Wars and conflicts fundamentally alter landscapes and ecosystems, leaving behind scars that often go unaccounted for amid discussions dominated by human casualties and strategic competition.&nbsp;
Rarely do analyses on wars consider the environment – and there are major conflicts raging across the world at the moment from Ukraine to Gaza to Sudan.
Nature is regarded as an unavoidable collateral of human warfare. Yet, the intersection between conflict and ecology is critical in today’s global polycrisis. This interplay positions the environment not just as the backdrop but as a key variable in geopolitical dynamics.
Framing the environment as a silent victim suggests its passivity during armed conflicts. But the ecological consequences of war are loud and astonishing -- deforestation, pollution, biodiversity loss and fossil fuel use contributing to climate breakdown.
The use of <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/nature01537">Agent Orange in the Vietnam War</a> led to the contamination of over three million hectares of forest, affecting biodiversity, agricultural productivity, and leaving a lasting impact on the health of the people fpr generations.&nbsp;
In <a href="https://unama.unmissions.org/unep-afghanistan-laying-foundations-sustainable-development?utm_source=chatgpt.com">Afghanistan</a>, longstanding conflicts led to a reported 33.8% decline in forest cover in the already-arid country between 1990 and 2005. P<a href="https://news.mongabay.com/2019/07/casualty-of-peace-study-shows-rise-in-deforestation-after-conflicts/">ost-conflict Sri Lanka</a> saw a loss of approximately 188,407 hectares of forest cover.&nbsp;
Wars inject pollutants such as heavy metals, fuel residues, and other toxic substances into the air and water. The burning of 700 Kuwaiti oil wells during the <a href="https://ceobs.org/what-the-environmental-legacy-of-the-gulf-war-should-teach-us/">Gulf War in 1991</a> caused massive air pollution and water contamination that impacted the whole region.&nbsp;
HIMALAYAN HOTSPOT
Human violence is violence against nature, and exacerbates the damage caused during peacetime. In the north-west Himalaya between India and Pakistan, militarisation and climate change depleted 29% of the <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0048969721024475">Machoi glacier</a> between 1972 and 2019.&nbsp;
The China-India border region has seen significant militarisation since the 1962 war, further endangering the fragile ecologies to deforestation, landslides, and glacial lake bursts. The Himalaya is a climate and conflict flashpoint.&nbsp;
Globally, militaries account for <a href="https://climatalk.org/2025/09/15/how-are-wars-affecting-climate-change/#:~:text=The%20overlooked%20carbon%20footprint%20of%20war&amp;text=As%20a%20result%2C%20the%20true,emissions%20of%20the%20defence%20sector.">5.5% of total carbon emissions</a>, making it the fourth-largest emitter. Military spending worldwide reached a staggering <a href="https://breakingdefense.com/2024/04/global-military-spending-hits-all-time-high-of-2-4-trillion-sipri-report/">$2.44 trillion in 2023</a>, dwarfing global climate finance.
And all this does not even take into account the potential impact of an all out, or even regional, nuclear confrontation, the radiation poisoning and planetary winter it would unleash.
The environmental consequences of war and militarisation are barely recognised in traditional international relations theory and praxis. Dominated by realist thinking, global geopolitics prioritises military power and ‘hard’ security over ‘soft’ ecological concerns.&nbsp;
Realist narratives naturalise war as an inevitable reality of the anarchical international system and essentialise military power for states’ survival. They view nature as irrelevant to statecraft, refute ecological casualty, and resource interdependence. Nature remains an afterthought — a resource pit to exploit, rather than an active agent in itself.
International relations therefore not only silence the environmental ramifications of wars but also fail to account for emerging problems posed by planetary limits, transboundary ecological risks, environmental casualties of war, and global interdependence in ecological flows – all of which are inextricably tied to global geopolitics.&nbsp;
These ecological crises, compounded with climate change, transcend national boundaries and individual states’ capabilities. While these may not directly cause conflicts, they are likely to be threat multipliers to potentially worsen existing conflicts and weaken national security and sovereignty.
To better understand the silencing of the environment, we can adopt the constructivist lens to explore how ideas, norms, and discourses shape security narratives in international politics. Contrary to traditional reliance of international relations on power and conflicts as immutable referents, constructivism posits that security and power are socially constructed concepts defined by states’ perceptions of threats.
Thus, traditional international relations has often articulated threats to privilege military and national sovereignty considerations, while neglecting ecological violence. Nature is conceived as a passive resource, a battlefield, or at most, a strategic asset.&nbsp;
This distortion has become the dominant, universal episteme, influencing strategic policies and international law. The state’s constructed identity as the legitimate security provider is intricately tied to militaristic capabilities and not ecological stewardship.&nbsp;
Indeed, dominant global modernisation logic equates progress with resource extraction, crafting a narrative where conflict becomes a tool for resource control, and nature itself becomes a site of contention and competition rather than cooperation.
Critical theory helps demystify the relationship between war and environmental degradation further and explains who benefits from the strategic silencing and invisibilisation of the environment in conflicts.&nbsp;
Tracing the socio-economic and political roots of dominant theories, norms, and practices, critical theory unravels the linkages between capitalism, militarism, and ecological violence. There emerges a deeply capitalistic structural root of the ‘<a href="https://graceblakeley.substack.com/p/the-military-fossil-fuel-complex">military-carbon complex</a>’ which refers to the intricate symbiotic relationship between the military establishment, the defence and the fossil industries, and the resulting environmental destruction.
Militarism actively reproduces ecological violence through arms production and distribution, both heavily fossil fuel dependent. War is a technology that drives the military capitalist order, it becomes a method of stabilising access to and the continued exploitation of carbon-intensive resources.&nbsp;
Conflict necessitates and facilitates the commodification of nature through reckless resource extraction, including minerals, oil, and rare earths. Environmental damage is a feature, not a bug, of militarised capitalism.&nbsp;
Thus, global military actions, strategies, and conflicts perpetuate ecological destruction in the name of national security while serving capitalist interests. To mitigate environmental harm resulting from wars, it is crucial to acknowledge and understand these structural drivers.
Politically constructed concept of ‘security’ must therefore be redefined to encompass ecological and human security, and climate justice. Sovereignty should be reimagined to include ecological health, not only territorial integrity.&nbsp;
Wars must be ‘de-naturalised’ as the historically contingent institutions that they are. There must be a wider recognition that the global triple environmental threats erode the usefulness of Westphalian notions of sovereignty and bounded territoriality.
Robert Mizo, PhD, is an Assistant Professor of Political Science and International Relations at the University of Delhi, India. He holds a PhD in Climate Policy studies. He is a Japan Foundation Indo-Pacific Partnership Research Fellow based at the Toda Peace Institute, Tokyo.
This article was issued by the Toda Peace Institute and has been republished from <a href="https://toda.org/global-outlook/2025/silent-victim-interrogating-the-ecological-implications-of-war.html">the original</a> with permission.

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Opinion

The ecological impact of war

Kazakhstan President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev during an official visit to Japan this weekend met Prime Minister Takaichi and President Tokayev and issued <a href="http://chrome-extension//efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.mofa.go.jp/mofaj/files/100953279.pdf" target="_blank">a joint statement</a> on a ‘future-oriented expanded strategic partnership’.&nbsp; The statement reaffirmed a rules-based international order grounded in the principles of the UN Charter. At the United Nations University in Tokyo, Tokayev delivered a lecture warning that ‘nuclear risks are rising again’. He referred not only to the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki but also to Kazakhstan’s Semipalatinsk nuclear test site, where the former Soviet Union conducted more than 450 nuclear tests, arguing that both Japan and Kazakhstan are countries that know the devastating consequences wrought by nuclear weapons.&nbsp; He said practical steps must be steadily accumulated to advance nuclear disarmament and reduce nuclear risk. Tokayev also cited Kazakhstan’s decision to relinquish the nuclear weapons left on its territory after the Soviet collapse, suggesting that security should not depend solely on nuclear deterrence. Kazakhstan has hosted meetings in Astana on 29 August, the date the Semipalatinsk test site was closed and which has been designated the International Day against Nuclear Tests to draw attention to the inhumane impacts of nuclear weapons and call for strengthening norms underpinning the Central Asian Nuclear-Weapon-Free Zone.&nbsp; These gatherings have included participation by civil society groups such as <a href="https://www.icanw.org/" target="_blank">the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN)</a> and <a href="https://sgi-peace.org/" target="_blank">Soka Gakkai International (SGI)</a>. The two leaders also welcomed plans to launch regular direct flights in 2026 and agreed to begin intergovernmental negotiations toward the conclusion of a bilateral air services agreement. In addition, the joint statement expressed an intent to exchange information and explore potential avenues of cooperation with the UN Regional Centre for the SDGs for Central Asia and Afghanistan, which was established in Almaty. As major powers step up engagement across the region, Central Asia’s weight as a stage for diplomacy and trade has been growing. Leaders of Japan and the five Central Asian states met in Tokyo this weekend for a new Central Asia + Japan Dialogue (CA+JAD).&nbsp; They adopted the '<a href="http://chrome-extension//efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.mofa.go.jp/files/100954362.pdf" target="_blank">Tokyo Declaration,</a>' which places as its core two &nbsp;priorities: strengthening the supply-chain for critical minerals, and supporting <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trans-Caspian_International_Transport_Route" target="_blank">the Trans-Caspian Corridor</a> which links Central Asia with Europe without transiting Russia. Japanese Prime Minister Takaichi said the meeting reflected Central Asia’s strategic importance as a Eurasian crossroad and a region with mineral resources essential for decarbonisation and advanced industries.&nbsp; The Japanese government emphasised a practical, implementation-oriented approach — translating cooperation into deliverable projects. For Central Asian countries, the Trans-Caspian Corridor is also a means to expand transport options and reduce dependence on any single transit route.&nbsp; It can help attract investment for modernising ports, railways and customs systems, while increasing opportunities to capture transit and logistics revenues. For Japan, corridor development and cooperation on critical minerals serve as a form of risk diversification in economic security. Japan aims to prepare for heightened geopolitical risk by diversifying both procurement sources and transport routes for critical minerals such as rare earths and lithium needed for batteries, renewable energy technologies and electronic devices.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251223091244_e77a6e72d9d05c5d060474c94afc21a5fdbca2dd181d4c86c7314a5532b6d5a9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251223091244_e77a6e72d9d05c5d060474c94afc21a5fdbca2dd181d4c86c7314a5532b6d5a9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1024" height="567" loading="lazy" alt="Tokyo summit"> <figcaption>Middle Corridor. Photo: TITR</figcaption> </figure>  At the Dec. 20 summit, President Tokayev attended alongside the presidents of Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan. Prime Minister Takaichi noted that Central Asia’s growing population and rapid economic expansion have raised the region’s international profile, and stressed the importance of regional cooperation and engagement with external partners. Japan announced the CA+JAD Tokyo Initiative, setting out three priority areas for cooperation: (1) green and resilience (including the energy transition, disaster risk reduction and supply-chain resilience for critical minerals); (2) connectivity (including the Trans-Caspian Corridor and A.I. cooperation); and (3) human development (including scholarship programs and cooperation in health and medical fields). The Tokyo Declaration also explicitly set out the launch of the Japan–Central Asia Partnership for AI Cooperation, with a view to applying AI to resource development and related areas.&nbsp; The Tokyo gathering also underscored the reality of accelerating summit diplomacy around Central Asia. China convened a leaders’ meeting with the five Central Asian states in Kazakhstan earlier this year, and the United States invited the same five leaders to Washington in November. Kazakhstan, in particular, has long pursued a “multi-vector” foreign policy—cultivating relations in parallel with competing major powers to preserve sovereignty and strategic options. The Tokyo agreements—combining diversification of transport corridors, expanded cooperation on minerals and technology, and the use of development cooperation through international institutions—align with this balancing strategy.&nbsp; (INPS Japan)

“Nuclear risks are rising again”

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

Bangladesh on edge ahead of polls

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

Guest Editorial

When maps move

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

Upasana Khadka

Labour Mobility

Our great stories

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

Pratibha Tuladhar

Suburban Tales

All me inside: a story about flight

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

Mountains at the tipping point

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

Parks by the people and for the people

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

The Himalaya is not fragile

The 193-member General Assembly, the UN’s highest policy-making body, routinely designates International Day of This or International Day of That. &nbsp; The wide range of subjects and events range from the sublime to the ridiculous, turning some urgent international problem into something silly and absurd. Commemorations range from the well-known International Women’s Day and the International Day to Combat Islamophobia to International Moon Day and World Bicycle Day. There is World Tuna Day, World Bee Day, International Day of Potato, World Horse Day, World Pulses Day and International Day of the Arabian Leopard. The United Nations observes 218 international days annually (and counting) out of the 365 days available. One of the first designations came from the UN General Assembly’s declaration in 1947 that 24 October should be celebrated as United Nations Day, the anniversary of the adoption of the UN Charter that founded the organisation. Since then, UN Member States have proposed more than 200 designations, presenting draft resolutions to the General Assembly so the entire membership, representing 193 nations, can vote on the proposals. But a new resolution aimed at revitalising the work of the General Assembly 'notes with concern the significant increase in the number of proposals to proclaim international days, weeks, months, years or decades'. The resolution decided to put on hold consideration of new proposals for international days, weeks, months, years and decades during the eighty-first and eighty-second sessions. The resolution also requests the President of the General Assembly, effective from the eighty-first session in 2026, to group all proclamation requests for international commemoration into a single resolution per agenda item, where each proposed commemoration contains its own operative paragraph focused on its establishment.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251207091248_2234d7732b326739b3089a45c2878661e65bd6a6008f00c3f861a63c0caa50ee.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251207091248_2234d7732b326739b3089a45c2878661e65bd6a6008f00c3f861a63c0caa50ee" data-rendition-name="original" width="725" height="805" loading="lazy" alt="international days"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251207091248_4e3fdee1352e7d7ba132555821d2842bce34d9f67953de27ccb5fa7530551f43.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251207091248_4e3fdee1352e7d7ba132555821d2842bce34d9f67953de27ccb5fa7530551f43" data-rendition-name="original" width="728" height="762" loading="lazy" alt="international days"> </figure>  Republished under an arrangement with Inter Press Service (IPS).

‘International Days’ range from the sublime to the ridiculous

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

The American Ayla

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

Some chicken, some neck

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

Looking good by doing good

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