger was unbearable, causing me to constantly glance towards the counter, anxiously checking my receipt number.&nbsp;
To distract myself, I started playing snake games on my tiny Nokia 1100 phone. I was completely engrossed in the game, oblivious to the fact that someone had already placed a glass of water on my table. When another customer’s number was called, I finally looked up and noticed the water before me.&nbsp;
To my pleasant surprise, a gentleman approached my table with a tray of food. A wave of happiness washed over me. “If you need more water or anything else, feel free to order from here,” the man kindly informed me.
I was truly impressed by how well they treated me that day. They were always checking in to see if I required anything, if the food was too spicy, or if I needed a refill of water. I completely forgot about the negative impression I had of the place just 20 minutes earlier.
That July, 17 years ago, I practically dined at Angan every evening. I would take a seat and a waiter would promptly come to take my order. They always offered me water as soon as I sat down, and never failed to bring an extra sweet treat. It felt like I was eating in the comfort of my own home. One rainy day, they even gave me an umbrella to go home.
In early August, my landlady offered to cook for me as well. I gladly accepted and paid her for meals four times on the weekends and twice during the weekdays. Due to the rainy season, she was concerned about my safety and did not want me slipping and getting hurt. I appreciated her gesture and stopped going to Angan. I am not sure who owned Angan or managed the Tripureswar outlet in 2007, but I am still thankful to them to introduce a newcomer to Kathmandu about the concept of ‘self-service’.&nbsp;
It may be late, considering my daughter is now nearly 17 years old, but I still have a soft spot for the outlet and want to give gratitude where it is due. Oh, and ‘due’ is a word the versatility of which I discovered at about the same time.
I was sad and frustrated. More sad than frustrated, more nervous than sad. And scared. It had been 42 weeks, and there was still no sign of labour pain. The doctor had given the all-clear just two days earlier, but the absence of any sign of labour was puzzling.&nbsp;
I was at a computer shop in Jhamsikhel to fix my laptop. The technician was trying to figure out what the problem was. I was distracted, and could not relax. Even though it was September, I was sweating.
Looking at me, a friendly middle-aged foreign-looking man at the shop asked in English, “May I ask when you’re due?”&nbsp;
I was as big as an elephant, and he was not much smaller. I noticed he had squeezed himself into the corner of the sofa to make room for me. His kindness touched me, but I did not understand his question especially the word ‘due’. I smiled faintly, indicating I was not interested in responding.
Not only was he kind, but intelligent too. He figured out this was a language issue, and cleverly combined sign language with words, pointing towards my belly, asking, “When is the baby coming out?”
“I don’t know,” I said in fright.&nbsp;
I noticed his eyes widen behind his glasses, but before he could interrogate me further, the &nbsp;technician told me to come back later in the day for my laptop. I hurriedly exited the store.
Once outside, I headed to a cyber cafe and googled the word ‘due’. I was surprised to see that a simple three letter English word had so many meanings:
1. Adjective: Expected at or planned for at a certain time. “The baby’s due in August”
2. Of the proper quality or extent.
“driving without due care and attention”
3. Noun: one’s right,what is owed to one. “He thought it was his due.”
4. An obligatory payment, a fee.
“He had paid trade union dues for years.”
5. Adverb (with reference to a point of the compass) exactly; directly.
“We’ll head due south again on the same road.”
Looking back now, I chuckle at my attempts to learn English in such baffling situations in Nepal. More in the next episode.&nbsp;
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Read earlier instalments of Angrezi, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi">here</a>.

Giving credit where it is due

Autobooks were popular at our school. They were diaries where friends could jot down something, creating a lifelong memory. It was customary for friends to stick photos in each other’s photobooks, so we could look at their faces whenever we missed them.&nbsp;
Back in the 2000s, we students knew that we would eventually have to part ways. Some of us, mostly girls, would get married, others would leave the village to pursue higher education, and some would start working.
We were convinced that after completing our SLC, it would be nearly impossible to reunite with school friends. This was before Facebook.
Filled with overwhelming emotions, we yearned for a tangible keepsake of our time together. Filling an autobook and having one filled was truly special. We poured our hearts out, expressing how our school life was coming to an end and how the new world awaiting us would never be the same.&nbsp;
We wished our friends the very best in their future endeavours and humbly asked for forgiveness if we had ever hurt them. We even included some heartfelt shayari verses, along with our favourite food, name, place, actor, actress, movie, dress, and even surnames.
In the initial trimester of Class 10 we were engrossed in writing for friends and requesting them to return to write in our autobooks. The task of choosing the most captivating photo for the autobook posed quite a challenge. After all, it was supposed to last a lifetime.
My elder sister only made her autobook when she was in her +2 when I was in Class 7. Since she had attended an English medium school until Grade 6, her English was good. Additionally, living in Biratnagar, the biggest city I knew back then, she naturally wrote the autobook in English.&nbsp;
Everything she wrote was original, she knew the meaning of every word. Following her example, my other sisters also wrote the autobook in English. Both had copied our elder sister. When my turn came, I naturally followed suit.&nbsp;
We not only copied the format but also the best actor, actress, movie, and everything else. We used to believe that whatever our elder sister liked must be likeable and unique.
Her favourite actor was <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000138/">Leonardo DiCaprio</a>, the actress was <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000106/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1">Drew Barrymore</a>, and the movie was Titanic. They became our favourites too, although we had no idea who the two were or what <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120338/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_0_tt_8_nm_0_q_titanic">Titanic</a> was all about. But we trusted her taste. If she admired them, they must be truly remarkable.&nbsp;
It seemed that my friends shared the same sentiment, as they too copied Leo and Drew as their favourites actor and actress. Although we had different preferences when it came to Nepali and Indian actors, Leo and Drew were the common Hollwood choices.
I first learned about Titanic during my college years and saw the movie in 2008. Before that, I had already watched another film starring DiCaprio, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0450259/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">Blood Diamond</a>, in 2007. While I enjoyed both movies, my favourite actor at the time was <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000158/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1">Tom Hanks</a>. I discovered Tom before Leo, but somehow I completely forgot about Drew.
I have a problem with English films. I can easily remember the plot, but I cannot put a name to the actors. The same goes for songs - I could recognise the tune, but could not remember the singer’s &nbsp;name. I am better now, but still struggle to remember their names.&nbsp;
Five years ago, I googled Drew Barrymore, and can you believe it: I had actually watched two of her movies multiple times on DVD, ’<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0343660/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">50 First Dates</a>’ and ‘<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0160127/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_0_tt_8_nm_0_q_Charlie%27s%2520Angels">Charlie's Angels</a>’. I had even seen her in ‘Music and Lyrics’, but I had no idea that she was the Drew Barrymore who was my sister’s favourite and through her mine, and the favourite of the entire class. I wonder if Leo and Drew are still favourites of any of my friends or even my sisters?&nbsp;
While moving flats in Kathmandu multiple times, I misplaced my autobook. It would be fascinating to revisit our autobooks, and to see how our preferences have evolved over time. Some were altered as we discovered better options, while others were modified as our understanding improved.
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. See her previous columns <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/hi-hee-and-haha-hihi">here</a>.

Leonardo and Drew

In this episode of my series Angrezi, let me share two other interesting encounters I had with English before diving into Ryan’s story. The saga of my own English learning experience.
My uncle decided to open an English medium school in Madhesa of Sunsari district, which was the first of its kind in our village. The school was named Bright Future English School, and caused quite a stir even before it officially opened.
People were intrigued by the word ‘Future’, and the meaning of ‘Bright’ eluded them. One morning, while sipping tea at Bahadurni Thuli Ama’s tea shop, my uncle’s friends could not contain their curiosity any longer, and asked him the meaning of ‘Bright’.
Instead of giving a direct answer, my uncle gave them a clue by asking why the toothpaste brand at the time, ‘Brighter’ was so named. Suddenly, it all made sense to them, including the significance of ‘a bright future’.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepali-students-underperform">Why do so many Nepali students underperform?</a>, Anita Shrestha
The next incident still gives me a good laugh whenever I remember it. Not far from our village was another English medium school called The Martyr School. We youngsters used to jokingly refer to it as “Damatar, Tamatar”. It was only much later that I finally understood the meaning of ‘martyr’.
The recent Hindi movie 12th Fail tells the true story of Manoj Kumar Sharma, who passed India’s UPSC (like Nepal’s own Public Service Commission) exam and eventually became a police officer on his fourth attempt. There is a scene in the movie where he confidently writes an essay about terrorism from memory during the English exam, only to find out later that the question was actually about tourism.
I can perfectly relate to that feeling. During one exam I remember composing an answer about ‘The Mothers of Nepal’ when the question was actually asking us to write about ‘The Martyrs of Nepal’. Embarrassing.
Now, the story of Ryan. In Grade 9, our English teacher told us the sad story of Ryan who said bye to his mother and hopped on a motorcycle even though he was underage and did not have a driving license. The mother knew this, and told him to drive safely. &nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and Yugeshwor Koirala
A few hours later, she got a call from the police. Ryan had been in an accident. She rushed to the hospital, but Ryan did not make it. After his tragic death, the mother felt immense regret and blamed herself for not stopping him. She constantly thinks about him, imagining that one day he will step in through the door with a cheerful “Hi, Mom!”
The moral of the story: do not drive without a license. Our English teacher narrated the story in Nepali, and to add a touch of humour, he changed Ryan’s name to Ram Bahadur. I can still vividly recall him narrating to the class: "उस्कै आमालाई लागि रहन्छ कि राम बाहादुर घर आउँछ हाई मोम, म आएँ भन्दै” (His &nbsp;mother felt Ryan would come back, saying “Hi Mom, I’m home”).
But when he said “Hi” he did not pronounce it /haɪ/, he said it like “hee”. And guess what? Thenceforth we all copied the way he said “hee” when he meant “hi”, repeating “हि मोम, म घर आएँ”.&nbsp;
Back in school, we never greeted our friends, so I did not use the word “Hi” to greet friends till college. If only we had the same chapter in Grade 10, then Thoo Sir would have taught us properly. I finally learned the correct pronunciation, but it did bring some embarrassment.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-hard-working-students-overseas">Nepal’s hard working students overseas</a>, Sonia Awale
I enrolled at Janata Multiple College in Itahari for Proficiency Certificate Level, with English as one of my majors. Being the last student to join, I was new to everyone. As a major in English, when people approached me, they naturally said “Hi, I am phalano” or “Hi, I am dhiskano”. I reciprocated in the same manner. The only difference was in how they pronounced “Hi” and my response was always “Hee, I am Anbika”. I did not understand why they would always giggle when I said that.
A new friend of mine tried to correct me, but out of habit I continued with my “Hee” until our first-year English major teacher, Kedar Sir, overheard me one day in class saying, “Hee, I am Anbika”. He corrected me in front of the entire class. “Anbika, it is /haɪ/, हि भन्न कल्ले सिकायो?” (Who taught you to say Hee?) he exclaimed so loudly that even students dozing off at the back woke up.
To be honest, it had never occurred to me that even teachers could make mistakes till that moment. I was a little embarrassed. The embarrassment was manageable, but it led me to a state of utter confusion. Suddenly, I began doubting every English pronunciation I had ever learnt in school till then from teachers I had admired. I assumed that Kedar Sir, being an English major teacher at college, must have a stronger command of the language than my high school teacher. Thus, I decided to follow Kedar Sir to unlearn what I learnt in school.
That day, I did not tell Kedar Sir where I got the funny pronunciation from. I later discovered that all my friends had some issues with English since we all came from the same school background where English was taught in Nepali.
Back in the early 2000s, English was not as important as it is today. It did not open up job opportunities, or help navigate work abroad. People who tried to sprinkle English words while speaking Nepali were regarded as show-offs. Twenty years later, English proficiency is given much more importance and we have come a long way. &nbsp;
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Her previous columns were <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/mai-commin-sir-qfdjg2uw">Mai Commin, Sir</a> and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/the-thappad">Thappad</a>.&nbsp;

Hi-Hee and Haha-Hihi

Thick-framed glasses, a wide nose, and a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache. A front curl peeked out of his cap if he missed his haircut. He wore a full-sleeved shirt and cotton trousers.
His appearance was unremarkable, lacking the fashion sense of the stylish Dharan people of the day. He seemed like a tired, middle-aged man by the end of class, covered in chalk dust. He was easily overlooked until he spoke English because his English was impossible to ignore.
This man was dealing with a significant issue. He wanted to teach English in English, while we students preferred learning English in Nepali. His pronunciation was different from other English teachers, causing students to struggle to understand him. They started calling him Thoo Sir because they heard ‘to’ (/tu:/) as ‘thoo’ (ठू), but no one knows who first started this nickname or when it began. No one knew where he acquired his accent from, either.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/class-differences">Class differences</a>, Rabin Giri
Every morning, the bus would drop him off at Ghopali Tol from Dharan around 9AM, and he would walk 12 minutes to school from there. Students would have to interact with him in English or listen to a kind of English they could not understand.
I had heard his infamous nickname long before I attended Thulo School, the only secondary school in the village, after passing out from the primary Sano School.
He never inflicted any physical punishment on us, however his frustration was harder to handle. He would say things that friends could use to mock and tease fellow classmates.
Students would dread his presence in the classroom because unlike other teachers who would read slowly and explain in Nepali, he insisted on speaking English correctly and would not let us off the hook until we did so as well.
I only had him as a teacher in my Grade 10 class, and I remember being late on the very first day. "Mai commin, Sir?" I asked from the door.
"Ask properly," he replied, without even looking at me.
I asked again, but he continued cleaning the blackboard without paying any attention to me.
"Sir, Mai commin?" I changed the word order.
"Repeat after me," he instructed. That day, I learnt for the first time that 'Mai commin' was actually 'May I come in?'
"You don't even know basic English? Silly girl!" he said, and of course, my friends teased me for a long time about that.
His dissatisfaction with a student’s pronunciation silenced the class. While I was usually vocal and asked questions in other subjects, I could not utter a word in his class for fear of being ridiculed again.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/lowest-common-denominator">Lowest common denominator</a>, Editorial
I would formulate questions in my mind but struggle to voice them. Sometimes, I would start in English and end up speaking in Nepali, which would upset him even more.
He would not engage in conversations in Nepali, preferring to explain things in English. His excessive use of English gave us all chronic headache.
One day, in the middle of class, I asked in Nepali, "Thoo Sir, my pad is leaking. I will go home, change, and come back in five minutes."
"What did you just say?" he asked in English, lowering his reading glasses, revealing a pair of tired eyes, and a bruise on the bridge of his nose caused by the weight of the frame.
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/that-time-of-the-month">Sanitary napkins</a> were not yet available, so we sisters would have to run to my nearby home to use one of our mother's old cotton saris as pads. But these were not absorbent enough for heavy bleeding. There was no door or roof in the school toilet, making it impossible to change at school.
I never felt embarrassed about asking to be excused, and neither the teachers nor students used to make a big deal out of it. Since he had responded to my Nepali, I assumed his 'WHAT?' was in response to my request to go home to change my pad.
I repeated my request, this time to assure him that I would return in exactly five minutes. But his "What did you just call me?" was actually about my publicly addressing him as “Thoo Sir”.&nbsp;
My bench-mate Bishal tried to warn me to keep quiet. But I continued, "Thoo sir. Everyone calls you Thoo sir behind your back. Don't you know?"
"I know but no one said it to my face before."
Quickly correcting myself, I said, "BB Sir, please allow me to go home. I won't address you as Thoo Sir anymore."
"Thoo Sir again," he chuckled, lightly tapping my head with the book in his hand. "Go on, run!"
All these years later, I realised that it took a lot of effort for him to respond the way he did. Unlike other teachers who only focused on the top students, he would treat all students equally, change the seating arrangement, shifting students from the front to the back.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and yugeshwor Koirala
After leaving school and moving to Kathmandu, I began learning English and found the language fascinating. It took years to overcome my hesitation, but I eventually understood why Thoo Sir insisted on teaching English in English. I wished he had been more creative in making us appreciate the language and understand its importance.
We used to believe that Thoo Sir had the best English in the world and was forcing fluency on us when all we needed was 32 marks to pass. There was not much interest in learning English in those days.
Thoo Sir was ahead of his time in grasping the importance of a global language. He knew there was a world beyond our village of Madhesha and the SLC exams. He was not interested in our exam marks, he only wished us to understand English in English. And today, I am glad we had Thoo Sir as our English teacher.
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Her previous column was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/the-thappad">Thappad.</a>
&nbsp;

"Mai commin, Sir?"

After a week of violent and destructive protests, Nepal’s President Ram Chandra Poudel on Friday appointed <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Legalese/justice-in-chief,804">former Chief Justice Sushila Karki</a> as a caretaker Prime Minister to lead an interim citizens' government.&nbsp; Poudel had been in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/what-next-nepal">closed-door discussions since Thursday</a> with youth members who spearheaded the protests, constitutional experts, the House Speaker, and the Army Chief. There was a consensus on the choice of Karki as candidate for interim prime minister, but her swearing-in was stalled due to a disagreement about Constitutional processes for her appointment.&nbsp; Youth delegates and Karki demanded that Parliament be dissolved before the appointment of the caretaker prime minister, while President Poudel had been arguing that Parliament would be automatically dissolved once the new council of ministers announced elections. Representing the GenZ movement, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/who-or-what-is-hami-nepal">Sudan Gurung</a> (pictured, below) is said to have insisted that dissolution of Parliament first was non-negotiable because he did not trust the political parties. He is said to have added that he would call his supporters out into the streets, and the President relented. The military’s warning earlier that an emergency would be declared if there was no agreement tonight clinched it.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025091216098_cdd409c5824b578a04f05a43280e3f475d92bf7123d3a4565b4d720768fcc1b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025091216098_cdd409c5824b578a04f05a43280e3f475d92bf7123d3a4565b4d720768fcc1b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="600" loading="lazy" alt="Sudan Gurung"> <figcaption>Sudan Gurung of Hami Nepali during negotiations.</figcaption> </figure>  With this, Karki becomes Nepal’s first female prime minister, exactly a decade after she became the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/interview/a-woman-is-as-capable-sushila-karki,3375">country’s first female chief justice in 2016</a>.&nbsp; Nepalis, still shocked by the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-8-september-massacre">death and destruction of the past week</a>, heaved a sigh of relief at the announcement, which was greeted as a victory of youth power for political reform led by the GenZ movement. Its initial anti-corruption protest on 8-9 September <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/kathmandu-burns-despite-pm-resignation">spiralled out of control into violence and arson</a> nationwide that claimed at least 51 lives. Several other candidates were floated for the caretaker prime minister’s post. Kathmandu Mayor Balen Shah and former head of the electricity utility Kulman Ghising were being considered, but both declined possibly because they want to contest the next national elections. Given her experience in the judiciary and zero tolerance for corruption, Karki was the favourite of various groups within the GenZ campaign.&nbsp; The site of the negotiations moved to the official residence of the president in Shital Niwas from the Nepal Army Headquarters on Thursday. The Army had come under criticism on social media and from civil society for detaining the President and not letting him speak or be a part of the negotiation.&nbsp; This fuelled public perception that the military had a soft spot for a return of the monarchy. There were widespread rumours on Thursday that king Gyanendra, who was ousted after the abolition of the monarchy in 2008, was trying to stage a comeback by piggybacking on the agitation. Writing on X, senior journalist Kishore Nepal revealed that the Chief of Army Staff Ashokraj Sigdel had allegedly asked Poudel to step aside and pave the way for the military to negotiate, to which the President is said to have replied: “I will not resign. Kill me instead and blame it on the protesters. Then you can do whatever you like.” Live broadcast of swearing in of Sushila Karki:&nbsp; <div class="embed-block"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/53go4OxuOa0?si=Zd89QGIAX8-7Bm75" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025091219094_41b0f97a5925ab6969e1413636bf073ae43262893a55d9c177cb1312dea52f0d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025091219094_41b0f97a5925ab6969e1413636bf073ae43262893a55d9c177cb1312dea52f0d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="851" loading="lazy" alt="Sushila Karki swearing in"> <figcaption>President ram Chandra Poudel swearing in Sushila Karki as the 42nd Prime Minister of Nepal.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025091303098_8f2b6f98898c4cd73c271caa51b8e29d679a7385c249380aeb96d7cc2c3f6dba.png" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2025091303098_8f2b6f98898c4cd73c271caa51b8e29d679a7385c249380aeb96d7cc2c3f6dba" data-rendition-name="original" width="1480" height="924" loading="lazy" alt="Sushila Karki PM"> <figcaption>GenZ representatives with new Prime Minister Sushila Karki after her swearing in.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025091301098_470dbca4f4d34ca4533ce4d160045ffe8e525e98380f6f1e20eb24a6236c6029.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2025091301098_470dbca4f4d34ca4533ce4d160045ffe8e525e98380f6f1e20eb24a6236c6029" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Sushila Karki PM"> <figcaption>Sushila Karki with supporters including Genz representative Sudan Gurung of Hami Nepal and Sumana Shrestha of Rastriya Swatantra Party.</figcaption> </figure>  COURAGE AND INTEGRITY Sushila Karki served as the chief justice between 11 July 2016 to 6 June 2017, and has been known for her frugal ways. She was a firebrand judge unafraid to ruffle powerful feathers, and as chief justice was behind ruling to impeach for abuse of office a powerful head of Nepal’s anti-graft body in 2016. She wrote that he had ‘<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Legalese/the-end-of-karkistocracy,827">neither the moral character nor qualifications for the post</a>’. Even before she became Chief Justice, Karki was one of the two judges on the bench that convicted the sitting Minister for Information and Communication, Jaya Prakash Gupta, of corruption in 2012. Then in 2016, a bench including Karki ruled against granting amnesty to former Maoist lawmaker and convicted murderer Bal Krishna Dhungel. Karki was born on 7 June 1952 in Biratnagar. She completed her undergraduate studies at Mahendra Morang College in 1972 before obtaining a postgraduate degree in political science from Banaras Hindu University in India three years later. This was followed by a Bachelor's in Law in 1978 from Tribhuvan University, and she started her law career as an advocate a year later. In 1985, Karki worked as a teacher at Mahendra Multiple Campus in Dharan, and was jailed for participating in the 1990 People’s Movement to overthrow the Panchayat absolute monarchy. She became a senior Advocate at the Nepal Bar Association in 2008 and was appointed an Ad-Hoc Justice at the Supreme Court in January 2009.&nbsp; On Thursday, there were supporters for other candidates for the post sloganeering against Karki’s nomination outside the Army Headquarters. Some on social media were also skeptical of her connection to the Nepali Congress (NC) party. Growing up in Biratnagar Karki was close to the family of B P Koirala, Nepal’s first elected prime minister in 1960. Her husband Durga Subedi was part of a group of underground Congress activists who hijacked a Royal Nepal Airlines plane in 1973, flying it to India to snatch cash belonging to Nepal Rastra Bank in the cargo hold.&nbsp; The money was used for the party’s pro-democracy campaign. Karki has no love lost for the political establishment. In April 2017, the governing coalition under Maoist Prime Minister Pushpa Kamal Dahal <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/lady-justice-sushila-karki,3693">submitted an impeachment motion against her</a> after the Supreme Court overturned his decision to install a favoured police chief, violating succession based on seniority. It was a political move backed by Dahal’s coalition partner Sher Bahadur Deuba of the NC who was waiting to become prime minister for the 4th time. CHALLENGES AHEAD With Karki now in charge of the interim government, she has the daunting task of forming a council of ministers made up of amorphous and disparate groups from the GenZ, technocrats, and current politicians. Karki has said she will not prevent members of her cabinet from contesting elections, which means those with electoral aspirations like Kulman Ghising, Balen Shah and Sumana Shrestha could be asked to join. Karki has her work cut out as she has to get her team members to pull in the same direction to hold free and fair elections. She also has to make sure she has the support of the military without giving the generals too much say, while also smartly maneuvering Nepal’s precarious geopolitical ties with its giant neighbours, China and India. But most of all, the new prime minister must lay the foundations to not just physically rebuild the judiciary, executive and legislature but also ensure that elections will produce a more accountable and efficient government. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/trial-by-fire">Trial By Fire</a>, Editorial

Madam Prime Minister of Nepal

Many had never heard of <a href="https://www.haminepal.org/">Hami Nepal</a>, the organisation that is part of the GenZ movement that did not just topple the government this week, but <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/what-next-nepal">pushed Nepal’s political system into new, uncharted territory</a>. It was part of an organic coming together of various youth groups fed up with Nepal’s corruption, mismanagement and lack of accountability. Hami Nepal and its GenZ comrades are now part of the negotiations with the Army to form an interim government. Hami Nepal is a non-profit dedicated to supporting communities and individuals in need, guided by its motto ‘For the People, By the People’. Its core mission is to assist individuals and communities in need, particularly during emergencies and crises, with a focus on directly connecting donors with recipients, and delivering aid efficiently and transparently. It was set up after the 2015 earthquake, but was formally registered and gained recognition in 2020 during the Covid-19 pandemic. Hami Nepal is led by 36-year-old civic activist Sudan Gurung who started the organisation after he lost his own son in the 2015 earthquake.&nbsp; Leading up to the events this week, it played a central role in guiding the demonstrations, using its Instagram and Discord platforms to circulate protest information and share guidelines. Other GenZ groups used their own WhatsApp groups and other fora.&nbsp; Among the 20 or so volunteers is Ronesh Pradhan, who spoke to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-gen-z-protest-turns-deadly">Nepali Times on 8 September </a>morning during the GenZ rally, before the violence escalated.&nbsp; “The voices of young people matter. We can’t keep being ruled by the same old men,” Pradhan said. “Our generation is the future and if there are older leaders in government, they need to be competent and accountable. We are ready to lead this country forward.” Hami Nepal’s earliest visible campaigns include donating more than 400 blankets to Bir Hospital’s Covid unit in 2022, creating a plasma and oxygen bank during the pandemic, and distributing school jackets to children in rural districts. More recently, it mounted a relief effort in response to the 2023 Jajarkot earthquake, reaching over 13,000 families with shelter, food, and medical support. The organisation was also associated with the two-month ‘Save Ghopa’ campaign, demanding effective and smooth administration of the BPKIHS (B P Koirala Institute of Health Sciences) in Dharan. The organisation was also actively engaged in providing rescue and relief during the Kagbeni and Sindhupalchok floods this year. It even sent aid to Turkey after its 2023 earthquake. After the Kavre floods last year, Hami Nepal donated solar lights. Funding for Hami Nepal comes directly from public donations, with a policy of channeling 100% of received funds for aid distribution. Volunteers self-finance administrative costs, and the group publishes detailed expenditure figures, regularly sharing updates and transparency reports through their social media and website which it launched at its Annual General Meeting in Bhaktapur last year.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250911090920_cd40c472bd7e06cc038a2d77a431cba777b6f53e4374a0216c9af2c4feb56c88.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250911090920_cd40c472bd7e06cc038a2d77a431cba777b6f53e4374a0216c9af2c4feb56c88" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="719" loading="lazy" alt="Who, or what, is Hami Nepal?"> </figure>  Following the death of Nepali student Prakriti Lamsal at KIIT University in India earlier this year, Hami Nepal advocated for justice using its Instagram account, raising concern about the safety of Nepali students. Its advocacy platform started with rescue and relief, and Hami Nepal managed to develop a track record for efficient campaigns and transparency in Nepal’s humanitarian landscape. But its work pushed the group to realise that there was a deeper malaise in Nepali society. Its #youthsagainstcorruption campaign on social media platforms gained rapid momentum, and that led to the rally on 8 September. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-8-september-massacre">Nepal’s 8 September massacre</a>, Shristi Karki The international #Nepobaby trend on TikTok propelled the rally even more, and young Nepalis used it to expose the scions of powerful politicians and politically-connected influencers who were exhibiting their flashy lifestyles on social media while citizens struggled with joblessness, corruption and poor service delivery. Public anger reached a tipping point when the UML-NC coalition led by Prime Minister K P Oli announced a sweeping ban on major social media platforms citing tax revenue, cyber security, and lack of content moderation. Netizens, civil society and media, however, saw it as the latest authoritarian attempt by the government to clamp down on free speech, increase surveillance of citizens and constrict Nepal’s open society. Susmita Khadka, 22, told us at the rally: “Politics is everywhere. Gen Z has the most platforms, and we want a revolution.” Leading up to 8 September, the GenZ movement disseminated information and reassured participants with volunteers readily available for help, medical support, and assistance. It put up a protest support helpline so that students needing assistance could get help. As the protests intensified, leaving at least 20 dead outside Parliament, and forcing Prime Minister K P Oli to resign, Hami Nepal shifted into a mediator role, engaging in talks with officials and seeking GenZ’s views on future leadership.&nbsp; Influencers like TikToker Nimesh Shrestha publicly backed the group, amplifying their voice in ongoing negotiations with the Nepal Army alongside other GenZ representatives. However, as the protests escalated on 9 September, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/kathmandu-burns-despite-pm-resignation">resulting in massive arson and vandalism of public and private property</a>, many GenZ activists disavowed association with the attackers, saying their movement had been infiltrated. The group backtracked, with Gurung saying he was not the leader of the protests.&nbsp; Meanwhile, others accused Hami Nepal for singlehandedly speaking with the Army chief, and said that they did not represent GenZ’s collective voice. Most GenZ supporters backed <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Legalese/justice-in-chief,804">Former Chief Justice Sushila Karki</a> as their candidate for interim prime minister in an online group. Not everyone in the GenZ movement agrees with that choice, with support for Kathmandu Mayor Balen Shah, even though he has endorsed Karki’s appointment. Dharan Mayor Harka Sampang rushed to Kathmandu on Wednesday to push his own candidacy. Hami Nepal has supported Balen Shah to lead the country for the next five years, not just during the interim period, and have called on the public to share their posts supporting Shah to amplify the message. With the old guard gone, there is a power vacuum with multiple actors with competing interests to fill it. GenZ’s youth-led activism has brought new energy for political reform, but its real test begins now — whether it can unite Hami Nepal and other sections to negotiate with the Nepal Army.&nbsp;

Who, or what, is Hami Nepal?

As arson and violence swept Nepal’s capital, Prime Minister K P Oli resigned on Tuesday. However, this did not stop angry protesters from setting fire to the Parliament building, homes of ministers, hotels and other property. Singha Darbar is also in flames. Meanwhile, former Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba and his wife, Foreign Minister Arzu Rana Deuba were also attacked in their house. As protests spread, Police withdrew from guarding official buildings, and thousands of protesters entered the federal government secretariat at Singha Darbar, ransacking and setting fire to buildings.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250909120916_a86227e5556356134565053699ed9599f8b268d0c22815fa94410ffac52a49fa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250909120916_a86227e5556356134565053699ed9599f8b268d0c22815fa94410ffac52a49fa" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1042" loading="lazy" alt="de-escalation"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250909120916_995f368b8c372bf2f99b6a9c25c2816e941413b3c19d0f94458c07604391b039.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250909120916_995f368b8c372bf2f99b6a9c25c2816e941413b3c19d0f94458c07604391b039" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1042" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu protests"> </figure>  Kathmandu Valley was shrouded in smoke under heavy monsoon clouds on Tuesday afternoon with an acrid smell covering the capital. The minister’s quarters in Bhaisepati were set on fire, the convention centre in Godavari, the Hilton Hotel and Chhaya Centre in Thamel, and the headquarters of all three main parties were also burning.&nbsp; The widespread arson was sparked by the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-8-september-massacre">killing of at least 19 young protesters</a> as they tried to storm Parliament on Monday. A peaceful rally by youth against corruption and nepotism by Nepal’s GenZ movement in Kathmandu escalated after the killings. With the prime minister out of the picture, the government not visible and the security forces in retreat, protesters have had the run of the three cities of Kathmandu Valley.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250909120916_207c3c25f8aa9bd0934b8c98ccee1221e3a062815cfcb1e211deddb4dccd6511.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250909120916_207c3c25f8aa9bd0934b8c98ccee1221e3a062815cfcb1e211deddb4dccd6511" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1042" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu protests"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250909120920_bb2c0f273dc95ef62c58b5f55045c58cbddc4b3b8f619e938be76ef2cda69468.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250909120920_bb2c0f273dc95ef62c58b5f55045c58cbddc4b3b8f619e938be76ef2cda69468" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1042" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu protests"> </figure>  Nepal’s celebrity cricket captain Paras Khadka has appealed to to call off the agitation, saying: “The prime minister you wanted to kneel has already knelt.” Former prime minister and Maoist ideologue Baburam Bhattarai called for the formation of an interim government that included some young student leaders. He called for the agitating groups to find a solution from within the Constitution and a directly elected presidential system. All members of the opposition RPP and the RSP have resigned from Parliament, while party supporters entered the Nakkhu Jail and freed the RSP leader Rabi Lamichhane who had been detained for the past 8 months by the Oli government on charges of embezzlement. Some of the protesters also want an end to federalism, which was also the demand of opposition parties like the RSP and the pro-monarchist RPP. Chief Minister Satish Kumar Singh has stepped down. Many of the protesters have voiced support for Kathmandu Mayor Balen Shah, who &nbsp;posted on Facebook calling on the GenZ protesters to “be ready to talk to the Army … but only after Parliament has been dissolved”. Army Chief Ashok Raj Sigdel and the heads of security agencies have called on the protesting groups to excercise restraint and to find a solution through talks.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250909120912_cd93a827631d987ee52723aa270faf45aa42e4322eb8f06304b28215e3cea28a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250909120912_cd93a827631d987ee52723aa270faf45aa42e4322eb8f06304b28215e3cea28a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1042" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu protests"> </figure>  Although the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-gen-z-protest-turns-deadly">protests were sparked by the GenZ campaigners</a>, disparate groups, including monarchists, anti-federalists, disgruntled Maoists, dissidents from the mainstream parties, and others have joined the protests. But one thing that united them is extreme frustration with the mainstream parties and their leaders past and present who have taken turns running and ruining the country.

Kathmandu burns despite PM resignation

As this story is being uploaded on Wednesday evening, sloganeering is going on outside the gates of the Nepal Army headquarters in Kathmandu between various GenZ groups about who should be the caretaker prime minister.&nbsp; The GenZ campaign includes Hami Nepal and several other groups that spearheaded the anti-government rally this week against corruption and neoptism. Thirty people died as the protests in Kathmandu turned violent on Monday and Tuesday. After Prime Minister K P Oli stepped down on Tuesday, Nepal has existed in a power vacuum, with no one really in charge. The Nepal Army took over security management from Monday night, and President Ram Chandra Poudel appealed to Nepali youth to come to the negotiating table.&nbsp; Thousands of GenZ youth held hours long discussions on Discord and other online fora on Wednesday, and voted to endorse former Chief Justice Sushila Karki to lead the transitional government. The group informed Chief of Army Staff Ashokraj Sigdel about their choice, but he has also been meeting leaders of at least 12 other groups claiming to be the genuine GenZs. Among them are royalist and other groups that many saw as having infiltrated the GenZ rally on Monday in which 20 people were killed while trying to storm Parliament.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250910170936_4efefa67f54228154d316ca692838c3d0c078f5f9ec96ea68cfc4ca740f4df4d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250910170936_4efefa67f54228154d316ca692838c3d0c078f5f9ec96ea68cfc4ca740f4df4d" data-rendition-name="original" width="640" height="387" loading="lazy" alt="Sushila Karki"> <figcaption>Photo: SHAHIDUL ALAM</figcaption> </figure>  On Tuesday, disparate groups joined the arson and looting that ended up gutting Singha Darbar, the Parliament and Supreme Court buildings and attacks on party offices, media, schools and private residences across the country. The original GenZ disavowed involvement.&nbsp; 'Nepal's 2015 Constitution does not envision any transitional or emergency provisions to address a state of political and constitutional vacuum. For now, the President, per Article 273 of the Constitution, can exercise emergency powers in light of the current situation,’ wrote former National Human Rights Commissioner Mohna Ansari on social media on Wednesday evening. The President can declare a state of emergency per Article 273 of the Constitution, but that must be endorsed by a two-third majority of Parliament within a month, after which it will be in effect for three months. ‘Former Chief Justice Sushila Karki is the best option to address the adverse circumstances prevailing in the nation. The President must heed the Constitution and take the next steps in a manner that is transparent, keeps the public informed, and is in the national interest,’ Ansari added.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250910140912_019d62de4b62a366299a27d1276e931a7dadefcc674441e7fb3acd503970efaf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250910140912_019d62de4b62a366299a27d1276e931a7dadefcc674441e7fb3acd503970efaf" data-rendition-name="original" width="8000" height="5760" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal in ashes"> <figcaption>Photos: KAMAL PRASAI</figcaption> </figure>  The Gen Z movement itself appears fragmented and without distinct leadership, both before the anti-corruption protests on 8 September and in the aftermath of the two-day protests.&nbsp; Various groups are said to have met or waited to meet the Gen Sigdel on Wednesday. The Army told others claiming to be GenZ and raising slogans against Karki’s candidacy to appear at the army headquarters on Thursday.&nbsp; Nepalis had floated the names of some of Nepal’s more acceptable public figures to lead a caretaker government, including Kathmandu mayor Balen Shah. But Shah told the Army chief he endorsed Sushila Karki’s nomination. <div class="embed-block"><iframe src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/post.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2FbalenOfficial%2Fposts%2Fpfbid02M9CBZiWETz4qocKaYUG6ZSZ4ARNcq231V8edJJVGQhPLmpSRMdv1mTWM2q7mJijjl&show_text=true&width=500" width="500" height="256" style="border:none;overflow:hidden" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="true" allow="autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; picture-in-picture; web-share"></iframe></div> The names of former NEA chief Kulman Ghising and ex-education minister Sumana Shrestha of the RSP had also been proposed.&nbsp; Polls conducted on social media to gauge public sentiment show a significant number are open to Sushila Karki taking charge of a transitional government. Both Shah and Shrestha are not so keen, and are probably waiting to contest elections.&nbsp; Meanwhile, Nepal’s young reform campaigners largely seem to reject the idea of handing leadership to RSP chair Rabi Lamichhane who was retrieved by supporters on Tuesday from Nakhhu jail after eight months of incarceration for embezzling depositers of cooperatives. But even as GenZ held discussions with the Army chief to decide on the interim government, other interest groups have continued to engage as well. Erstwhile royalist businessman Durga Prasai, posted a photo of himself with Sigdel on social media and professed that he has 'no interest' in leadership and would accept whomever GenZ youth chose. The job of the caretaker government, whoever leads it, will primarily be to hold free and fair elections for a new leadership which will then face the challenge of reestablishing Nepal’s democratic institutions.&nbsp; “The course of events showed that the movement has gone beyond Constitutional remedy,” political analyst Krishna Khanal told BBC Nepali following erstwhile Prime Minister Oli’s resignation on Tuesday. “There needs to be a middle-ground solution that will be acceptable to the people who took to the streets while upholding the existing constitutional process.” Various GenZ collectives have issued demands that include the dissolution of Parliament and the formation of a new civilian government, which analysts say are antithetical. Constitutional experts have suggested that the youth opt for a solution that allows for new leadership to move forward under the current Constitution.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250910140912_e6bf05bfe95f519e05ab8d9016587211b241340fd23a0f9ae728e74747fc5f29.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250910140912_e6bf05bfe95f519e05ab8d9016587211b241340fd23a0f9ae728e74747fc5f29" data-rendition-name="original" width="8064" height="6048" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal in ashes"> </figure>  One option, they say, is for the President to appoint any prime minister from the existing Parliament under Article 76(5) if all other measures fail, who would then have the authority to appoint up to 25 non-elected ministers for six months. This can be a way for that temporary leadership to hold elections within the mandated time frame. The existing Constitution can then be amended to accommodate the aspirations of the Nepali youth after the election.&nbsp; But any conditions put forward by GenZ youth that requires a new Constitution might set Nepal back years, warn some experts. The 2015 Constitution was the result of nearly 10 years of negotiations and strife, and the formation of another charter will mean that Nepal will head into decades more of rotating governments and political instability. For now, Nepali youth need to unite to decide by Thursday who leads the country into the next phase.&nbsp;