Rameshwor Bhaiya was a mailman and a chowkidar rolled into one. He was stationed at Southfield Loreto College in Darjeeling for many many years, until he retired.
I learned the other day from a WhatsApp group that he recently passed away at a hospital in Siliguri after battling throat <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-other-pandemic-cancer">cancer</a> for a long time. I had forgotten all about him until I saw the message.&nbsp;
Rameshwor Bhaiya was a petite, agile man, always taking mails to the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/is-nepal-entering-the-post-post-office-era">post office </a>and fetching them back. He was always busy, walking with brisk, soft steps, sometimes stopping in the lunchroom for a glass of water, the last one sitting down to eat because the mail had to be done in the first hour.&nbsp;
For his physical stature, I cannot recall how he managed his guard work, but he must have been good at that too, because he kept some 500 girls safe everyday.
Rameshwor Bhaiya always wore his hair oiled and combed back with a side parting, neatly. His postal bag slung over his shoulder, the strap falling across his chest was bulky on some days and some days it would be shriveled up and swinging in the air with the lack of weight.&nbsp;
He wore gray or khaki sweaters mostly and a jacket the same tint. His trousers were in the same shades too, and once in a while, he would spot a colourful shirt -- there was a maroon one with a fading collar. The V of one of his V-neck sweaters had come undone and looked like a Y with a short tail instead and I don’t remember that he ever fixed it.
I do not even remember his full name. But we all understood from a way of understanding caste and religion in South Asia that he was a Hindu, North Indian man who had moved to<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Connecting-dots/Darjeeling-and-the-idea-of-Nepal,944"> Darjeeling</a> for work. We never understood where his family was because he lived on campus.
The Southfield building was known to have once been the summer palace of a Maharaja of Burdwan, and by then had become Rameshwor Bhaiya’s home. He lived in a small room on the ground floor of the building, close to the lift. Sometimes, he would point at the lift and explain how the pulley worked. It had to be pulled by men to move the lift users up and down the two-storey durbar. But as chowkidar, Rameshwor Bhaiya was the sole nighttime occupant of that house.
In the morning, he woke up to the nuisance of monkeys from the Mahakal temple right above Southfield. And the morning would get noisier as the cleaners came in and then the girls and the teacher would start to trickle in, first slowly and then in quick steps and in full numbers as the bell for the first class went off.
My roommate Meenu and I were sincere letter writers. We wrote to parents, to friends, to admirers sometimes. Sometimes, to boys we crushed on. (I mean, I did.) Meenu was always more careful about how she put her feelings out there. But she was the one always doing couriers home. Her mother would send her parathas and achar and ladoo by courier, all the way from Phuentsholing, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/small-bhutan-dreams-big">Bhutan</a>, our midnight snack. So, Meenu maintained a cordial relationship with Rameshwor Bhaiya.
Our hostel was in Springfield and we were only allowed outings on weekends, which meant mails had to often wait a whole week until Saturday. On Sundays we couldn’t mail. That was when Rameshwor Bhaiya would come to our rescue. If we needed to send a mail to the post office or courier something on weekdays, we would give it to him and he would make sure it was done. For us, the Indian postal service’s efficiency thrived on Rameshwor Bhaiya’s existence.
When we returned to hostel life from our holidays, some of us would bring little gifts to the staff. I used to bring pustakari from Nepal for Rameshwor Bhaiya. He said once that it hurt his mouth to suck on them but he still enjoyed it. He was more of a connoisseur of paan, but he appreciated the gesture.
The campus was always bustling with staff, but when I think of Rameshwor Bhaiya letters instantly come to mind. There was the post office and the smell of mail and the feeling of rippling open an envelope and thrusting the fingers into it to reveal its content to the self.&nbsp;
Once or twice, I had surprise letters from a secret admirer and I was worried they would be discovered. No, having a boyfriend was not encouraged. In fact, we were often pre-emtively reminded of the student who went on a walk to the mall road with her boyfriend and was gang-raped by strangers, an incident Late Peter J Karthak records in one of his novels.
So, we led sheltered lives. Mama’s girls and Daddy’s girls, all huddled together in classrooms, heads buried in textbooks, but our minds wondering who to borrow the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/14-books-to-read-gift-love-this-valentine-s">next romance novel</a> from. Cloistered, free of the world’s strings, we bubbled with hope for all kinds of things. Mostly, for what our <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/scoring-a-better-future-for-nepals-soccer-girls">future as women</a> in the real world would be like.
And in his own little way, Rameshwor Bhaiya made lives possible for us because he brought us letters, documents, exam results, notices from the University of West Bengal.
“Is there a letter for me, Rameshwor Bahiya?” Sometimes he would joke and say no even if there was one. Usually there was no mail for me at Southfield. But there was always Rameshwor Bhaiya with his postal bag -- the bag of hope.
Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in Pratibha’s life.

Pratibha Tuladhar

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Suburban Tales

The man who came bearing letters

Frangipani always finds me. The first time, they were strewn over my pillows at a Colombo hotel. I had no memory of seeing the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/when-flowers-become-feed-for-the-livestock"> flowers </a>before and I fell in love with the fragrance, the fleshy petals, generous just so. Then I never saw them again until I started my life in Chiang Mai. I lived in a gated community, where the avenues were lined with frangipani trees. When Mona and P’Champ took me around house hunting, I zeroed in on houses that had frangipani trees. I eventually had to settle for one with a wall of tall strands of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bardia-s-birds">birds</a> of paradise, instead. But there were frangipani trees the moment I stepped out of my gate lining the roads, meeting me everywhere I went. They felt like friends.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025021609020_59326ead694a156d5c60523aab070983909e0eabae52b46a8d488fb1629434b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025021609020_59326ead694a156d5c60523aab070983909e0eabae52b46a8d488fb1629434b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Frangipani"> </figure>  Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/suburban-tales/we-used-to-be-flowering-trees">We used to be flowering trees</a>, Pratibha Tuladhar In November 2024, they found me in Goa. I showed up in Pilerne, a village in the north of Goa, to spend alone time at my friend V’s stowed away house. The idea was to learn to make peace with myself. And to finish unfinished assignments. I cannot remember where I picked such a habit, but since the time I was a child, I’ve always had to bury myself in solitude. By the time I had grown into a woman, the need had sort of leveled up and found me sitting at cafes buzzing with strangers for hours, and/or holed up in strange hotel rooms so I could just be. One time in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/a-villa-in-thamel">Thamel</a>, the receptionist looked at me searchingly. He was probably not used to girls renting rooms for a day to be on their own. And now, well into my 40s, the question still gets thrown at me. In Goa, at V’s house, the caretakers of Casa Pilerne were curious about me. Why had I chosen to come live in isolation? How did it feel to be the sole resident in a colony of fifteen houses? What did I do for a living? Where had I come from? Where would I go next? On my first day in the village, the housing manager had told me to strictly follow a bunch of rules. Not to leave the house alone after 5PM. Not to loiter in the village alone as feral dogs were likely to gang up on me. Not to wear shorts. No, I did not wear shorts during my walks. Even in Goa heat. And I tried to keep to the 4-5PM walking slot. On my first day, my legs were aching for a long stride and took me further than I had planned, all the way to the nearest highway. The road is scenic, and is a reminder of some scenes from a Bollywood movie Dear Jindagi, lined with coconut trees on both sides, making way for the golden fields.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250216080252_85f64b65f2393d85fb848a851810b642d5b0cf9f8a66cb96fb80bd59ee6b2ac5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250216080252_85f64b65f2393d85fb848a851810b642d5b0cf9f8a66cb96fb80bd59ee6b2ac5" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Goa 2"> </figure>  &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250216080252_0ad78340790912dd155ab81c3d529f8a460ad71e27068828f0e5bf175b52cc3b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250216080252_0ad78340790912dd155ab81c3d529f8a460ad71e27068828f0e5bf175b52cc3b" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Goa 3"> </figure>  I stopped when I saw birds, to listen, took pictures and walked some more. When a car started to follow me, I didn’t realise. Three men in a white car, they rolled down the window and tried to make signs at me and talk to me. I tried not to look at them and I kept walking ahead, my skin crawling and the air suddenly feeling very hot and humid. I walked on until a bus came towards us from the other end, and then a scooter with two boys riding on it yelled and waved at me. Then the car made a U-turn and left. I just walked on. So fast, I didn’t even stop to glance at the man from Rukum, who ran a small convenience store by the road and had earlier sold me a nail-cutter.&nbsp; The feral <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-s-street-smart-dogs">dogs </a>probably caught sense of the fear emanating from my body. And then it happened. Five of them came at me at once! They barked, snarled and surrounded me. And at this point, I just froze and stood very still. The only people in sight, a couple seated at the bus stand, did not leave their seats to come help me. But an elderly man, carrying heavy iron tools, the kind you use to work the roads, showed up and shouted at the dogs. Chal chal! Chalejao! I shouted my loudest. He brandished his tools at them and they dispersed. He told me not to worry and to keep walking. And I walked at the same pace, barely breathing until I reached the casa. I learned that day to bring a stick with me during my walks. It scathed the dog-lover hubris in me to be wielding a stick to protect myself from dogs. But it was the only way. The <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/repairing-rural-roads-nepal-earthquake,3985">village roads</a> were mostly deserted. Every few metres, I was likely to run into a passerby returning from work or school. They would glance at my stick and look away-- I probably became known as the woman who walks with a stick. Pilerne is a lovely old Portuguese settlement with large, sprawling colonial era houses, and frangipani trees everywhere. Most of the old houses have been abandoned as the residents have mostly moved to Portugal, following a fading bloodline. The incidents with men did not end with the car stalkers. I would encounter a young man near a church every evening, playing on his mobile phone, trying to make conversation with me. Then a man would follow me while calling out to me. And a small group of men on motorbikes would park at the same place every evening and watch me. And everytime, I would step up my stick game. I would stop by a big tree outside the colony, to find a better stick. Everytime I needed reassurance, I would wave the stick in the air a little. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/memories-of-a-country-in-transition">Memories of a country in transition</a>, Pratibha Tuladhar In two weeks of walking the same road to and fro five times to keep up with my steps count, I had learned by heart the nooks and corners of the Pilerne road, the colour of the houses, the smell of the trees, the voice of a certain man from Pondicherry who lives in a yellow bungalow with two frangipani trees that bear pink flowers. And I had learned by heart, the smile of the gardener who used to be out tending to the garden with a massive frangipani in the front yard. He became, sort of, my only acquaintance in the village.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025021609020_97320ff0451ed625718c01246ce96cb5fb1613eac2bc9b3d80543acd0f5433be.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2025021609020_97320ff0451ed625718c01246ce96cb5fb1613eac2bc9b3d80543acd0f5433be" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Frangipani trees"> </figure>  By the time I was ready to say goodbye to Pilerne, we had started to wave at each other. And I was no longer as terrified of walking in the village.&nbsp; Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in Pratibha’s life.

No tips on walking here

If you grew up under the influence of Bollywood films, it is likely they shaped your idea of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/hop-over-the-gender-gap">masculinity</a>. One, fuelled by the portrayal of the man as the protector, the creator and the embodiment of strength, and fury.&nbsp;
Growing up in a middle-class South Asian family, the media access I was given was chosen by the men in the family--they were the ones in charge of the VCR and the remote control. Men had more knowledge of technology than women did because of their <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-wealth-out-of-health">access to wealth</a>, education, public spaces and thereby, technology itself!
The selection of films that were brought home were mostly masculine. (Visiting cinemas was not really a thing for the middle-class in those days.) There were many <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Lights-camera-copy-paste,1146">mainstream Bollywood films</a>, but there were also Hollywood entries about boxing rings, war planes and gadgets, and some love. And they were films primarily produced and directed by men.
Looking back, there is a pattern that stands out. Men were mostly angry even when in love and eager to break or to be broken in order to protect who they loved. Women were either vamps and villains, or they were coy, demure beings, subject to rape more often than not. Such scenes of sexual violence were not censored for children. And there were suggestive bedroom scenes, where hands came together in a clasp and you wondered as a child what it meant when a man and a woman strung their fingers together against the bedside table or the headboard. There was no sanitised version of the world for five-year-olds in the 1980s South Asia.
The impressions one collected from the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-qfx-cinema-needs-a-happy-ending">cinema</a> was that women need protection and men are either rapists and killers, or breadwinners and protectors. This impression was partly derived from the society around us, but also fed back to it so that the men in the audience learned to emulate those traits. A full circle.
Even when in love, it was expected of men to pursue women they liked in the most unbecoming ways. Public confrontations and suggestive remarks bordering on harassment were acceptable. If a man wanted a woman, he would follow and corner her, and the woman would be forced to cave in. This would end in marriage. Essentially, it legitimised marrying the stalker/rapist.
From that terribly long lead, spanning across several paragraphs, I will briefly make a case for the men in my family, who tried to change what we saw on screen. My grandfather passed away last year, but all the years of his active life, here’s what I witnessed: He would make tea and toast for my grandmother and himself in the morning, then brunch (usually daal-bhat) and then walk several miles to his office at a hydropower station, while my grandmother attended her hospital duties as a nurse. Back home in the evening, he would play his sitar and then they would cook dinner together, eat together, drink together. Looking back, I marvel at the simplicity of it all.
My father, probably inspired by my grandfather, wakes the house up gently every morning with the sound of the kettle coming to boil and omelettes sizzling in the pan. My mother cooks lunch, and we all take turns cooking dinner. On many occasions, my friends have been surprised at seeing my father in the kitchen. This is not the norm <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-should-be-open-for-south-asia">in South Asia</a>. The message my father sends out, especially to my male friends who frequent our home, is a clear one-- household work is shared among the family, even the men.
Recently, a family friend invited me over for lunch. That day, he was the cook and the cleaner and he set before me a perfectly-delectable meal. He is one of the friends who grew up watching my father cook for the family.
With what was a scattered nut graph, I shall now return to the matter at hand-- the media. There were gods on TV when I was growing up, and the endless family drama that represented life in South Asia in glamourised versions. Women were told to be good, and men were told to take control. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/tv-or-not-tv">TV</a> was an apparatus to impose a certain kind of understanding of nationalism, society and culture.
By the time we moved past the Civil War, Nepal had opened up to the world of films beyond Hollywood and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16996">Bollywood</a> and the Pakistani and Japanese TV serials donated by their governments. We had gained Korean films.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/min-bahadur-bham-s-cinematic-quest">Min Bahadur Bham’s cinematic quest</a>, Abishek Budhathoki
Right now, there’s a world open before us through cinemas from across the globe. And interestingly, Korean drama is one of the most popularly streamed genres. The youth take cues from them for fashion and lifestyle as well as relationships. While men who protect women are a vital part of Korean drama, the women portrayed are also more visible and vocal. They are often seen standing up to men, even getting physical with them on occasion and often rising above their male peers in the workplace.
But what also catches one’s eye is the metrosexual look that men now carry with such ease in Korean shows. It has made aesthetic more appealing for many Asian men, who feel represented on screen. It has become possible for men to be pretty and feminine, to reject the hyper-masculine ethos.
I’m fascinated by the portrayal of men who cry unabashedly, who express love and sadness, who breakdown, but also care for the women in their lives. In all of this, the line between genders blur in a surprisingly seamless way. And that’s the kind of men, we want to love. Men, who push against the idea of masculinity that has been thrust upon us for generations. Men who break free of the mould of expected appearance and behaviour needed to validate their gender.
The scene of seduction of Ser Criston Cole by Rhaenyra in the HBO series, House of the Dragon comes to mind. In the episode written by Ira Parker and directed by Clare Kilner, the portrayal of Cole is one of a man of honour and strength, but there is no dearth of tenderness. In the scene of seduction, there is no sexualisation or objectification of the woman, which points to the difference in gaze. The female gaze views the man, not as being a representation of aggression or purely a sex object, but as someone who has compassion and kindness and is therefore, desirable. This is in stark contrast to the male-directed films discussed above, where male gaze highlighted violence as the height of masculinity.
Characters we meet on screen go a long way in shaping our ideals and perspectives. The representations of men who dash the traditional idea of masculinity, and are comfortable in who they are and can be, go a long way in shaping a better world.
There need not be categories to slot men into, as long as we move forward from aggression as a sign of masculinity and cease to perceive softness and kindness as a sign of being ‘unmanly’. Let men endorse that love is fluid and is not bound by the expectations of gender. Let men live free of the burden to carry themselves a certain way, except with the tenderness each one of them brings forth into this world.
Republished from the original in the Articulate, a Konrad Adanaeur Stiftung (KAS) with permission.&nbsp;
Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in Pratibha’s life.

The tenderness in men

Rain pelleted the windshield furiously. Iva Maharjan dashed down the footpath and slid into the backseat of the taxi, next to me. We were about to be stuck in Kathmandu traffic for exactly two hours and I would ask her a question around which our time would pivot. Iva goes by the name “That cello girl” on her WhatsApp ID. I had always wondered if the title had more to reveal. “Yes, I play the cello,” she flashed a demure smile. The cello is a stringed instrument, used in various genres of music. It is also known as violincello. I had never met a cellist before! The cello isn’t the instrument Iva has always played. When she was 11, she started to learn to play the violin. “My cousin-brother (Sabin Munikar) had set up a music institute in our house so my father asked me if I was interested in learning the violin,” Iva recalled. Her father, Babukaji Maharjan, a music enthusiast himself, plays the dhimay and the flute. He has been the biggest force behind Iva’s music journey. “If my father hadn’t dropped me off to rehearsals, I wouldn’t be here.” I teared up when Iva said that, as I thought about my own father always holding the light for me. When Iva first learned to play the violin, it was very hard. “It’s uncomfortable and painful in the beginning because you’re not used to putting your hand like that and holding the bow in a certain way. It is also difficult to press on strings, hurts your fingertips," Iva said as she showed me the dead skin on her fingers. "But it was a part of the learning and never did it feel like I didn’t want to do it. I liked being known as someone who could play the violin.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241117111120_fbcff54cb40b5fb4f757c687e83ee79964192e6084cc8441f29bfd0e296854f2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20241117111120_fbcff54cb40b5fb4f757c687e83ee79964192e6084cc8441f29bfd0e296854f2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="1620" loading="lazy" alt="Meet the cello girl"> <figcaption>PHOTO: KATHMANDU YOUTH ORCHESTRA / FACEBOOK</figcaption> </figure>  While the violin became attached to her identity, it was only in 2017 that her instrument really found her. Iva is part of the Nepal-Norway project, which had donated three cellos to Nepali music groups.&nbsp; They had instruments but not enough players. It was then that her cousin asked her if she wanted to take up the cello. Although not a cellist himself, he taught her how to hold it and where to place her fingers. “I started to practice based on the theory I knew from learning the violin,” Iva said.&nbsp; It was difficult for her to make the transition at first. The violin is in the treble clef and the cello is in the bass clef and so there were different notes on the staff notation to navigate. Yet, a month after picking the cello, Iva played in an orchestra. She debuted as a cellist in 2017 at a performance at the British School: “At that time, my mentor told me, play what you can and leave what you can’t. Just stay focused on the staff notation because you need to know where you are in order to pick the notes that you can play. It was quite simple at that time.” Iva has continued playing the cello after that. “I liked the fact that I didn’t have to hold my hand up anymore. For the violin you have to do that. I could sit and play. I liked the sound. When it’s just the violin, the sound can be quite high pitched. With the cello, it balances it out. It also gives it a more fuller feeling.” As I watched Iva smile and talk about her music, the stillness of the traffic and the fury of the rain had somehow started to wane from my mind. Thinking about Iva in the midst of an orchestra brought a simple and real comfort. She brought out her phone and showed me recordings of her performances.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241117111120_e732ece843b7533b3a7f9896284f55d6789d88b4f0b07eaa379de33e5b6322a2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241117111120_e732ece843b7533b3a7f9896284f55d6789d88b4f0b07eaa379de33e5b6322a2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Meet the cello girl"> <figcaption>Photo: SAGAR CHHETRI</figcaption> </figure>  What also attracted Iva to the instrument was that it was a unique thing to do. There are currently only a couple of cellists in Nepal and Iva is the only female performing. More recently, Iva has formed a string duo with her friend Phoebe Shrestha on the violin. The duo have presented to audiences in Kathmandu. For Dasain, Iva and her friends released a video, in which she plays the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0xMEe9Jxa4&amp;t=60s">Malashree dhun</a>. It stoked audience interest in the instrument as noted in comments. “People love it when we play these kinds of songs because they’ve only seen them played on traditional instruments,” Iva said. Outside, the traffic had started to stir. Iva receives a lot of attention on the streets because of her cello--a 5'2" girl, bearing a 48-inch, 4X4 instrument in her arms. “People are curious what’s in the bag because it looks so big. They think it’s a guitar. But when they see it, they don’t know the word ‘cello’ so they just call it a big violin,” she laughed. Iva also teaches violin and cello: “Most musicians in Nepal teach music at multiple schools to sustain themselves as musicians. It is a bit of a hustle to get from one school to another sometimes. Currently, she has many students learning the violin but only one learning the cello. The student doesn’t own her own instrument. It has mostly to do with the inaccessibility to a cello-- the instrument is large and the cheapest costs close to 70K and has to be pre-ordered and shipped to Nepal. The one Iva plays was donated by the Norwegians to The Kathmandu Youth Orchestra, of which she is a member. The group starts rehearsing a month or two ahead of the orchestra and plan to do a show every year. Iva described the group as “just a bunch of musicians getting together to make music”. Since the orchestra is not able to support the players, they have to find work elsewhere, which also means the orchestra doesn’t always get a full set of musicians at times of performance. Iva's job is unique, and rewarding when people come up to her after a performance. She feels the cello has become a part of her identity now. “I would not like to leave it [the cello] behind. I haven’t thought about what life would be if I was not playing.” It continued to pour. We had finally covered six kilometres and arrived at our destination. Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people in Pratibha’s life.

Meet the cello girl

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.

A tale of resistance

On a certain February morning earlier this year, we gathered in the drawing room of a friend, reading through the drafts of a set of four books for children, by Luja Mathema. The books, “Unstoppable Women Series” features four Nepali women who are icons of courage, intelligence and perseverance. It was the first time I was seeing books for children on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/50-outstanding-women-of-nepal">female figures from Nepal</a>. Our friend Prawin Adhikari, who also translated the books from English into Nepali, had made available his space so that Luja, Iva Maharjan, and I could join him to proofread the books, created over a period of 18 months. Across a slow day, punctuated by coffees and teas, we read the stories about these four women: Entrepreneur<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/ambica-shrestha-1933-2024-9kaynjv7"> Late Ambica Shrestha</a>, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-singing-nun-is-a-hit-in-china">Ani Choying Drolma</a>, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/the-goal-is-empowerment-and-independence-of-women">Jurist Sapana Pradhan Malla</a>, and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/pasang-lhamu-sherpa-the-film">Mountaineer Late Pasang Lhamu Sherpa</a>. The first book I picked was the one on Ani Choying Drolma, someone I had met through my work as a journalist. The first time I saw her, she was sat on the floor of a raised platform inside a hall at Yak and Yeti, performing to an audience to raise funds for the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18218">Aryatara School for nuns</a>. I was a rookie reporter and it was one of my first stories. But seated on the floor as Ani’s chants filled the room I felt I had been removed to someplace else. I had been taken on an inward journey, not just one of music but one of profound gratitude. Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7229#.YVVcFC8w3u0">Pilgrim's progress</a>, Alexandra Alter I went back to the newsroom, holding three DV tapes to edit, not knowing how I would fit the story of such force in a two-minute broadcast. But I did anyway. Between my news editor Binod Bhattarai and I, we came up with the title, “the singing nun”, for the story. A colleague from The Kathmandu Post came over to watch the tapes and write the story-- he would call her the singing nun, too. Anchor story, Page 1. The experience of writing/producing a story can shift something in you. Covering Ani's performance was such an experience for me. I came away feeling braver. It is this change that Luja hopes to inspire in children through the books she has written. Between proofing, I had asked Luja what had drawn her to write the books and she said she had written them for her daughter, because she found that when buying books, she was hardly ever able to find books about female heroes. So, she felt the need to write them herself!&nbsp; “I want my daughter, as well as the children of Nepal and all over to learn about these individuals and their positive impact in our society,” says Luja whoa lso works as a Gender and Communications consultant outside of her writing career. “I want the children to be encouraged, excited, and hopeful. Having access to such stories at a young age is crucial to increase children’s awareness about all the possibilities in the world.” Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Israeli-authors-in-Nepal,4223#google_vignette">Imagining better futures</a>, Duksangh Sherpa A couple of years ago, I was watching an animated film with my nephew, which had a female ship captain as the lead. I recall how fascinated my nephew was while watching the film. He had many questions about the character. One of the things he asked me was how come he had never watched a film with “girl captains” before? So, it is these beginnings that count and it is what excites me about Luja’s books. Spending a day proofing her books is the only time I’ve ever met Luja. But in those few hours, I was fascinated by her drive to get the books done and to put them out on the shelves for children to come find them. “I hope that both children and parents enjoy the stories of these unstoppable women from Nepal,” says Luja. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/for-children-about-children">For children, about children</a>, Ashish Dhakal The second book I picked to proof from the set was the one on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/ambica-shrestha-92-442e9mix">Ambica Shrestha</a>, who was still among us when we were reading together that day. When we come to the part where she arrives in Darjeeling and joins Loreto Convent, there’s an illustration of her looking out through the window of the convent with a friend. At that, I teared up and I suppose there was a catch in my voice. I had met Ambica Shrestha for the first time at a Loreto alumni meeting. And every time I met her after that, she said hello. What I really took away from seeing her each time was the way she carried herself-- always so tall in the things she did and never afraid. As a fellow alumna, I hoped I had somehow inherited some of her traits. The common thread that binds the four books is the determination and strength of character of all the four women featured. The text is replete with anecdotes of inner strength that helped them forge unique paths.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240901080948_aab1f583e5c1f37f5f69fc48d44dd6b9fdf29a3e9b6348180bff197d16435b70.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20240901080948_aab1f583e5c1f37f5f69fc48d44dd6b9fdf29a3e9b6348180bff197d16435b70" data-rendition-name="original" width="1426" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Passing the baton on, books on female figures from Nepal NT"> <figcaption>Luja Mathema and her books.</figcaption> </figure>  The books series by Luja reminds one of the <a href="https://www.rebelgirls.com/products/good-night-stories-for-rebel-girls">Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls</a> series, stories about girls from around the world who went on to do great things. The marvel in doing so is that even when one might only be doing it for oneself sometimes, the drive and the courage eventually serves as inspiration for others. And while Luja’s attempt in bringing these books together was rooted in the intent to gift them to her own daughter, she has gone on to set substantial precedents for others to create books about Nepali women. The books are illustrated by artists <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/365-is-not-just-a-number">Prakash Ranjit</a>, Shaili Malla and Nhuja Shakya. Shaili captures some details of Boudha in the illustrations that you would only notice if you grew up in the vicinity. Nhuja’s illustration on the last page of the book on Pasang Lhamu is steeped in pathos, and yet salvages the book from what might have been a dreary ending. And on a personal note, Prakash’s drawings of LC, makes me want to visit Darjeeling. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/female-foeticide-to-football">Female foeticide to football</a>, Srijana Singh Thakuri What I like most about these books is that they are bilingual. The Nepali and the English text appear alongside each other on each page. From my experience of reading to my nephew at bedtime, I do wish that the font size had been larger and more eye-friendly. Regardless, I can’t wait to bring the books home to my nephew, so I can share with him the stories of the Unstoppable Ambica, Ani, Pasang and Sapana. The books, published by Nepalaya, will be launched in Kathmandu on September 1, 2024. Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in Pratibha’s life.

The Unstoppables

On a very still wintry morning in Kathmandu, a black and white puppy bobbed about the pavement along Jamal. The municipality workers had just started sweeping the streets. Timorous rays of the sun lit the section where the pup had been tied to the railing.
The pup, with long dangling ears and the droopiest eyes I’ve ever seen, tripped over my feet and tugged at my shoelace. I giggled. Tried to pick him up. A woman stepped out from one of the shops on the pavement. Mickey! She called out and the pup went towards her, staggering with the weight of his ears. She picked him in her arms and took him inside. I followed.
She let me pet him for a bit. He nibbled at everything he could dig his teeth into-- my coat, my hands, my hair. I laughed. He likes you, the woman said. Why don’t you take him? I can’t, I said. I have a dog at home. Get one more, she said.
I fished out my phone-- Nokia music express in those days-- and called up my friend A. She squealed in joy and said, get him! I said I can’t, because there’s Cookie. But something transpired quickly during that call and it was decided we would gift the pup to our dear friend P.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/suburban-tales/a-walk-in-the-memory">A walk in the memory</a>, Pratibha Tuladhar
Had we asked our friend P if he wanted a pup? No. But in that weird moment that was a phone call, A and I had made a decision that would be the puppy’s life, woven into our friend P’s. Such unfathomable draw, small moments of whim can sometimes hold.
I walked to the ATM, counted a thin sheaf of thousand rupee notes and handed it to the woman in the shop. Tears suddenly welled-up in her eyes, as though she regretted the decision she had made a minute ago. She held Mickey in her arms, kissed his face a million times and said: Be well! Then turned to me and said: This is my baby, please take good care of him.
I said he was going to be loved well.
Mickey in my arms, I walked towards the micro bus stand in Jamal. He leapt up to chew my hair as I took quick steps down the footbridge. Inside the micro, he bit my hands some more. Fellow passengers who said Cute and tried to pet him were not spared the attack. By the time I got home my hands were covered in bites.
I showed up on the porch with the droopy-eyed cocker spaniel baby in my arms. Cookie, my golden, who was about four then, glowered first then growled and then barked in jealousy. She wasn’t going to make room for him.
I called up P and said I wanted to meet him. He was just back in Kathmandu after wrapping up an eventful life abroad and was learning to get used to the familiar, all over again. P-- so fragile at that time, so loved by A and me, that in our immaturity, we decided a dog would be the answer to everything he sought.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/suburban-tales/stealing-a-dog">Stealing a dog</a>, Pratibha Tuladhar
I waited for P outside Bhatbhateni, on one of those steely, airport-like seats. It wasn’t a sunny day. When he showed up Mickey was in my arms, biting me when he could, but mostly watching the passersby.
P came, stood before us and said: Can I hold him?
There was no Hi, nor whose puppy or girl or boy. Just, Can I hold him? And I remember passing Mickey into P’s arms and suddenly feeling like something hard to name had happened.
He’s yours, I said. And P sank slowly on the seat next to me like a weight had been dropped over him. But he held Mickey. Said thank you.
A tender boy holding a puppy-- if you know this, you have known the sweetness of everything before the world turns us into adults. You know how some images stay in our mind forever? That moment is one of those images for me-- P and Mickey.
P got into a microbus with Mickey. It was the only time I saw the puppy. One day of his life and mine, intertwined. I thought many times to visit him, but never did for no reason. Yet, in that moment when I handed him over, A and I had thrust a living responsibility into P’s arms. We hadn’t asked for permission to do so. We were two reckless girls who assumed it was okay to decide a dog’s destiny and in that, somehow, a young man’s. We assumed P would be joyous. And like only a sensitive person would, he embraced the puppy without a fuss, without anger, without rejection, almost as if he had been waiting.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/must-love-dogs-js05baah">Must love dogs</a>, Benjamin Zimmerman
In the weeks that followed, Mickey morphed into his new name-- Havoc. Yes, that’s who he had become. Cocker spaniels are a hyper breed and the puppy had unleashed his energy into P’s home, destroying furniture and upholstery, nibbling at what he could not and chewing down what he could. Something of a little storm had been passed into P’s home when we got him Havoc.
Over the years, Havoc went missing twice. The first time he did, a heartbroken P messaged me saying: Havoc is missing! Then he wrote an opinion piece, pinning for his lost dog. Havoc eventually came home. He went missing again. There was no opinion piece the second time, but he was found.
When P’s other dog, Dali went missing, P hoped for such a miracle again. But miracles are liars that elude us when we need them the most. No prayer works. And one is left waiting, hoping something will change and the face of the beloved will be in sight again. But the change only moves even further away. Miracles are liars-- Dali didn’t return.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/kalle-s-cross-continental-journey">Kalle's cross-continental journey</a>
Last week, Havoc passed away. P, from receiving him from my arms to creating a fortress for him in his home, ensured Havoc led a long, eventful life. &nbsp;Last I saw an image of Havoc was of him as a geriatric dog, struggling with the ailments that seem to eventually get all our dogs. When P told me he passed away, I didn’t cry. But I saw an image of the puppy in the morning light in Jamal on a winter’s day, leashed to the sidewalk, tripping on his own ears, readily running into a stranger's arms. Hope you’re in peace now after a lifetime of such and such, Havoc. And if you’ve met Cookie, tell her that now, perhaps you two can become friends?

One more to remember

P’s bag is stuffed with packets of sanitary napkins. They’re colourful, orange, blue, green, with neat imprints of napkins, flowers and petite girls. The packets peep from between her clothes, straddling an overnight kit and a bag of medicines. She’s staying at the hospital.
The sight of sanitary napkins borders on a sense of familiarity. When in stores, seeing them on the shelf always has drawn me towards them. Consumerism is real! But also the need to be prepared and comfortable. For my generation, napkins were what mothers introduced us to before we discovered tampons and menstrual cups through friends.
I stare at P’s stash of sanitary napkins and a deep sadness hits me. She’s no longer going to need them because she’s about to have her uterus and ovaries removed, to remedy a health issue. Menstruation is going to be over for her suddenly. And with it will come the loss of a habit her body and her emotions have gotten used to for 35+ years.
Days after the surgery, as she sits at the landing of the first flight of stairs, exhausted and in pain from the climbing, her mother will pat away stray strands of hair from her face and cup it and stare at it lovingly. That moment of wonder is when women understand.
P has been a housewife for as long as she has been married. In her late 40s now, she’s already starting to resemble her mother. Her life has been about doing household work, raising kids and serving her in-laws. There is no residue of the girl who wore mini skirts and wore her hair in short bangs. The one who wrote down the lyrics of songs that made it to the Grammy’s and sang aloud, and learned the moves for Bollywood numbers.
The new P is someone else. She speaks in whispers, as though worried her thoughts will be interrupted or overheard. She tucks information in her heart, afraid she will be found out. This P nurses her body from the tiredness of employment as a housewife. This P is synonymous to her uterus.
As she recovers from the surgery, she will realise that with the absence of her reproductive unit, she has abruptly menopaused. There’s no perimenopause for her. She hadn’t yet gone through the highs and lows of perimenopause. The journey has been sudden and the destination hasn’t yet sunk in. And, she will have to get rid of the sanitary napkins.
I remove them from her bag and put them into mine. I’m perimenopausal, I tell her. I’ve missed a period and I don’t know when the next one is coming.
I’ve experienced severe bloating, coupled with phantom cramps and restlessness. The pain would spread across my abdomen, making me weep and wonder if pregnancy would feel the same way. What would it feel like to hold a full baby in your belly? Would it feel like I’d had too much to eat? Would it be painful? I will never know now that I have entered perimenopause.
It's a lonely journey, this. No one tells you you will experience a hundred things. Eh, they will say, you’re about to stop. But no one explains what you need to know-- the same as when you first started and they didn’t tell you your periods were not some hemorrhage.
No one tells you perimenopause makes your periods erratic and you will need to carry provisions in your bag always, since you never know when to expect it. Tracking your period calendar doesn’t help anymore because the courses are no longer by the chart. No one tells you your knees will start to buckle and osteoporosis will set in. You will struggle on the staircase.
No one tells you you might experience tinnitus, irritability, dizziness, brain-fog, restlessness, insomnia, forgetfulness, low mood, eczema, weight gain and hot flashes. My gynaecologist made a list of the symptoms when I asked her. But many women don’t or can’t afford to see a specialist when they’re going through perimenopause. Our mothers went though it silently and many of us follow in their trajectory. But it helps to converse.
Speaking to some of my girlfriends who’re also perimenopausal has helped see my own situation with more clarity. Not all women menopause at 50 as is often predicted. Some menopause as early as 40. Regardless, the symptoms for menopause can begin to set in a decade before one arrives at it. For some, the transition is brief. Regardless of the length, perimenopause means you might suddenly feel like you’re on fire, experience irritability and sadness, and physical pain and a number of other symptoms.
As women head towards menopause, we lose bone density and muscle and quickly gain weight. My friend S decided to start lifting weights last year to deal with the symptoms. Now her legs are taut with strength and exercising has helped her stay steady. And she’s eating more fiber and less carbs. &nbsp;
There are a thousand thoughts that might cross a woman’s mind during perimenopause. They’re around fertility, sex life, health, weight concerns but also around relationships. It can be hard for a perimenopausal woman to stay upbeat.
And as Phoebe Wallerbridge writes for one of the scenes in Fleabag, when menopause comes, you’re suddenly free, but your pelvis floor crumbles. It’s a mad balance women are expected to keep. From the curiousness of puberty through years of fertility, the only days of peace every month are the remainder after subtracting ten day of PMSing, a week of menstruating and another of ovulating.
It is possible to take tests to determine menopause age and fertility. And this can help women prepare mentally for what’s coming. Most of all, it would help to know friendships, family and loves won’t abandon us as suddenly as health tends to.

As we perimenopause

On a certain evening last month, four women ambled up the winding road on the foothills of Shivapuri. Four women, three in their thirties, the fourth in her forties. They chatted, laughed, stopped once as one of them kneeled down to tie her shoelace that had come undone. Stopped again to see if the gelato place was still offering to sell. But it was 10:30PM and lights were out in the windows.
So in the dimness of the night, partially guided by the moon, the women walked uphill, following the grey path, snaking upward towards their accommodation. Their conversation in fragments, continued to bear the cheerful tone from dinner time. They had met after work, eaten together and then walked past the Panther Crossing and then up and up.
This is lovely, the forty-something-year-old said, recalling that for her 30th birthday she had booked herself a table at a certain pizzeria in town, next to a dreamy garden. She had ordered a paesana vegetarian, some wine, and a salad and had eaten her meal slowly, in silence, except when occasionally interacting with the servers.
Some guests on the neighbouring tables had wondered what a Nepali woman was doing, eating by herself at a Kathmandu restaurant. Some wondered if she had been stood up by someone. But what had actually happened was, the woman had put on her favourite sandals and left home at 6PM so she could enjoy a lone meal.
Between eating, she smiled to herself satisfied with her own ability to make a point. What most women want is to be able to buy their own meals, sit in safe places doing what they like doing and then to go home to some peace and quiet. It’s not any different from what men want. Yet, often harder for women to experience. And much harder perhaps, for those who identify beyond the gender binary.
So as the four women climbed uphill, the forty-something woman shared that the evening was four fold more joyous from what she had experienced on her birthday a decade ago, sitting by herself, eating. For she was now celebrating not one, but four women, mostly single but not unhappy. Four women paying their own bills, chatting unabashedly about their tinder preferences, discussing work interests, trees, architecture and food!
They wondered out loud what meeting each other earlier in their lives would have meant for them-- how and if that would have shaped their personalities, thoughts, life events differently. Perhaps they would have salvaged each other from some of the worst days of their lives.&nbsp;
For that’s what female friendships are -- they are who see you through heartbreaks and hard times, they are who hear you out when no one else in the world will. Sometimes, female friendships are merely about sitting across each other stuffing your cheeks with food while tears run down your face and you come away a bit more stronger to cope with the circumstances, better prepared to cradle a broken heart.
Female friends are who you go to to discuss your periods, heavy periods, missed periods, pregnancy tests, PMS and cramps. As you age, you go to them to discuss stretch marks and they will say tigresses are gorgeous. You also discuss the imminent perimenopause. What does it mean to acknowledge that the body will keep changing as we age?
Trying to understand the female body is like staring into an abyss. The result of mood swings, brain fogs, hot flushes, and irritability are not part of your personality, but what you go through biologically as your body starts to become a conundrum, and they affect who you become.&nbsp;
Trying to understand your own reproductive system can be confounding, making you anxious about what lies ahead. It is possible to miss the feeling of having periods when they do not come.&nbsp;
And if you are a woman without child and you have arrived at menopause, something has been lost forever, regardless of your take on motherhood. You will be seen by the world as a woman who is “barren” and cold and perhaps frigid. But girlfriends will continue to hold you, even as you flounder in uncertainty.
Female friends are like the world holding up a mirror at you. The person in the reflection is a woman thorough with her work. She pays attention to details, loves fiercely, tenderly. She takes care of others and goes through life laughing, sharing, and growing in work even when life is a chase. She keeps their own space, maintains boundaries and opens up when guards must be let down.
The forty-something woman watched her younger companions with a full heart. She laughed when one of them laughed as the dog nudged her awake in the morning. Later, as they sat at breakfast, she watched in admiration as one of them drew fine dark lines around her eyes with an eyeliner, between sipping her coffee.
She noticed her young friends revel at the sight of the light between the trees and sunlight on flowers. She noticed they were not at all scared to take chances, to open up their hearts to love, even if love must eventually be lost.
Many years ago, one of the three young women had said to her that she wanted to grow up to be like her-- to work, to travel and write. And quietly, she had hoped the young girl would never have to be like her, for her own path had been dotted with steeples.&nbsp;
But over the years she had learned all paths are lined with steeples and we all fly over them when we get there. And as she observed her young friends, hope brimmed inside her. She started hoping that she would become a little bit like each one of them-- unapologetic, thus free.
Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in Pratibha’s life.

Taking the longcut

The sound of the wind rushing through the trees as they brush and slide against the foliage, swooshing like a mountain river gently flowing downstream. Not one of those deep gorges but the shallow kinds, where the water hurries over the rocks, shaping them with millions of years of washing. That’s the white noise I discovered recently on Youtube: The wind in the trees. Depending on the force of wind, the sound changes, ranging from a gentle stream to that of a fierce river-- like nature imitating nature. Trees will always mean a million things to me, but recently, they’ve also become synonymous to Janice Pariat. I met Janice through her book: Everything the Light Touches. And I fell in love. The book is the Spring shade of green, letters written on a fern pressed to it. It’s a big, thick book and so makes it a good one to press to your bosom. I was interviewing Janice for the Nepal Literature Festival in Pokhara in February and so I read the book diligently, the way one does for duty and not for pleasure. I took two days off work to finish reading it, pinned to the nervousness of being singularly engaged in something nice. The book took me on a long journey though Northeastern India and Europe, as I joined each of Janice’s characters’ pursuits. The novel is a palindrome-- it progresses from the story of Shai and crescendos to that of Carl Linneaus’, where it becomes a book of poems. And then it traces each character back again, just as it had started out bringing one home to Shai’s story. And by the time we arrive at the last chapter, we’ve read four novels inside one. Each chapter has a different voice, making it an entirely different novel in itself, as the characters embark on journeys of self-discovery, in the guise of the pursuit of nature. Each of Janice’s characters is an outlier and each, in search of something. But they all converge in nature in their respective ways. The novel weaves itself around some really important and relevant topics: of colonialism, post-colonialism, indigeneity, identity, returning to one’s roots, taking only what one needs, and giving back to nature, all of them making us think about the causes of climate change and greed and also goodness. When I met Janice, one of the things I asked her was how she had written the book. And she did say that it felt sometimes like the book had written itself, even though it had taken her a decade to finish it. During the festival, when Janice read the prologue, which I like to call the invocation to storytelling, the audience watched enthralled. They leaned their hearts in to listen. she read it like a song. She speaks in singing, almost representative of the book-- tender and firm, supple like the leaves when sprouting, sturdy like the trunks that hold the promise of years. I offered Janice a book review, but how does one review a book one likes, except hold it and read it again? And like a sign, another green book found me: Twelve Trees by Daniel Lewis, steeped in dendrology, but also packed with anecdotes on anthropology and taxonomy, supported by illustrations. The book is a revelation: trees converse with other trees, have best friends, nurture one another, are the reason butterflies sometimes get caught in amber. Most importantly, trees are the outstanding stories of survival: “Survival takes many shapes. Occasionally, it involves standing your ground. Sometimes it means returning home. At other times, it requires leaving altogether”. Trees carry memory, even after they have been felled, and their rings bear history. Stories of survival are holding up each tree we see around us-- how they navigated the wrath of nature and the stupidity of human kind. Lewis says, scientists are driven not only by intellectual pursuits but also by astonishment… and that line came back to me last month when I stood under a tree in the heart of Ranibari and stared at an ancient tree, perhaps as Janice’s Goethe might have done at some point?  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240505120528_52aa2f881a9b0d2a56d1d998580369f4b27a96bc1ad4a9ce02183d27c9099345.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240505120528_52aa2f881a9b0d2a56d1d998580369f4b27a96bc1ad4a9ce02183d27c9099345" data-rendition-name="original" width="1204" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="trees"> <figcaption>Photo: NIRANJAN KUNWAR</figcaption> </figure>  My friend Nir, a dendrophile himself, watched me marvel at the tree-- it stands taller than any tree I’ve met in Kathmandu yet. And it stands there silently, nestling secrets for years, home to many “ghosts residents”, who burrow holes into its trunks and hide between the branches and leaves. “Go offer water to the Peepul tree and sit under its shade every Saturday,” the priest said, singing off a prescription of forest bath, also repeated by doctors and psychiatrists. And so I go. Seeking. Trees are so much, they’re myths, each drawing stories to itself and sometimes, lending its name to a place, sometimes to persons, sometimes to entire eras. For instance, the old name for the village I live in, is Chapli, a Newa name for an old tree that did not survive human folly. Now, other trees remain. Two outside my window, go through the cycle of life in their entirety every year. They become scrawny trunks and branches in Winter and come back in full force in Spring. I watch them from my window like my life depends upon them.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240505120532_24a3529f04c1a0ec9ffa21e6548a2fd3c0c9c1a43ad763749a00ac332f73be9f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240505120532_24a3529f04c1a0ec9ffa21e6548a2fd3c0c9c1a43ad763749a00ac332f73be9f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Trees"> <figcaption>Photo: PRATIBHA TULADHAR</figcaption> </figure>  Lewis says: Just as humans stretch and wrinkle and sag with age, trees do, too. And so I imagine these trees are my sisters, aging alongside me, their branches like tresses blowing in the wind some days, and sometimes, weather-beaten and cold, their branches weighing down like sagging breasts. But today, they’re lush green, swaying in the breeze and waiting for the rain. For trees carry the memory of rainfall.

Trees, trees

Nepal’s former king Gyanendra was greeted by flag-waving supporters as he arrived at Kathmandu Airport on Sunday afternoon from Pokhara after attending pro-monarchy rallies in various parts of the country. Gyanendra and his family were escorted from the airport by supporters to his residence at Nirmal Niwas, where his family has been living since 2008 when the Constituent Assembly abolished the monarchy. The 2015 Constitution then turned Nepal into a federal democratic republic. The deposed monarch had been on a two-month long tour of religious sites and local communities across western Nepal, ending in a two-week stay in Pokhara. After staying out of controversy, Gyanendra made a statement on Nepal’s Democracy Day last month in which he said he was willing to play a role in “saving the country”. There has been a surge of pro-monarchy posts and videos on social media, where the country’s previous kings have been glorified as being nationalists who were respected by the international community.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_07b324fee8d082ed3f8566544e24d45fcd600bbb122374fc39c7a94ce3d044f2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250309120340_07b324fee8d082ed3f8566544e24d45fcd600bbb122374fc39c7a94ce3d044f2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1914" height="1276" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_769f688f3a5eb3602f4c24c350ba1caa6965a171c079d783e28db0f746b810d0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250309120340_769f688f3a5eb3602f4c24c350ba1caa6965a171c079d783e28db0f746b810d0" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>  Nepal’s monarchists, which include Gyanendra’s backers, several pro-monarchist parties and other anti-government figures, think <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/new-year-same-difference">public disillusionment </a>with the country’s ageing and ineffective leaders and institutions is at breaking point.&nbsp; There is also disappointment with elected leaders and technocrats from new parties like the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP), with its <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/rabi-s-detention-churns-nepali-politics">leader Rabi Lamichhane under investigation</a> for his alleged involvement in a scandal involving diverting funds from cooperatives. One of the staunchest backers of Gyanendra’s comeback as king is former BBC journalist Rabindra Mishra, who has been active on social media platforms posting videos and text extolling the monarchy. He has referenced recent street uprisings in Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, and Syria, cautioning Nepal’s mainstream leaders not to dismiss support for the monarchy. ‘Support for a return to monarchy is increasing even though the mainstream parties may dismiss it,’ wrote Mishra. ‘Like the leaders of Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, they should not try to suppress the voices on the streets.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_d8758f6b7474c9f3aea3661ccd60955d8553971cb0d799039bbfd232aa1a0691.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250309120340_d8758f6b7474c9f3aea3661ccd60955d8553971cb0d799039bbfd232aa1a0691" data-rendition-name="original" width="1890" height="1260" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_63613759744c0fac33ff3eabc298079c3e525063882f4b3760954bbc0833b5cd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250309120340_63613759744c0fac33ff3eabc298079c3e525063882f4b3760954bbc0833b5cd" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>  But for all their bluster, Nepal’s mainstream politicians who have rotated leadership of the country between themselves, seem worried about the crowds on the streets in support of the monarchy. The TikTok ban last year, which the government said was to ‘maintain social harmony’ was put into effect to prevent pro-monarchy groups from organising on the platform. The ban on TikTok has now been lifted, and supporters of the monarchy have mobilised platforms to fan nostalgia of the golden age of royalty, and to brand former kings Mahendra and Birendra as <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/a-past-foretold">nationalists who upheld Nepal’s sovereignty during the Cold War</a> and commanded respect worldwide. Archival video clips of Mahendra being received by President Eisenhower in 1960 and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/if-birendra-was-alive-nepal-could-still-be-a-monarchy">Birendra </a>by President Reagan in 1983 have been liked by thousands. Comments contrast this to the incompetence and poor standing of Nepal’s current prime ministers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_7dab05f5703e17a82da73277f0b39bf178c1005e0758aa50077ffe1a037f4af6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250309120340_7dab05f5703e17a82da73277f0b39bf178c1005e0758aa50077ffe1a037f4af6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1810" height="1206" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_1ab38cdccfd076babd78579fa345520a7b2fa9c838322226a259540c8c290437.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250309120340_1ab38cdccfd076babd78579fa345520a7b2fa9c838322226a259540c8c290437" data-rendition-name="original" width="1812" height="1206" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>  While most of the people present at the demonstration included the older demographic, younger people have especially used social media to express their support for the monarchy. Young Nepalis, disillusioned with leaders who have been prime minister multiple times since the mid-1990s, are attracted to the idea of reinstating the monarchy as a form of anti-incumbent protest, but also because they have little to no memory of living under an authoritarian absolute monarchy. ‘Those who say the monarchy is paramount today are the ones who did not live through it in the past, and are dissatisfied with the current state of affairs,’ wrote Guna Raj Luitel, Chief Editor of Nagarik Daily, in an op-ed in the newspaper on Sunday.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_720d0059207b9918def39e983d9b5c114b6afb4e7ac0ed1dadd2cba2f20f9aa6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20250309120340_720d0059207b9918def39e983d9b5c114b6afb4e7ac0ed1dadd2cba2f20f9aa6" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_bfe50ebd413d1b177ebd02df5f837038d8a04c9d343afe39be1ebcde36db893a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20250309120340_bfe50ebd413d1b177ebd02df5f837038d8a04c9d343afe39be1ebcde36db893a" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>  He added: ‘For those of us who have spent parts of our lives under the rule of the king… we have not yet forgotten those days, when the institution was unable to do any useful work, a disheartening period characterised by Nepalis being unable to speak freely.’ Commentators have especially been pointing to Gyanendra’s military coup in 2005 when he dissolved parliament, and tried to take the country back to the time of absolute monarchy, just like his father Mahendra did in 1960. Gyanendra became king after his brother and most of his family were killed in the royal palace massacre in 2001. Many Nepalis still seem to believe that Gyanendra was responsible, and some of this is reflected in comments on monarchist social media posts. As the monarchist rallies spread, Prime Minister K P Oli said last week that if Gyanendra really wanted power, he should form a political party and run in the next elections in 2027. Other leaders have urged the former king to honour the 2008 Constitutional Assembly decision to abolish the monarchy, as well as Nepal’s 2015 Constitution.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_978ef979c7774312ac00d3192803d974ea57ec45d704f89663b301f4f0cc9704.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20250309120340_978ef979c7774312ac00d3192803d974ea57ec45d704f89663b301f4f0cc9704" data-rendition-name="original" width="1832" height="1221" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250309120340_d11276de0161d258f135e8fba4d3eb37d0a9e579b06a4819c6609b4ecdbbe51e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20250309120340_d11276de0161d258f135e8fba4d3eb37d0a9e579b06a4819c6609b4ecdbbe51e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal NT"> </figure>  &nbsp;In response, royalist leaders including Kamal Thapa, Rajendra Lingden, and Rabindra Mishra have responded that the monarchy is above the electoral system, calling for the reinstatement of a constitutional monarchy in which Gyanendra would be a figurehead. “There is no question of the king contesting an election, that is our job,” said RPP-Nepal chair Kamal Thapa in a tv interview. “The monarchy is a custodian of the nation, it is an institution above electoral politics.” However, there does seem to be a disagreement between hardline royalists who want a return to absolute monarchy in which Gyanendra would actually hold executive powers, and those who favour a ceremonial one. Gyanendra recently visited Bhutan, where he was given a royal welcome, and has made several trips to India where there is some support for reinstating Nepal as the world’s only Hindu kingdom.

The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal

Kathmandu was once a lake inhabited by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/snakes-on-plains">serpents</a>, until Manjushree visiting from present-day China saw a fluorescent lotus in the water. To reach it, the sage used his flaming sword to cut a gorge <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/dry-port-at-chobhar-faces-resistance">at Chobhar</a>, draining the lake and turning it into a fertile valley. The Manjushree Trail Race (MTR) is inspired by this legend. There are five categories along a near-circular route around the rim of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/bringing-silicon-valley-to-kathmandu-valley">Kathmandu Valley</a>: 10k, 30k, 50k, 100k, and one that is 100 miles that is 157.7km (map, right). The 100 miles category starts at 8AM on 14 March, and runners have 52 hours until noon on 16 March to complete it. Arjun Kulung Rai’s 26:52:56 is the current record, set in 2024. “<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17327">The Manjushree legend</a> and the perfect loop make the race very meaningful, and I wanted to do it,” says participant Dong Sheng from the northern Chinese city of Harbin who started running in 2016 with 5k until he accomplished a 100 miler in 2022. “<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/first-edition-ultra-trail-kathmandu,1050">Running </a>is spiritual, as you are always trying to overcome what you could previously do.” Sheng is one of 131 international runners who have signed up for the Manjushree race, where there are a total of 502 participants this year, 94 of them women. The first edition of the race only had 7 runners total. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-trail-running-champions">Nepali trail running champions</a>, Preeti Khattri “A reason this race is popular is because it is a good mix of rural and accessible,” says Jimmy Oostrom, a Dutch runner. “Often, 100-milers are way out of the way. Here, the start is only a short drive after landing in Kathmandu.”&nbsp; The 100 mile and 50km are now qualifier races for the Asia Trail Masters, an international series of trail races based in Hong Kong. Last year, a Nepali team competed and won in the Asia Trail Master Championship series in Borneo. The 100-mile category starts and finishes at Single Tree on Nagarjun, other distances have different start and end points. On the winning team was Rashila Tamang, who is part of Trailmandu that implements logistics for the race, such as recruiting and training volunteers, and marking the route. “Nepal has great <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=9938">geography</a> for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/mira-rai-racing-to-help-other-runners">trail running</a>, but it is still very hard to make it your career,” says Tamang.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025031219034_98b83aa3d42c7d5e8a2ef2f80dc03512374413e31eb55441234cd075bea7e113.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025031219034_98b83aa3d42c7d5e8a2ef2f80dc03512374413e31eb55441234cd075bea7e113" data-rendition-name="original" width="1244" height="598" loading="lazy" alt="Manjushree Trail map "> </figure>  The MTR has a guidebook detailing the categories, route, checkpoints, rules and what is available at each stop.&nbsp; “If we say we’re going to start at 8, we’re going to start at 8,” says Narayan Acharya, the man behind naming the race ‘Manjushree’. “People tried to sign up after the deadline, we had to tell them no.” Acharya who builds <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/foundations-for-sustainable-buildings-in-nepal">traditional rammed earth houses</a> through his company Sustainable Future Nepal, has been long involved with promoting trail running in Nepal, and hailing from Jumla himself, mentored <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/run-sunmaya-run">Sunmaya Budha</a> also from Jumla, now a trail running star in and outside Nepal. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/sunmaya-budha-stays-in-the-running">Sunmaya Budha stays in the running</a>, Vishad Raj Onta&nbsp; The organisers are sponsoring up to 50 runners from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/portrait-of-a-photographer-in-rural-nepal">rural Nepal</a> who may not afford the Rs6,000 entry fee to participate. “It is hard to get sponsors to give us money because Nepal is still a pretty small market,” says Oostrom, currently on crutches due to an ACL injury. “We also have to take the necessary precautions to make sure we can quickly help a runner in trouble.” The logistics of an ultra trail race are more complicated than a <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=1223">marathon</a>. Marking and maintaining the trail requires careful work, especially as signs often get lost. The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-steadfastness-of-a-long-distance-runner">long distances </a>also require runners to run through the night.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025031219030_19111e03939541b8980007437c89966dc7a8fd6246b8407440694503bf7890a3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="2025031219030_19111e03939541b8980007437c89966dc7a8fd6246b8407440694503bf7890a3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1501" loading="lazy" alt="Manjushree Trail "> </figure>  A <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/business/buddha-air-gets-state-of-the-art-flight-tracking-system">live tracking system </a>would ensure a runner’s safety as well as prevent cheating, but for now organisers are relying on vigilant volunteers and fellow runners to find runners needing help. There are strict rules for the race, and breaking them can result in significant time penalties or even disqualification. Get food or drink assistance outside of the checkpoints and you get a penalty of 15 minutes. Miss any pieces of mandatory gear and an hour is added to your time. Take some sort of shortcut or cheat using a vehicle, and you are disqualified. There are dangers like cliffs <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/cantilever-trail-nepal">along the trail</a>, lightning on exposed ridges, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/disasters-in-nepal-come-in-waves">landslides caused by earthquakes</a>, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/trekking-to-save-nepals-snow-leopards">leopards</a>, and hornet swarms. Ultra running takes a massive toll on the body. The brain may shut off certain areas to be able to keep going, so volunteers watch runners carefully.&nbsp; “After mile 50, your body starts digesting itself,” says Oostrom.&nbsp; Alongside Acharya and Oostrom, the organising crew is made up of race director Ashish Mishra, and Jeevan Lama and Rashila Tamang from Trailmandu. “We can execute this race well because we are all passionate runners ourselves,” says Acharya. The team has taken measures to make the race safe and comfortable for female participants. ‘Run freely, speak openly, and wear what makes you feel comfortable in our races,’ says the guidebook. Prize money is the same for male and female winners, across categories.&nbsp; Lately, Nepal has been steadily building itself as a destination for<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-the-high-line"> adventure sports </a>such as <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-pushes-mountain-bike-tourism">mountain biking</a> and trail running. And with the Manjushree race, enthusiasts have hopes to set the standard for other trail races in the country. Sheng has been part of big races in China. “The better the economy, and more money people have, the more they can get involved in such pursuits,” he says. “But I have to say, for the scale of this race, everything has been done very professionally.”&nbsp;

Around Kathmandu in 100 miles

Throughout human history, civilisations have been named after the rivers along which they flourished: Indus Valley, Nile, Tigris-Euphrates. Many of these cultures later collapsed, partly because they could not manage their water needs properly. Three recent books about Himalayan rivers look at their history and geography, and how they nourished civilisations downstream. The rivers gave birth to the world’s major religions, their waters and the mountains from which they sprang were revered. Mythology and geology converge in High Asia. Mt Kailash is holy to the Hindu, Jain, Buddhist and Bon faiths as the centre of the world and the abode of the gods. Indeed, from its vicinity emerge Asia’s great rivers: the Indus and Sutlej, Ganga and the Yarlung Tsangpo (Brahmaputra) and Karnali (Mapcha Tsangpo).&nbsp; Legend has it that Kathmandu Valley was once a primordial lake drained by Manjushree who cut a mountain with his flaming sword. There is scientific evidence that the paleo lake was indeed emptied in stages starting 40,000 years ago after a tsunami unleashed by a major earthquake epicentred in Langtang. The Bon faith describes the Tibetan Plateau being pushed up from a roiling primeval sea, confirming current evidence about the orogenesis of the Himalaya. In local lore, supernatural lha (animal deities) and lu (serpents, naga) moved from sea to land, just as the theory of evolution explains the emergence of early amphibians and land creatures. In <a href="https://www.routledge.com/Rivers-of-the-Asian-Highlands-From-Deep-Time-to-the-Climate-Crisis/Gamble-Tan-Xu-Beavis-Maurer-Pittock-Powers-Wasson/p/book/9781032490595?srsltid=AfmBOopjkpgcN1_7t1jTI_Z1_27yRthBTbdHA15OWcE9Ge3S409jhUX3">Rivers of the Asian Highlands: From Deep Time to the Climate Crisis</a>, Himalayan historian <a href="https://scholars.latrobe.edu.au/rgamble">Ruth Gamble</a> and co-authors begin by tracing the genesis of the Himalaya, citing evidence that the Tibetan Plateau pre-dated the collision of the Indian and Eurasian plates 50 million years ago. Asia’s main rivers co-emerged with the mountains, their waters cutting canyons through rocks as they were uplifted. The gigantic pileup acted as a moisture trap for the proto-monsoon, the rain and ice sculpting peaks as they rose. But so strong were tectonic forces that the uplift outpaced erosion on the Tibetan Plateau. These dynamic processes are still at work, but in many places across High Asia there is a new factor at play: modern infrastructure (like haphazard road-building in Nepal) is increasing erosion faster than the uplift rate.&nbsp; ‘This is an example of human action overcoming tectonics,’ write the authors in Rivers of the Asian Highlands, in which the chapters look at Himalayan rivers from a planetary scale, their socio-cultural histories, to present-day engineering to regulate them. An ongoing dam-building spree and anthropogenic climate breakdown combine to bring about the most rapid change the Himalaya and their rivers have seen for millions of years. One example is the Medog Hydropower Station being built on the Yarlung Tsangpo at a bend on the Brahmaputra before it enters India. The river drops 2,000m within a 50km stretch, the gradient allowing it to generate 60,000MW — the biggest single hydroelectric plant in the world. Gamble and the authors of Rivers of the Asian Highlands highlight the Gravitational Potential Energy (GPE) of the Himalaya that allows falling water to be converted into electricity. But GPE also unleashes landslides, rockfalls, avalanches, Glacial Lake Outburst Floods (GLOFs) and Landslide Lake Outburst Floods (LLOFs), the risks posed by them magnified by climate change and seismicity. <blockquote>The Asian Highlands’ abundance of Gravitational Potential Energy (GPE) can support the region’s energy transition, but it needs to be produced in much less hazardous and less environmentally and socially impactful ways. The best means of doing this is through off-river, pumped-storage hydropower stations that back up solar and wind energy generators. Smaller projects such as this would also involve less risky tunneling and displacement.</blockquote> Rivers of the Asian Highlands: From Deep Time to the Climate Crisis by Ruth Gamble, et al. There is geological evidence that megafloods on Himalayan rivers are more responsible than mass wasting in weathering down the mountains. One big LLOF, for example, could ‘move 1,000 times more sediment than would otherwise be transported over millions of years’. Permafrost melting in the Tibetan Plateau and inside moraines caused recent back-to-back GLOFs in Chamoli in the Indian Himalaya, Melamchi in Nepal, and the South Lhonak in Sikkim — all deadly disasters that together destroyed billions of dollars worth of infrastructure downstream. Rivers of the Asian Highlands travels from deep time to the present climate crisis, taking readers through neatly divided chapters titled Mountain Rivers, Climatic Rivers, Frozen Rivers, Living Rivers, Human Rivers, Territorializing Rivers, Agricultural and Pastoral Rivers, even NGOs and Rivers.&nbsp; Although the book’s title is about the ‘Asian highlands’, it <a href="https://www.himalmag.com/comment/eastern-himalaya-cradle-ethnogenesis">focuses mainly on the Dri Chu (Yangtse)</a> and Yarlung Tso (Brahmaputra). Readers looking for references to Nepal’s rivers will be disappointed, although there is quite a bit about Bhutan. This is surprising because 70% of the annual flow in the Ganga is from tributaries in Nepal, some of them rivers like Karnali, Arun or Bhote Kosi that traverse the Tibetan rimlands. As demand for water and energy grows in the large and increasingly affluent population of north India, and climate breakdown melts Himalayan glaciers, storing monsoon runoff on reservoirs in Nepal is going to be the geopolitical issue of the next decades.&nbsp; The chapter on NGOs and Rivers also fails to cite the work of Nepal’s civil society groups like the Alliance for Energy that built international solidarity in 1995 against the Arun III project on a river that starts in Tibet and flows into Nepal. Ultimately, the World Bank pulled out of the project and the Nepal government invested in smaller decentralised plants. Today, a cascade of power plants are being built by Indian companies on the Arun which do not seem to have taken into account the <a href="https://www.science.org/doi/10.1126/science.ads2659">2023 Sikkim GLOF</a> that swept away the $1 billion dollar Teesta III and destroyed other infrastructure. The World Bank itself is back with the Upper Arun project located directly below expanding glacial lakes in Tibet.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250222020256_f2b33e60e6b386308bdf59b58b59e116e90e2e4466a06200faf76fd851f53505.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250222020256_f2b33e60e6b386308bdf59b58b59e116e90e2e4466a06200faf76fd851f53505" data-rendition-name="original" width="5712" height="3213" loading="lazy" alt="Teesta"> <figcaption>The Super Trisuli project in Nepal has ruined the most scenic and ecologically sensitive part of the river to generate just 100MW of power. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption> </figure>  Despite geographical gaps, Rivers of the Asian Highlands reads like an encyclopedia of Himalayan rivers. The authors look at them not in isolation but as interconnected systems which need a multidisciplinary approach to study the geological, religio-cultural, infrastructure, climate and ecosystem services aspects of catchments.&nbsp; Mt Kailash (Kang Rinpoche) is a case in point. It is fascinating to think that it was part of a mountain range even before the collision of the continents that formed the Himalaya, and was probably buried in ice 3km thick till 15,000 years ago during the Last Glacial Maximum.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025022203020_23c02ec4671f5c3c561fa6b450c1f209720a25794e067b9bb5db0f4649b1b6dc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025022203020_23c02ec4671f5c3c561fa6b450c1f209720a25794e067b9bb5db0f4649b1b6dc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Mt Kailash"> <figcaption>Mt Kailash. Photo: NABIN BARAL</figcaption> </figure>  Lake Mansarovar and Mt Kailash are also the subject of the new Nepali language book छालबाटो (Road by the Waves) by environmental journalist <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-and-china-to-study-trans-himalayan-railway">Ramesh Bhushal</a> in which he walked, rafted and drove from the source of the Karnali in Tibet, right through 500km of western Nepal, and on to India <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/dancing-with-the-river">where the river meets the Ganga</a>. In his entourage is activist, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Comment/rivers-fighting-back,993">Megh Ale</a>, who is on a campaign to stop dams and infrastructure on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/dams-and-dreams-a-journey-down-the-karnali">Nepal’s longest and only free-flowing river</a>. The book profiles his lonely upstream struggle to conserve the country’s rivers. “We worship rivers, but we don’t love them,” laments Ale. Bhushal’s book is as much about the landscape of this transboundary river as it is about the people he meets along the way, and their relationship with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-denial-in-the-himalaya">a river that most regard as a curse </a>keeping them poor because they believe it flows out of Rakshas Tal (Lagngar Tso) in Tibet, regarded as a lake of demons, unlike the sacred Mansarovar nearby. The expedition is out to prove that the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/a-karnali-portrait">Karnali River</a> actually starts in the mountains 50km southwest of the Mansarovar (Mapamyu Tso) at the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQ9Za5QDkvY">Peacock Falls (Mapchu Khambap)</a>. The Indus is called Sengge (Lion), Sutlej is Langchen (elephant) and the Brahmaputra is Tamchok (horse), all starting within 60km of Mansarovar but flowing out in different directions. <blockquote>“I have visited hundreds of rivers around the world, but for some reason I have never seen a river as beautiful as the Karnali. One day I would like to visit its source.”</blockquote> River conservation activist Megh Ale quoted in छालबाटो by Ramesh Bhusal. But all this reverence for the mountains and rivers may not be enough to save the region from the impact of climate breakdown. Heat stress in the Subcontinent will coincide with a shortage of water in the coming decades.&nbsp; <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/01/opinion/himalayas-mountains-dams.html">Sunil Amrith</a> in his 2019 book, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-monsoon-and-nature-s-arithmetic">Unruly Waters: How Mountain Rivers and Monsoons Have Shaped South Asia’s History</a> takes a broader look at how geotectonics, geopolitics, colonialism and nationalism have determined the relations between human beings and rivers. The Himalayan water cycle starts from monsoon moisture that precipitates with orographic uplift along the mountains, atmospheric rivers unleash cloudbursts, ground water emerges from springs that join up to flow down to rivers and the ocean. The Third Pole is the biggest repository of fresh water stored as ice after the polar regions. But it is a hotspot both because of the climate crisis and geopolitical tensions, which impacts on river basin cooperation, early warning data sharing, and ultimately in mitigation of greenhouse gas emission and planning for new risks faced by infrastructure. After independence, India adopted the colonial extraction model for rivers. Inaugurating the Bhakra-Nangal Dam in 1953, Jawaharlal Nehru called it “a temple of &nbsp;modern India … worthy of worship’. Gamble also alludes to this in her book about the European attitude about rivers as a resource to be ‘enclosed, extracted, scrutinised, commodified’. <a href="https://dialogue.earth/en/water/review-unrully-waters/" target="_blank">Amrith</a> profiles the work of Sir Arthur Cotton who was building canals linking rivers in British India at about the same time his contemporaries like botanist <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/republic-of-nepal-s-animal-kingdom" target="_blank">Joseph Dalton-Hooker </a>were exploring the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-kangchenjunga" target="_blank">Teesta and other rivers</a> in the Himalaya to catalogue new plant species. India's current National River Linking Project that would join 37 rivers with 9,000km of canals builds on Cotton’s early work. <blockquote>If there is one consistent lesson in Unruly Waters, it is that water management never has been, and can never be, a purely technical or a scientific question; neither can it be addressed on a purely national scale … the battle continues to understand the monsoons and mountain rivers that shape Asia.</blockquote> Unruly Waters: How Mountain Rivers and Monsoons Have Shaped South Asia’s History by Sunil Amrith And in Nepal, hydropower has become the holy grail as the government unveiled an Energy Development Roadmap to generate 28,500MW by 2035 at a cumulative cost of nearly $50billion. This means no river in Nepal will be left free-flowing. The Trisuli along the Prithvi Highway is being dammed for only 100MW of power, destroying the most scenic part of a river that has rapids famous internationally for white water rafters. Even before it was completed, the dam site suffered Rs200 million in damage in last September’s flood.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025022203020_d9610a11bccb593d32bf4d214479caa17dfbdd6cdfe5e8c38fdcb8eb752fc0ec.jpg" data-media-id="editor_18" data-image-id="2025022203020_d9610a11bccb593d32bf4d214479caa17dfbdd6cdfe5e8c38fdcb8eb752fc0ec" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="Trisuli"> <figcaption>Boulders and sediment 80m deep were brought down by the Teesta after a GLOF destroyed the $1 billion Teesta III plant in Sikkim in 2023. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption> </figure>  In Sikkim, there is strong <a href="https://india.mongabay.com/2025/02/political-stir-follows-expert-panels-approval-to-rebuild-teesta-dam-in-sikkim/">local opposition to rebuild Teesta III</a> but investors are looking at the huge economic windfall from the river as it drops from 5,000m below Kangchenjunga to 300m within 80km — one of the highest Gravitational Potential Energy of any river in the world. Besides Nepal and Bhutan, the ‘watersheds’ of the Himalaya are turning into ‘powersheds’ as India and China compete for hydro-hegemony. India is said to be planning to dam the Brahmaputra to offset the disruption caused by China’s Medog Dam upstream (see map, below).&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025022203024_37c60bd2a45a32cd23928c900615b6c7045b2e0265050c4761c3749361181999.png" data-media-id="editor_20" data-image-id="2025022203024_37c60bd2a45a32cd23928c900615b6c7045b2e0265050c4761c3749361181999" data-rendition-name="original" width="1918" height="668" loading="lazy" alt="Himalayan rivers map"> </figure>  The thread running through all three books is the need to recognise the ecosystem services that the inhabitants of High Asia provide by protecting our rivers. Not all rivers need to be monetised, conserving rivers and the cultures they retain protects a nation’s natural wealth into the future as the humans of High Asia try to survive climate breakdown. The highlands will be under even more pressure in the coming decades as people in the plains migrate en masse to higher latitudes or higher altitudes to escape deadly heat and ocean expansion.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025022203028_524a74bf65111db3826bfd246576329c45cd4bd0a48b15024b6a520582bbf05a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_21" data-image-id="2025022203028_524a74bf65111db3826bfd246576329c45cd4bd0a48b15024b6a520582bbf05a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="River of Asian Highlands cover"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025022203028_20c17a9b92b11c8bb33df5f2fc2781498464288533c310ccd61e1245e709d99c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_22" data-image-id="2025022203028_20c17a9b92b11c8bb33df5f2fc2781498464288533c310ccd61e1245e709d99c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Unruly waters cover"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250222030212_649cc2ba02e806da2b128fccaf5de2e5c830e10646ba0b43d56da39f65a70f9f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_23" data-image-id="20250222030212_649cc2ba02e806da2b128fccaf5de2e5c830e10646ba0b43d56da39f65a70f9f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Chaalbato cover"> </figure>

Saving what is left of Himalayan rivers

Frustrated with revolving door <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-geopolitics-of-nepal-s-politics">politics</a> with the same <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/tried-tested-and-failed">tired, tested and failed </a>leaders, Nepal’s cybersphere is harking back to the good old days when we had strongmen rulers like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/jung-bahadur-s-destitute-descendants">Jang Bahadur Rana </a>or <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/king-mahendra-didn-t-pay-hunting-bill-in-us">King Mahendra</a>. The<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/inside-story-of-nepal-s-rana-dynasty"> century-long Rana oligarchy</a> ended 74 years ago this week, and the Shah kings airbrushed <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-insect-that-changed-nepal-s-history">Nepal’s history</a> to downplay their achievements and glorify their own dynasty. After <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/if-birendra-was-alive-nepal-could-still-be-a-monarchy">the monarchy</a> was abolished in 2008, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-role-of-rituals-in-royalty">the Shah kings</a> were similarly vilified. But Nepali society is mature enough to realise that the truth is not all black and white. Jang Bahadur may have usurped power in a ruthless coup, but he was a geopolitical strategist way ahead of his time. Whatever you may say about King Mahendra’s efforts in quashing <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/is-democracy-too-expensive-for-nepal">democracy</a> and pushing a unitary state, he defended <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-editorial/nepal-should-recognise-palestinian-sovereignty">Nepal’s sovereignty</a> and projected its international image right through the sensitive Cold War period. Jang Bahadur in England is a new Nepali language book by journalist Gajendra Budhathoki about the visit in 1850 by Nepal’s prime minister to England and France, the first by a South Asian potentate. He met Queen Victoria and by all accounts was able to establish Nepal’s presence on the world stage. Historians have long mulled why a devout Hindu like Jang Bahadur would want to break the taboo and cross the Black Waters. Budhathoki recounts the incident upon his arrival at Southampton on 2 May 1850, when British customs officials tried to check the belongings of the Nepali entourage. Furious, Jang Bahadur threatened to sail right back to France if they opened any of the bags. Jang had three main reasons for his trip. Essentially he was on a spy mission to assess <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-forgotten-gurkha-rebellion-e8z403ab">British military</a> might to decide if it was worthwhile for Nepal to try to militarily take back territory ceded to British India in the Sugauli Treaty of 1816. So, Jang asked his perplexed hosts to show him cannon factories, artillery and naval yards. He even visited Woolwich Arsenal (now the Royal Arsenal) not once, but three times.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/looking-back-at-the-1923-nepal-britain-treaty">Looking back at the 1923 Nepal-Britain Treaty</a>, Santa Gaha Magar Suitably impressed, Jang decided to be Britain’s BFF, and even rode down to Lucknow with 3,200 Nepali troops to rescue the British from the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857. As a reward, the British gave back the Tarai districts of Banke, Bardia, Kailali, and Kanchanpur (Naya Muluk). This close relationship continued with Jang’s descendants right till the time the British left India in 1947. Jang Bahadur was also fed up with the Governor General Lord Dalhousie in Calcutta who tended to bully Nepal, and wanted to build direct contacts with his bosses in London. The British told him Dalhousie was their man in India, and Jang should deal with him. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-way-we-were">Jang’s visit to France</a> does not get as much attention in the book, but he was also trying to gauge France’s strength and to see if its military was more powerful than Britain’s. At that time, France was Britain’s main rival and was trying to make inroads in India. At the Louvre, Jang Bahadur was drawn to exhibits reflecting French military prowess. Later, when he met Louis Napoleon III, he asked if he could see a parade of 900,000 troops to assess France’s military might.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/nepal-france-ties-in-photos">Nepal-France ties in photos</a>, Reeti KC Freshly returned from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-long-way-to-europe">Europe</a>, an emboldened Jang Bahadur Rana led Nepal in a war against Tibet in 1855 which ended with the Treaty of Thapathali a year later. This was the third time Nepal and Tibet had fought, the first time being soon after <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/guest-editorial/Prithvi-Narayan-Shah-a-visionary-leader,1102">Prithvi Narayan Shah</a> in 1788.&nbsp; The Qing Dynasty came to the rescue of Tibet, and while both sides claimed victory, the Sino-Nepalese War ended essentially as a stalemate with the Treaty of Betrawati.&nbsp; All of this is detailed in Axel Michaels’ book, Nepal: A History from the Earliest Times to the Present which is a recent English translation of his German Kultur und Geschichte Nepals published in 2018.&nbsp; Michaels is a Professor of Classical Indology and Religious Studies at Heidelberg University, and writes that Nepal mattered little to China. Proof of this is that while both Nepal and Tibet agreed to accept the suzerainty of the Qing emperor following the war, Nepal managed to retain its autonomy but Beijing asserted its control over <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/business/himalaya-to-lhasa">Lhasa</a>. And despite a clause in the treaty which stated, ‘if a foreign power attacks Nepal, China shall support Nepal’, China never did so during the1814–16 war with the East India Company.&nbsp; This practice has continued to this day. Aside from token petroleum shipments, Beijing did not help out Nepal during the Indian Blockade of 2015. Even though Nepali leaders have tried to play India off against China, the two do not find Nepal important enough to fight over and prefer to leave it as a buffer state between them.&nbsp; In that sense, Britain also did not press home its victory after 1816 and left Nepal alone. The malarial jungles to the south, rugged Himalayan terrain and the lack of marketable products (except soldiers) may have persuaded the traders at the East Indian Company that it was not worth the effort. There is a lesson from history here for Nepal: the country must look out for itself, and this requires deft diplomacy to understand what our giant neighbours really want and leverage it for our gain. This may require strategies like the ones made by Jang Bahadur and King Mahendra after all. Michaels is not a fan of either the Rana or the Shah dynasties. He says that although the Rana era is characterised as ‘a century of tyranny’, the description holds true for the Shah period as well.&nbsp; Michaels does not mince his words about Gurkha recruitment into the British and Indian Armies (another legacy of the Sugauli Treaty). He calls the mercenaries ‘cheap labour’ and Pushpa Kamal Dahal ‘represents a continuation of the King-Brahmin alliance’. In fact, he goes at length to discuss how the Khas-Arya used ‘Hindu state’ to homogenise a country that couldn’t have been more diverse. But democracy has not served Nepal well either. Corruption, impunity and lack of transparency are rife. And so, Michaels asks if Nepal is a failed state. No it is not, but it is a fragile state. He leaves us with these parting words: ‘If Nepal succeeds in continuing down this road, preserving its ethnic and cultural diversity, leaving the ethnic populations with a certain degree of autonomy, while at the same time integrating them into political decision-making processes, and if it manages the reforms needed for land-ownership, labour, education, infrastructure, then the country can become a model for unity in diversity, even in the age of leveling globalisation.’&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250222070248_a32db0a1e39c4a3a5158af81bbcf927aeb96524bcbc6b41086a223685642b367.jpg" data-media-id="editor_17" data-image-id="20250222070248_a32db0a1e39c4a3a5158af81bbcf927aeb96524bcbc6b41086a223685642b367" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Jang Bahadur in England "> </figure>  &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250222070252_e2fa5309f10d36f963243c24ea06d7d354d3dfaf24c7ef283d70369fbeabd02e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_18" data-image-id="20250222070252_e2fa5309f10d36f963243c24ea06d7d354d3dfaf24c7ef283d70369fbeabd02e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal Book"> </figure>  &nbsp;