Kanchhi, Weena Pun’s debut novel, was delivered to me by a rider on a very rainy afternoon, as Kathmandu Valley and the nation was pummeled by violent rainfall. The book revealed itself in big bold letters: KANCHHI, like someone hollering the name. The letters flank the cover bearing an illustration in shades of grey, showing a hamlet in the mountains. The cover sets the tone for the novel, as Kanchhi’s disappearance is revealed to the readers in the prologue. The story opens with 16-year-old Kanchhi leaving her home. The novel then becomes a journey the reader makes with the writer, as conduit. The narrative toggles between times tracing the days of Kanchhi’s presence and leaping ten years forward into 13 November 2005, a day in the life of Kanchhi’s mother, Maiju, as she waits for her daughter's return. As the plot makes progress, the readers get to know Kanchhi, first as a child and then as a teenager. The novel is set in the mid-western mountains of Nepal, the language landing it firmly. The storytelling is matter-of-factly as it takes us through descriptions of the village and into lives of the villagers. Unseemingly, the writer weaves in the political background of the Maoist insurgency into the narrative, which also works as signposting the timeline for the story. Weena Pun describes the writing process for the novel as “ridiculously slow”. “I struggled to understand Maiju, the mother character. But once I had her and the village down, Kanchhi just took off,” she says of the novel which she started writing everyday, in 2017. While at the core of the book are some key sociopolitical issues, there is also plenty of humour brought out through small moments. Kanchhi, as a child and later as a teenager, is a “no-nonsense” kind of person. So when there are funny moments around her, they become even more pronounced-- in some scenes they work as comic relief. Sentences are frugal, a reminder of Weena’s background as a journalist. She has written for the Himal Southasian, The Kathmandu Post and The Record. There is no meandering, the writer cuts to the chase. She uses “f***” instead of “sex” or even “love-making”. As is with the more grim aspects the book touches upon. The narrative is not lyrical, but rather deliberate, with extensive details of moments and events, including those that have no direct connection to furthering the plot. There is also the thorough description of how a girl goes through menstruation, as rarely seen before.&nbsp; If you are looking for ornate reading, this is not where you will find it. The story is told simply, smoothly, without frill or fluff. The writing is terse. The narrative softens into poetic manoeuvre every other chapter, gathering forgotten songs for the readers. And occasionally, imagery wins: “The disappeared do not disappear. Their memories drape the yard like a fog.” Kanchhi, is a story of defiance. Like every girl, Kanchhi is a rebel. When told to put aside a spoon that has just ladled ghee, Kanchhi will lick it instead. When told to stay back, she chooses to go. She is the curious explorer every girl is. She picks ‘true’ crime stories as a source of entertainment.&nbsp; She knows lyrics of filmy songs, by heart. The titles of cinemas also serve to signpost. But she also understands the poetry of Bhupi Sherchan. She attempts to tell her own stories, write her own poetry. And in Kanchhi doing so, Weena has created a repository of stray lines from jhyaure songs, and own lyrics. The chapters are strewn with Nepali songs and poetry, a respite from the heaviness of the story in some instances. The writing is replete with italicised Nepali words. The text wraps them in for meaning. Regardless, a glossary is supplied at the end of the book, which serves as a fun addition, even if not entirely accurate. One of the words that appear on repeat, is chadar (a word brought to the mountains by the men who migrate to Indian cities for work, another theme that runs high in the book).&nbsp; In the prologue, we see Kanchhi wrap a chadar around herself as she leaves home. A chadar appears every once in a while and makes it to 2005. Kanchhi’s mother, Maiju, throws one around herself, to go speak to a woman who has been battered and tied to a pole by the Maoists, and left to die. It serves as a motif. The novel does run into sections that read like banter. There are dialogues that appear to have no consequence or connection to major events. But by the time one arrives at the second half, familiarisation with Kanchhi’s life has helped build an attachment, which is important for the impact the writer wants to make. Kanchhi, the novel, doesn’t try too hard to be something, and in doing so it becomes. The story brings to attention the themes of love, loyalty, friendship, familial ties, sexuality, and a woman’s worth in Nepali society. Who is a woman besides an object of desire and a womb? Where do her own desires, aspirations, dreams, passions, figure? The book raises the question of abortion rights, by showing without telling. The double standards maintained for the sexes come across through many anecdotes in the novel. Even when both man and woman engage in a sexual activity together, and if and when found illicit, the man is only superficially reprimanded. It is the woman who really pays. And not just in cash. “I hope Kanchhi adds a perspective, tells a good story, and enriches Nepali literature as a whole,” says Weena.&nbsp; Kanchhi is not a frail girl. She is whole. She is flawed, but she is also good. Like we all are, which is why she is endearing as a character. The plot catches you unawares. It leads you to a crescendo, then abandons you, unprepared and heartbroken. Kanchhi is an ache that lingers, long after you’ve put the book away.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241006121040_70b39161504287e5283a2f04a4509e6e3afcb9efc17b73c1a27090712bec0197.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20241006121040_70b39161504287e5283a2f04a4509e6e3afcb9efc17b73c1a27090712bec0197" data-rendition-name="original" width="926" height="642" loading="lazy" alt="Kanchhi book Weena Oun"> </figure>  Kanchhi, by Hachette India is set to hit bookstores in Kathmandu on 10th October. Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people.

Pratibha Tuladhar

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Suburban Tales

A tale of resistance

I was a teenager when I was first exposed to the impact of climate breakdown, while staying with a family in Phakding in the aftermath of<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lessons-not-learned-from-2015-o2etq6zu"> the 2015 earthquake</a>.&nbsp;
The communities living along the river were so scared of the Imja Tso glacial lake bursting that they hiked a few hours up the mountain every night for safety. During the day, they came back down to run their tea houses for volunteers and tourists still up in the Khumbu.
There is a clear correlation between livelihoods and the climate crisis. Seeing first hand, ten years ago, how the impact of climate change deepens poverty profoundly shifted my perspective, and motivated me to take up a career on climate finance.
I learnt everything about the subject, worked on projects to mobilise millions of dollars for climate action so that those most vulnerable would be safe.&nbsp;
Yet, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/60-dead-64-missing-in-nepal-floods">this weekend’s floods</a> have shown me that on the ground, absolutely nothing has changed. Those most at risk from climate hazards are at even more risk.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-it-rains-it-pours-ksqprbu3">When it rains it pours</a>, Sonia Awale
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandus-flash-floods-are-4-decades-in-the-making?fbclid=IwY2xjawFrHMtleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHRth_4qOARkJl9oz8RSAdrfer4ox2p7uQH28wKYa0SOe1ZNXaS-Oa1qj9g_aem_9kYwBCg8maslUNwV0Dn_Uw">Kathmandu's ‘flash floods’ are 4 decades in the making</a>, Tom Robertson
It is dreadful to realise that the worst is yet to come. We in the climate finance sector are lost in words, actions and false promises of organisations purporting to help vulnerable countries, communities and families.&nbsp;
There are lofty climate targets and hopeful speeches on net-zero ambitions prepared by people who have no idea of the ground reality. Young people I used to respect proudly demonstrate their saviour complex and exoticise the poor to advance their brand image on social media to gain brownie points.&nbsp;
This week, early-rising <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-trail-running-champions">trail runners</a>, youth groups, and local communities became first responders on the muddy banks of rivers in Kathmandu Valley for rescue and recovery. From agencies claiming to work on 'disaster risk reduction', we heard only words and media campaigns.
Am I the only one losing hope in us collectively responding to what the future requires us to do? &nbsp;
Disasters are now increasingly normalised as Nepal crosses the tipping point on climate breakdown. Elitism and inequality has never been more apparent.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-editorial/act-now-on-climate">Act now on climate</a>, Manjeet Dhakal
This week’s tragedy showed how the high and mighty were safe, and the lowly forced to live along river banks were not. Those who are thinking of moving away from flood-prone areas, buying home insurance and protecting themselves from future impact are perhaps the very people abetting the destruction of the natural environment.
The two rivers that saw the most devastation this week, Rosi Khola and Nakkhu Khola, had <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-struggles-to-balance-nature-and-industry">unregulated sand mining and rampant quarrying</a> upstream — all happening in the name of ‘development’.
I spoke with a dairy farmer in Hatiban whose home and 13 cows were swept away by a stream that had turned into a raging mudflow. He is out in the streets now, with just the one cow that survived. He teared up telling me this. So did I.
A carpenter who lives in a small tin hut near the Karmanasa River told me he has had enough and is now headed back to his village. A neighbourhood garbage recycler has spent the past week living inside a stack of large concrete pipes meant to improve Kathmandu's drainage.&nbsp;
A decade after starting to work on climate change, I know nothing about what to actually do to adapt to the impact of the climate crisis like this one. The 800mm of rain in two days was caused by global warming, but the death toll was higher because of corruption and state negligence.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/climate-damage">Climate damage</a>
There are thousands of tragic stories from this flood, most of them will never be heard. Many are already forgotten.&nbsp;
The guilt coming from the privilege of even being in a position to help in times like these eats me up from the inside. I have spoken to many friends this week working tirelessly, without recognition or organisational support, to help with relief and rescue. Many share the same sentiment: the disaster swept away what little optimism we had.
Yet, there is also hope in the way we have all come together knee-deep in mud, carrying relief supplies and cash to those marooned, destitute and homeless. It is clear that top-down <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/cash-for-climate">response from the government</a> or large relief organisations is always too little, too late and too ineffective. Those who lost everything do not know how to work the system.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/climate-breakdown-magnifies-western-nepal-s-woes">Climate breakdown magnifies western Nepal’s woes</a>, Unnati Chaudhary
In such situations, we must take matters into our own hands. We need to be aware of the impending impact of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-climate-threat-multiplier">climate change</a>, and make our own decisions to build and rebuild resilience among those forced to live in harm's way. &nbsp;
The passion to tackle the climate crisis will not come if we do not have personal stories of how we ourselves are affected. Almost everyone in Kathmandu Valley, Kavre, Dhading and elsewhere now has a personal experience of this climate-induced calamity. The question is, what are we going to do about it?&nbsp;
As I write this on Thursday morning on 3 October, it is raining heavily again. &nbsp;
Rastra Raj Bhandari is a co-founder and fellow at the Himalayan Water Project, where he leads the research on climate finance opportunities for the Himalaya. He contributes regularly to Nepali Times on climate change. rastrarajbhandari@gmail.com
<h2>HOW TO HELP</h2>
· Civil society action is filling gaps in relief and rehab until bigger players take over. 9858000000
· Sudan Gurung, <a href="https://www.haminepal.org/">Hami Nepal</a>
· Saurav Rimal, <a href="https://karmayogfoundation.org/">Karmayog Foundation</a>, 9851139412&nbsp;

Opinion

Flood of despair

It was a rainy night in August, 50 years ago, in our ancestral village of Balara near the Indian border. Because of the monsoon, our village was surrounded by flood waters.&nbsp; I vividly remember my grandmother Sharada Devi picking me up, and putting me to sleep on the bed. Waking up the next morning, I learnt that she had been bitten by a snake, and a porter had carried her in a bamboo basket across the Bagmati to a shaman. She died on the way. That bereavement at a young age left a wound that is still fresh. Even after half-a-century, the trauma of snakes has not left me. Many thousands of Nepalis die every year because of lack of timely treatment for snake bites. The Tarai presents an ideal habitat for venomous snakes, and during the monsoon they come out of their flooded hideouts to enter homes and fields. The monsoon is also when there are more farmers out and about for planting, exposing them to the danger. Snake bite has been such a clear and present danger to life in Nepal’s southern borderlands that during the many festivals this season, stories are told of people who have survived snake bites because of their devotion.&nbsp; There are Maithili folk songs that pray for the welfare of snakes, but also plead for divine protection from snake bites at night, so they can wake up alive in the morning.&nbsp; The traditional occupation of the Natuwa people is of snake charmers. They used to travel from village to village blowing on a flute-like instrument, making a captive cobra sway and dance.&nbsp; The Natuwa can be Hindu or Muslim, and are also called upon when a venomous snake is found inside the house. Some earned the reputation for being quacks because of their ineffective and fake treatment of snakebites. Mobarak Miya (below) lives near Simara, and shows a round wooden box in which he used to keep his dancing cobra.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240926110956_e1c94271600b547e21183c3502b51993e37a1aa404b16b3cbff89124d360c149.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240926110956_e1c94271600b547e21183c3502b51993e37a1aa404b16b3cbff89124d360c149" data-rendition-name="original" width="1204" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="The snake bite emergency"> </figure>  “Nowadays snakes are a protected species and the law does not allow us to keep them, but we had a charmed life as snake charmers,” recalls Miya, who now does day jobs to earn a living. For a hazard that claims thousands of lives every year in Nepal, there are no reliable estimates of fatalities from snake bites. Awareness is lacking about distinguishing between venomous and non-venomous snakes, or what to do if bitten. Snake bites are treatable, but health posts lack adequate anti-venom vials. About 10 people every year are killed by tiger or wildlife attacks, but those get much more media attention than the estimated 40,000 snake bite cases a year in Nepal and the 3,000 fatalities that result from them. &nbsp;&nbsp; As with everything else, it is the marginalised communities which are most exposed to the risk. Tarai Dalits, who spend more time outdoors in the fields and live in flimsy mud and thatch houses, suffer disproportionately.&nbsp; With federalism, rural municipalities should be taking a more proactive approach to supplying antidotes to their health posts and spreading awareness. But this is not happening. Statistics from existing health posts that administer antivenom show that many victims are from across the border in India. This proves that northern Bihar also suffers from the same risk and lacks treatment. The role of local FM radio in spreading awareness has transboundary importance because these stations have a considerable listenership in India.&nbsp; Tarai families are more exposed to the risk because most of Nepal’s venomous species are found in the plains. But in addition, unsafe housing, flooding, paddy plantation and harvest, grazing livestock, open defecation, and sleeping on the floor are added risk factors. Researchers at BPKIHS in Dharan showed in a pilot in four Tarai villages that a Motorcycle Volunteer Program to rush snake bite victims to health posts saved lives. There used to be about 500 snake bites per 100,000 population with a 10% fatality rate in the sites, but after the experiment, only 0.5% of the 315 cases were fatal. &nbsp; Snakes kill and maim the poorest Nepalis, which may be why the state is not so bothered, and there is a direct correlation with unsafe housing, lack of education, and quality health services.&nbsp; The snake bite emergency is as serious as ever. It could be that agriculture, pesticide use, urbanisation, infrastructure has forced snakes out of their habitat. Climate breakdown, heat stress, and floods could be making human-snake contact more probable. &nbsp;&nbsp; Whatever the cause, I lost my grandmother and many Tarai households lose family members every year. Nepal has had multiple governments in the past three decades, and two elections under the federal system that were supposed to provide accountable local governance.&nbsp; But the menace of snake bites remains an emergency. &nbsp; Chandrakishore is a Birganj-based commentator who writes this monthly column Borderlines for Nepali Times.

Chandra Kishore

Borderlines

The snake bite emergency

Following the release of the report by the Parliamentary Special Investigation Committee on the cooperatives fraud, RSP member Shisir Khanal made a rather bizarre statement to the media.
While defending the alleged involvement of his boss Rabi Lamichhane and his tv venture partner G B Rai in diverting the savings of depositors of multiple cooperatives, he said: “G B Rai was already so rich, why would Rabiji investigate the source of his investment? Would you ask Binod Chaudhary where he got his money if he wanted to invest in your media?”&nbsp;
Khanal was a former RSP education minister and co-chair of the reputed Teach for Nepal. For someone who claims to have joined politics to reform Nepal’s education sector, this was woefully underwhelming.&nbsp;
Lamichhane is innocent until proven guilty by the courts. But there is no smoke without fire, and the man’s political career so far during several tenures as home minister has been, to put it politely, questionable.
Other RSP technocrats like economist Swarnim Wagle, IT entrepreneur Sumana Shrestha and physician Toshima Karki joined the party because they believed in nurturing an ethical political ecosystem in Nepal. We understand that they have to toe the party line, but they all say the committee gave Lamichhane a clean chit. Which it did not. &nbsp;
To be sure, there is evidence that the NC and UML connived in June to topple the Maoist-led coalition in which Lamichhane was home minister because his investigation into the fake refugee and Jhapa tea estate land scam were getting close to the top leaders of both parties.
Besides that, Nepal’s two biggest parties in the current coalition also want to prevent the RSP from getting too popular before the next elections in 2027. The RSP vs NC-UML prize fight therefore is looking like the pot calling the kettle black.&nbsp;
For the RSP’s own sake, and to bolster its original image of a new alternative party that stands for good governance, integrity and delivery, it needs to purge itself of a leader who is always neck deep in serial scandals.&nbsp;
Lamichhane is behaving exactly like the elderly alpha males of the other established parties that he was promising he was different from. We have seen all this before: a party leader who does not want to let go and expects all-out loyalty from cadres even when there are moral questions.
Communist parties believe in ‘democratic centralism’ and actively suppress criticism of their supreme leaders. But in Nepal it is SOP even in parties that have fought long and hard for democracy and pluralism to do so.
Those who dare criticise the Great Leader are sidelined, framed, or driven into oblivion. Party bosses consider their own colleagues as more of a threat to their power than those in an opposition party. Political parties have factions within factions.&nbsp;
All this is nothing new. But we had all hoped that for the country’s sake the RSP was different. That it would be more transparent and exercise more internal democracy, that policy would take precedence over politicking, discretion would prevail over discord, top leaders would make good governance the goal rather than personal gain.&nbsp;
The RSP cannot hope to be an alternative party, if singing hymns of a tainted Dear Leader is the condition for membership. Lamichhane’s ex-comrade Mukul Dhakal has quit, but other technocrats are falling over each other to demonstrate their loyalty to him. The fear seems to be that opposing the leadership will end one’s political career. (Sound familiar? Trump’s GOP.)&nbsp;
Most politicians make the mistake of believing that power is the ultimate truth. They believe that power, authority, and right are one and the same, and everything else is secondary. But in politics, one is expected to uphold higher moral standards and be accountable to the public. &nbsp;
Lamichhane was elected on a populist platform, turbocharged by his fiery tv anchor role. But ever since he entered politics, he has defied and deflected allegations about his passport and citizenship by wiggling his way into any available coalition and bargaining hard for the home ministry post. He tried to do the same in the previous government to launder the cooperative scam.
He played hardball, and the current coalition is also playing hardball. That is politics, but Lamichhane has failed to grasp that patriotism is not proof of honesty. Instead, he has consistently resorted to fear-mongering, using vengeful language and spewing threats (including against the media) when in power and out of it.&nbsp;
He could have used legal means to defend allegations, or even stepped aside to facilitate the investigation. Instead, he has fallen back on social media-driven populism to foment public sympathy. The established parties are so discredited themselves that his supporters are willing to believe that the NC and UML are out to get him for exposing skeletons in their closet. By dismissing allegations against its chair, the RSP’s aspiring technocrats have undermined their own futures. The Greek philosopher Erasmus is supposed to have said that a fish rots from the head down.&nbsp;
That could very well apply to the RSP if its honest and competent second echelon do not follow their conscience, and continue to &nbsp;parrot a compromised leader. &nbsp;
This has been adapted with permission from an Editorial in Nagarik Daily published on 22 September 2024.

RSP’s RSVP

Nothing is worth more than this day. -Goethe  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240921040932_febbc8aaa438d41db108bb9e616afa17bb93cb23d9e0a2dbe8ca4e50a3131d1e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240921040932_febbc8aaa438d41db108bb9e616afa17bb93cb23d9e0a2dbe8ca4e50a3131d1e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2700" height="2700" loading="lazy" alt="Miss Moti #1230"> </figure>

Miss Motivation

Nothing is worth more than this day

&nbsp;While the world is better off today in many development indicators than when the UN was established after World War II. Even so, poverty, inequality, illiteracy, global epidemics, gender inequality and conflicts have continued.
The Security Council established over 75 years ago to help solve crises and promote peace, is unable to function effectively in its current form. Globally, rising mistrust is feeding ongoing conflicts in West Asia, Sudan, Ukraine and elsewhere. There are violations to the UN charter and increasing threats to multilateralism.&nbsp;
Consequences of climate breakdown and the need to adopt concrete measures to reduce global temperatures is becoming more critical by the day. Small island states are in danger of being submerged by the sea, glacial meltdown, floods and droughts threaten lives and livelihoods.
UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres is holding The Summit of the Future 2024 in New York on 22-23 September, providing an opportunity for world leaders to assess these issues so collective solutions can be found.&nbsp;
The Summit will deliberate on global concerns, forge a new international consensus to ‘deliver a better present and safeguard the future’ helping to mend eroded trusts and tackle emerging threats and opportunities.
The summit will also examine progress towards meeting Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) to reduce poverty, hunger, illiteracy, climate change, human rights, and justice, among others.&nbsp;
The Summit will also discuss the decline in development finance, international peace and security, science, technology, innovation and digital cooperation. Because it is focused on the future, the role of youth will be discussed by young delegates themselves.&nbsp;
Given the stronger urge to protect national and bilateral interests as well budgets being diverted elsewhere, there are signs of aid fatigue and less enthusiasm for UN engagement which would require the UN to think and act differently.&nbsp;
The UN’s multilateral role in promoting global peace and effectiveness in responding to other challenges facing the world needs the organisation to be more agile, efficient, effective and transparent. It must focus on results and impact on the ground.
Nepal has made remarkable progress in improving social indicators. Despite this, poverty, hunger, and illiteracy remain high. Injustice, rampant corruption and violations of human rights are of rising concern.
Adding to these structural problems are the impacts of climate breakdown with glacial retreat, shrinking water sources, and the danger of climate-induced disasters. These threaten not just Nepal, but countries downstream from the Himalaya.
Changes in rainfall patterns have increased floods, delayed and reduced rainfall has affected food security. Despite progress in education and health in expanded partnership with the private sector, there are concerns about quality.&nbsp;
Overstretched government medical facilities and shortages of medicine and qualified doctors are impacting healthcare. The public is frustrated by slow progress in infrastructure. Pollution level has risen to lethal levels, increasing respiratory diseases.&nbsp;
In the absence of local employment opportunities, the youth are migrating overseas in large numbers, and the remittance they send home supports their households and the national economy.&nbsp;
Lack of attention to enhance productivity, has led to a stagnant agricultural sector, turning Nepal into a net importer of rice and other food items.
Frequent changes in government have caused unstable policies and programs, seriously affecting progress in sustainable development. The aspirations of the people to transit towards democracy and justice from the atrocities of ten years of conflict has been a slow and protracted process.
Nepal is at risk of not graduating from LDC status by 2025 and meeting SDG targets by 2030 because of governance failure, lack of service delivery and corruption.&nbsp;
Prime Minister K P Oli left for New York on Friday to address the Summit of the Future 2024. This is a proud moment for Nepal to recommit to the UN and its reform agenda. Nepal should voice its desire to make the UN Security Council more effective, share its development experiences, and thank global partners and the UN for its cooperation.
PM Oli should also raise his voice against global instability and polarisation by affirming Nepal’s support to the UN charter and its commitment to peace, also by strengthening the Blue Helmet peacekeeping forces.
Nepal needs to agree to revamping the Security Council with more inclusiveness representation from Africa, and from the most populous country, India, as well as stronger economies such as Japan and Germany.
Pledging its commitment, Nepal should reiterate its concern with the situation in Ukraine and Palestine, and the rising humanitarian crises in a number of African countries such as Sudan.
Nepal also needs to continue pledging its dedication to fulfilling the SDGs with concrete plans to achieve the unmet Goals. The key issue will be Nepal’s commitment and ownership of a transformative agenda with measures to deliver the promises, including plugging leakage due to corruption.
Nepal must also pledge to effectively implement the Truth and Reconciliation Bill (TRC), with a strong and capable leadership team which will listen to the victims’ voices.
With the climate crisis affecting High Asia, Nepal needs to continue to push the mountain agenda and address the transboundary impact it will have on downstream populations.&nbsp;
With remittances being equivalent to nearly 25% of Nepal’s GDP, migration is a major socio-economic issue for Nepal. It is important to thank countries hosting Nepalis and encourage them to ensure fairer treatment including minimum wage and support to our workers. &nbsp;
P M Oli’s deliberation at the Summit of the Future must not end in New York like most other Nepal’s engagements in the past -- there must be strong efforts to bring the country’s commitments into action for the benefit of its citizens and global governance, with follow up and timely delivery of the promises made at the summit.
Bishow Parajuli was a former UN Resident Coordinator as well as &nbsp;UNDP/WFP Representative in many countries.

Bishow Parajuli

Nepal’s future at the UN Summit of the Future

Nepal’s national electricity grid is supplied with power from a remarkably decentralised array of 162 hydropower projects and 14 solar photovoltaic schemes spread across 43 districts, supplying power over the grid to 30 million people.
Another 249 hydropower projects and 14 solar projects are at different stages of construction, positioning 11 new districts to contribute power to the grid by 2030. Six of the country’s seven provinces generate hydropower as their main energy source, while Madhes Province generates solar energy.&nbsp;
While NEA (Nepal Electricity Authority) and its subsidiaries own and operate 20 generation stations, the remaining are owned and operated by Independent Power Producers (IPP). All but two of the IPPs are Nepali companies that have successfully mobilised over $2 billion in investment.
This investment has been spread widely across the country. Eleven districts generate more than 100MW each with Dolakha, Lamjung, Solukhumbu, and Ramechhap each exceeding 200MW (map). The average size of hydropower projects on Nepal’s grid is 15.5MW, while the average solar project is 4.2MW.
The average size of projects under construction is larger -- 39.5MW for hydro and 6.9MW for solar respectively.&nbsp;
For most hill and mountain districts, hydropower is easily the largest investment, private or public, in their history. &nbsp;
This decentralised power generation model is a relatively recent development for Nepal. In 1995 when the World Bank withdrew (adjoining article) its planned investment from the 201MW Arun III project, NEA had not envisioned the entry of the private sector. In fact, its published strategy was to mobilise international aid for hydropower projects larger than Arun III.
The well-known cancellation of Arun III in 1995 and the availability of alternative models led to Nepal's decentralised power development. It matters that this distributed generation and storage of electricity is close to the point of use.
Centralised power stations have been the norm for industrialised and emerging economies to achieve rapid and cheap electrification, taking advantage of economies of scale of large power plants.
Also in Nepal, when its vast hydropower potential was first quantified in the 1960s, plans were drawn up for mega hydropower projects with reservoirs such as Karnali, Kosi, and Pancheswar. None of these could be realised, however, due to lack of financing.&nbsp;
Donor funds could never be aggregated at the scale needed for the investments required, and the country was not attractive to the international private sector. Nepal opted not to invite India to construct its large hydropower projects to supply the Indian market the way Bhutan did.
It took the country 40 years to find its way -- generation led by private domestic investment supplemented by public sector involvement by the NEA.&nbsp;
The cancellation of Arun III resulted in the government signing expensive dollar-denominated power purchase agreements (PPA) with international producers like Khimti (60MW) and Bhote Kosi (45MW) to partially make up for the shortfall. These were against the wishes of NEA management.&nbsp;
It was in reaction to these expensive PPAs that engineers at NEA received permission to develop Chilime (20MW) with rupee-denominated PPA and the government at the time announced a standard tariff in NPR for power generated by IPPs.&nbsp;
Once NEA showed its willingness to sign these PPAs, hundreds of companies sprang up to apply for licenses to survey and construct small hydropower plants throughout the country.
Decentralised power development contributes to construction jobs and infrastructure investment, especially in remote districts where many of the best hydropower sites are located.&nbsp;
Construction of an electricity generation station provides at one go the two most important infrastructure any district needs to generate jobs — power and a road.&nbsp;
Decentralised generation provides energy security to load centres throughout the country since damage to power plants in one part of the country need not affect other areas that have their own generation. It also reduces transmission losses as large amounts of power do not have to be transported from one end of the country to another.
Nepal’s strategy of decentralised power development is coming to maturity in the era of the climate crisis, when the global response has been a surge in renewable energy investments and grids all over the world pushing to become decentralised.&nbsp;
Landslides, flooding and glacial lake outburst floods have always posed risks to infrastructure projects in the Himalaya, and climate breakdown has increased this risk with the severity and frequency of cloud bursts.&nbsp;
The 2024 monsoon has been particularly bad, temporarily shutting down NEA’s 456MW Upper Tamakosi, 60MW Upper Trisuli 3A, 40MW Chameliya, and 10MW Sunkosi projects,&nbsp;
It also downed the 36MW Balefi, 20MW Lower Modi, 18MW Middle Modi, and 7.5 MW Indrawati III operated by IPPs.
Nonetheless, there has not been any increase in load shedding because power plants across other river basins continued to generate without interruption.&nbsp;
Having power plants spread across two thirds of the country rather than concentrated in a few river valleys distributes the risk to the country’s entire power supply.&nbsp;
Adding solar energy to the generation mix diversifies the types of renewable energy available and contributes to power in the winter months. It also makes the grid more secure during periods of drought when hydropower production declines.&nbsp;
Solar energy is a perfect complement to hydro since by definition its production will peak during periods with low rainfall.
Distributed generation is shaping up to be an important component of Nepal’s decentralised energy system. This increases energy security to users and reduces transmission losses.
The roughly 10MW of rooftop solar PV systems that have been installed in the past year by hotels, factories, medical colleges and flour mills to reduce their electricity bills is an example of how it is catching on.
Decentralised and distributed generation do have additional costs in the need for more extensive power networks. Extending high voltage transmission lines to evacuate power from smaller local projects adds cost.&nbsp;
However, every power plant and the transmission line to access it has aided Nepal in accelerating electrification and strengthening power infrastructure to the district where it is located.
As networks become more complex, utility-scale battery storage, and the availability of distributed storage in electric vehicles, the grid needs to be made smarter to better manage the tens of thousands of generation and storage points Nepal is likely to have in the coming years. &nbsp;
Bikash Pandey is Director of Clean Energy and Circular Economy at Winrock International. People Power is his new regular column in Nepali Times on global energy issues relevant to Nepal. &nbsp;

Bikash Pandey

People Power

Decentralising power in Nepal

Life is a balance of holding on and letting go. -Rumi  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240914040924_b80812b1aa19fe220713ed95d77154edbd44902f15406c19386c57d85ff016b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240914040924_b80812b1aa19fe220713ed95d77154edbd44902f15406c19386c57d85ff016b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2700" height="2700" loading="lazy" alt="Miss Moti #1229"> </figure>

Life is a balance

It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I am not going to be silent. -Madeleine Albright  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240906040956_ee01d621b130bfec6f6fbe5bb6144d3cc9e7b8da0e069a5ddcc77fea4fe82a42.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240906040956_ee01d621b130bfec6f6fbe5bb6144d3cc9e7b8da0e069a5ddcc77fea4fe82a42" data-rendition-name="original" width="2700" height="2700" loading="lazy" alt="Miss Moti #1228"> </figure>

It took me quite a long time to develop a voice

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

Angrezi

Me, the Interpreter

112 dead, 65 missing in Nepal floods

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

Japan-born Nepali children struggle to ‘be Nepali’

This late monsoon storm was not a surprise. Weather forecasts had warned of heavy precipitation a week before, the Met Office predicted heavy rain on 27-28 September, SMS warned people to take precaution, radio stations issued bulletins, and night buses were banned in 56 districts.&nbsp; The tragedy was compounded because we knew what was coming, and did not do enough to prepare. The accurate weather forecast made no real difference on the ground. When it started raining on Thursday morning and did not stop till Saturday, there was no sense of the scale of this emergency. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/60-dead-64-missing-in-nepal-floods">More than 200 people lost their lives, dozens are still missing.</a> Thousands of homes were swept away, Nepal lost nearly half its electricity generation capacity because of damage to power plants, Kathmandu has been nearly cut off with bridges and sections of highways swept away. Yes, this was primarily a natural disaster. Kathmandu Valley and its surroundings got half the average annual precipitation in just 40 hours, the heaviest rainfall measured since records started being kept in 1972. But the high death toll was totally manmade.&nbsp; Three buses were buried by a mudslide in Dhading, killing at least 35 people. This was an eerie reminder of the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/100-101-102-hh5uvzf9">Simaltal accident on 12 July </a>when two intercity buses were swept by a mudflow into the Trisuli River at night, killing 62. The buses have still not been found.&nbsp; In both cases, heavy rainfall on a poorly engineered local road up the mountains triggered the initial landslide that swept debris to the highway below. This was manslaughter, not an ‘accident’.&nbsp; We said it then, and we are saying it now: most mountain roads follow no reason or science. It is a corruption-fed activity in which local governments and their cronies plan roads ad hoc and rent their own bulldozers. Debris accumulated during construction is dumped over the edge, where monsoon rains wash them to settlements, farms and highways below. Last weekend’s disaster is a warning that accurate weather early warning is just the first step – it is not enough to prevent a huge loss of life. After the warnings, there should have been door-to-door miking along hazardous river banks urging people to move to higher ground, shelters should have been in place, rescue equipment and rafts pre-positioned, live monitoring of precipitation in the catchments. The National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA) was just posting situationers on social media. The Home Ministry became a Ministry of Condolences and Empty Promises.&nbsp; This disaster is a reminder of the 1993 Central Nepal cloudburst that hit the Lothar Khola in Chitwan, the Kulekhani areas, and highways blocked highways marooning Kathmandu for weeks. More than 1,300 people were killed.&nbsp; The death toll in Kathmandu this time was compounded by the fact that the city has spread into the floodplains of the Vishnumati, Manohara and other tributaries of the Bagmati. Natural waterways have been hemmed in by streets. The rivers were just reclaiming what was theirs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240930150944_1221b4fb442a21e8d2dbf1aeeca61b7a8d791c117d6a93401f15ba2a95d49a69.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240930150944_1221b4fb442a21e8d2dbf1aeeca61b7a8d791c117d6a93401f15ba2a95d49a69" data-rendition-name="original" width="1949" height="1299" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal floods"> <figcaption>Kathmandu Valley, especially its southern fringes looks like an epicentre of a major quake following the rains. Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Urban pressure has also forced settlements to move up the Valley’s rim, below steep hillsides with topsoil already saturated in the late monsoon. The torrential downpours caused the slopes to fail. The damage to Upper Tamakosi and dozens of other hydropower plants also is a warning not to put all our eggs in one basket. The Sikkim disaster exactly this time last year was proof that these are at high risk from glacial lake floods and landslide dammed rivers suddenly bursting. More logical would be to build smaller, better designed, plants on many rivers. The Himalaya is also the youngest and most fragile mountain range on earth, Nepal has always had either too much or too little water, and climate breakdown is making this contrast more extreme. Combined, this means we in Nepal live in a multi-disaster prone country with seismic, hydrological and climate risks.&nbsp; After multiple floods in early 1990s, a Japanese grant helped set up the Disaster Prevention Technical Centre (DPTC) in Pulchowk, which was later renamed the Department of Water Induced Disaster Management. We have not heard much from them lately. With the government AWOL, it is ordinary Nepalis who have shown extraordinary courage in saving those being swept by flood water, rescuing babies on canoes (pictured), or digging for passengers trapped in buses buried by landslides. The Nepal Army and the Police rescued thousands, but there was an absence of coordination.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240930150944_cb55edb93eb3aad169b22bc4dec06b5478746fbe75417c628bf671ec698f7912.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240930150944_cb55edb93eb3aad169b22bc4dec06b5478746fbe75417c628bf671ec698f7912" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal floods"> <figcaption>Photo: SOCIAL MEDIA</figcaption> </figure>  Now, the attention must focus on urgent relief and rehabilitation. But that might be a tall ask just before everything shuts down for Dasain, and when governance fails, lack of accountability and transparency is the norm even without holidays.&nbsp; Sonia Awale

When it rains it pours

The Imadol neighbourhood of Kathmandu Valley was among the worst hit by last weekend’s devastating floods. The Manohara River, swollen by incessant rainfall, overflowed into the settlements along its banks. A photograph taken by French anthropologist Corneille Jest in monsoon 1972 shows the Manohara meandering across a wide plain, its banks lush with ripening paddy. Two farmers cross the field carrying a kharpan, a sturdy traditional bamboo basket carried on shoulders, that has almost vanished from the Valley today. It is a tranquil view of a once-emerald Valley and its unique civilisation that blended urban living with intense agriculture on the fertile topsoil. Gazing at these images shows us the life and times of Old Nepal. This and other photographs taken by Jest during his research in Nepal’s Dolpo and Kathmandu 60 years ago are a reminder of how much in Nepal has changed, and what remains the same. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-s-passage-of-time-in-photos">Kathmandu’s passage of time in photos</a>, Ashish Dhakal  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024100505108_e5eae5b7745301134e49b009d519326ea826f2e11c76b33aa63ea13734fa9d2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024100505108_e5eae5b7745301134e49b009d519326ea826f2e11c76b33aa63ea13734fa9d2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1667" loading="lazy" alt="An anthropologist's perspective of Nepal"> <figcaption>Offering a prayer flag at a pass above Tukuche in 1963.</figcaption> </figure>  Jest visited Nepal every other year since 1960, and the exhibition itself shows us the passage of time -- it is aesthetic and evocative, a lament and sometimes deeply nostalgic.&nbsp; The exhibition is organised by Mémoires de l’Himalaya, a French association that works to preserve works on the trans-Himalayan region. Jest was a prolific photographer and out of the 45,000 negatives in his collection, &nbsp;almost 100 black and white and colour prints were selected for this exhibition at the Patan Museum. “The data researchers collect rarely helps the community being studied.. So, it was Jest's idea and ours as an organisation to give back, what we can, to the local community,” says Rémi Chaix of Mémoires de l’Himalaya, who is also one of the curators. “The field notes taken by Jest can also be accessed.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/making-nepal-s-history-colourful">Making Nepal’s history colourful</a>, Kanak Mani Dixit  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004091020_eb98695b6253e9dde6f051b24596bc09060834bdba1219b9cff2ac080540c63c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241004091020_eb98695b6253e9dde6f051b24596bc09060834bdba1219b9cff2ac080540c63c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="3000" loading="lazy" alt="An Anthropologist's Early Glimpses of Nepal NT"> <figcaption>Members of the Tarap community at Dolpo's Drolma Pass during their pilgrimage to the Buddha-ri sacred mountain in 1960.Corneille Jest - Mémoires de l'Himalaya</figcaption> </figure>  Curated by Fernand Meyer, Kunsang Namgyal-Lama and Chaix, the first floor of the museum showcases photographs of Kathmandu Valley and the second floor is dedicated to Dolpo, especially Tarap Valley where Jest spent most of his time. This curatorial choice of placing the photographs of a place in a specific floor is important, allowing viewers to keep the two worlds separate. The photographs on the first floor are exclusive and published for the first time. There is also an 11 minute documentary on loop that captures the 1968 Seto Machhindranath festival. One does not just get to see this era but even hear its sounds. Photos of Dolpo on the second floor show how little the landscape and dwellings of this remote region has changed in the past decades, although with the road now reaching the district it will inevitably undergo rapid transformation. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/memories-of-an-archivist">Memories of an archivist</a>, Anita Bhetwal  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004091020_ae632fde3aac88ac90bad7e348904446b10b793d650d7bfc4a2f7a977f6f84cc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241004091020_ae632fde3aac88ac90bad7e348904446b10b793d650d7bfc4a2f7a977f6f84cc" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="884" loading="lazy" alt="An Anthropologist's Early Glimpses of Nepal NT"> <figcaption>Attendees at a Buddhist ritual, Tarap, 1963.Corneille Jest - Mémoires de l'Himalaya</figcaption> </figure>  Some of the Dolpo photographs have already been published in Jest’s books like ‘Tales of The Turquoise: A Pilgrimage in Dolpo’. “Jest had a habit of clicking the same image twice. One would be in black and white and the other would be in colour,” explains Chaix who along with other two curators had to decide which would be a better fit for the exhibit. Jest’s photos of Dolpo are intimate and let the audience peek into the Himalayan lifestyle at the time. Researching about the Himalayan people and the culture while living in Tarap Valley, Jest developed a particular affinity for Dolpo, shares Guillaume Jest, one of Corneille’s sons, who was here at the inauguration of the exhibition.&nbsp; “I think that my father’s fondness for the population of Dolpo and their religion and culture comes from the fact that they build their way of life in a very harsh but breathtaking world of the high valleys of the Himalayas,” says Guillaume. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/adventures-of-a-lone-archivist">Adventures of a lone archivist</a>, Alisha Sijapati  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004091020_6cba26cf4cd2c38db65a4b00966f58ed87d46de3e01c8927f6ac1d8d3f5cadc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20241004091020_6cba26cf4cd2c38db65a4b00966f58ed87d46de3e01c8927f6ac1d8d3f5cadc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1666" loading="lazy" alt="An Anthropologist's Early Glimpses of Nepal NT"> <figcaption>Terraced maize and paddy fields during the 1972 monsoon at Imadol, which has been built over and was submerged on 28 September.Corneille Jest - Mémoires de l'Himalaya</figcaption> </figure>  Being an anthropologist, Jest’s focus is always on the people he encounters and the landscape or architecture being props. This is a rich visual documentation of what people wore, what they ate, what the houses looked like, their daily work in the fields, the harvest process, cultural rituals and celebrations. “Corneille Jest’s photographs give us a rare insight into the everyday life, culture, and landscapes of Nepal during a pivotal period in the country’s history, just after its opening to the rest of the world. They reveal the depth and diversity of Nepali culture,” says Virginie Corteval, French Ambassador to Nepal, who opened the exhibition last week. She adds: “These represent a testimony of the important work by pioneer French researchers such as Corneille Jest or Sylvain Lévi, in studying the diversity of the Nepali civilisation.” &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/an-archive-of-nepali-heritage">An archive of Nepali heritage</a>, Ashish Dhakal <h2>Lalita Niwas 60 years ago</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004091020_72859aaf3e5f323bfce71e7adb8ba84fe1016e7e7323b4b3458570be22572146.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20241004091020_72859aaf3e5f323bfce71e7adb8ba84fe1016e7e7323b4b3458570be22572146" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1667" loading="lazy" alt="An Anthropologist's Early Glimpses of Nepal NT"> </figure>  The Lalita Niwas Land grab scandal is making headlines today, and has implicated the high and mighty of the land. But few know what the original palace of Subarna Shumsher Rana looked like. Corneille Jest’s aerial photograph in 1963 of the neoclassical palace gives us an idea of the grandeur and size of the complex that spread over a 7 hectare plot in Baluwatar. After the property was nationalised during the Panchayat, it has been fragmented, bought and sold numerous times. The scandal has put 18 of the 310 individuals charged behind bars. The building now houses the Nepal Rastra Bank.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19789#.YX-e4S8w3u0">The first photographs of us</a>, Kanak Mani Dixit An Anthropologist’s Early Glimpses of Nepal 10AM-6PM Till 18 October Patan Museum