<figure><img width="1500" height="990" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151116/636a655c9c7e80680e059925jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Alam gagged by police officer. Photo: SUVRA KANTI DAS</figcaption></figure>On Day of the Imprisoned Writer 2018, Indian author <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/arundhati-and-shahidul-write-to-each-other/">Arundhati Roy penned an open letter to Shahidul Alam</a>, the renowned Bangladeshi photojournalist who had been incarcerated for over 100 days. ‘Dear Shahidul,’ Roy wrote, ‘I believe the tide will turn. It will. It must. This foolish, shortsighted cruelty will give way to something kinder and more visionary.’Shahidul Alam replies in his book, The Tide Will Turn, a photography and text collection lovingly named after Roy’s letter. Combining sketches from fellow inmates, historical work by Bangladeshi photographers, reflections and political commentary, The Tide Will Turn does more than document Alam’s time in jail and his views: it serves as a curated collection of political art and writing, acting as a critique of autocracy.Alam was arrested and detained on 5 August 2018, shortly after a televised Al-Jazeera interview where he criticised Bangladesh's Sheikh Hasina government for its response to protests by young students demanding road safety. The months after saw a worldwide campaign for his release with mass exhibitions, petitions, demonstrations and letters from prominent figures. <figure><img width="1698" height="1254" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151116/636a65609c7e80680e059926jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In Nepal, journalists and students <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/freeshahidulalam/">protested in front of the Bangladesh Embassy</a> in Kathmandu and lit up the city’s walls with projections of quotes and photographs by Alam during the visit to the Nepal capital by Sheikh Hasina for a South Asian leaders’ summit.Alam, still imprisoned, was awarded the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/shahidul-alam-photo-kathmandu-award/">Photo Kathmandu Award of Excellence</a> on 26 October 2018, both to celebrate the immense impact he has had on generations of Nepali journalists and photographers and as a clear sign of solidarity with one of South Asia’s most prominent photojournalists.‘There is a Bangla saying – “Apnake dhonnobad janie choto korbo na” (I will not belittle you by thanking you),’ Alam writes in his preface. ‘This book is my way of making amends.’Alam dedicates the first part to the prisoners in Keraniganj Jail in Dhaka. Without a camera to document his stay, he uses vivid writing to capture images of his detainment: the surroundings, the guards, his inmates and their stories, and the sparrows he made friends with.The chapter also includes notes, sketches, a mural and even a radio made by inmates who were concerned that Alam ‘a journalist, did not have access to news’. The chapter can almost be read as a standalone, a poignant reflection on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/shahidul-alam-100th-day-in-jail/">his 107-day incarceration</a>.The longest section of the book provides a detailed historical commentary on Bengali photography, touching on artists who have captured some of the most striking images to come out of Bangladesh, as well as on Alam’s own work. It includes one of his earliest series, which focuses on former sex worker Hazera Beagum.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151116/636a65639c7e80680e059927jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="978">When Shahidul Alam first met Hazera Beagum in 1996, she was a sex worker. Beagum at her orphanage in Adabor Market in Dhaka in December 2014 (pictured right). Photos: SHAHIDUL ALAM<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151116/636a65669c7e80680e059928jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1185" height="1140">The photographs show Beagum first in 1996 and then in 2014, now running her own orphanage and ensuring that all her children receive an education. With photospreads of select iconic images, the chapter also makes for a stunning collection of Bangladeshi art over a century.The third section of The Tide Will Turn centres entirely on Bangladeshi politics. Alam uses the 1971 Liberation War as a starting point to discuss identity, secularism and the failures of the government, detailing his own experience with the 2013 Dhaka garment factory collapse and the killing of Bangladeshi-American secular blogger Avijit Roy. There is an underlying critique of autocracy running through the book, but it is this chapter that really reveals to us <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-death-of-democracy/">Alam’s commitment to free speech and democracy</a>.The Tide Will Turn is best summed up by Alam himself in his letter to Arundhati Roy: ‘The tide will turn, and the nameless, faceless people will rise. They will rise against the entire state machinery.’ This deep conviction that underlies his stunning photography makes for a book that leaves readers with much to ponder.The Tide Will TurnShahidul AlamGöttingen, Germany, Steidl, 2019184 pages, 111 images, Hardback€ 28.00ISBN: 978-3-95829-693-0www.steidl.de<a href="https://steidl.de/Books/The-Tide-Will-Turn-1224303445.html"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151116/636a656a9c7e80680e059929jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2328" height="3030"></a>

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A photojournalist's powerful portrait from prison

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107141112/636904739c7e80680e037d23jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/>On 5 August, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/best-years-of-their-lives-migrant-workers,3722" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bangladeshi artist, writer and organiser Shahidul Alam</a> was interviewed on Al Jazeera about <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/aug/05/bangladesh-pm-urges-teen-protesters-to-go-home-amid-violence" target="_blank" rel="noopener">student protests triggered by the deaths of schoolchildren run over by a public bus</a>.Alam said that the anger of the protesting youth were not just with the transportation sector but the dire situation of the country as a whole. He outlined a litany of everything that was wrong in Bangladesh: “The looting of banks, the gagging of the media, the extra-judicial killings, the disappearances, the need to give protection money at all levels, bribery at all levels, corruption in education.”That very day, security personnel in plainclothes arrived at Alam’s Dhaka home in the middle of the night and <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2018/08/06/bangladeshi-photographer-shahidul-alam-arrested-over-provocative-comments/?noredirect=on&amp;utm_term=.9b6c0afa5357" target="_blank" rel="noopener">took him away without any explanation or warrant</a>. When he was presented before court a few days later, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEeyhQNU8fg" target="_blank" rel="noopener">he was limping and had to be held up as he walked</a>.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/freeshahidulalam/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">#FreeShahidulAlam</a>He had obviously <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/08/world/asia/bangladesh-photographer-shahidul-alam.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener">been tortured in custody</a>. Soon after, he was charged with Section 57 of Bangladesh’s Information and Communications Technology Act (ICT) for ‘spreading propaganda and false information against the government’. Alam was denied bail. If convicted, he could face a seven-year sentence.The blatantly unjust and politically motivated arrest of Shahidul Alam <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/aug/08/the-guardian-view-on-shahidul-alam-bangladesh-should-let-him-go" target="_blank" rel="noopener">has been widely condemned</a> and there have been petitions <a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2018/08/calls-grow-release-bangladeshi-photographer-shahidul-alam-180811145247788.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener">for his release from all parts of the world</a>. The attention this case has received partially has to do with Alam’s extraordinary achievements and his international fame.As a photojournalist, he has received widespread acclaim for revealing that the marginalised are active agents rather than victims and his visceral depictions of state brutality. But Alam is equally known as an institution builder and a mentor for younger photojournalists. He founded the Drik Picture Library photo agency, the ChobiMela, one of South Asia’s most prestigious photo festivals, and the Pathshala South Asian Media Institute which has trained hundreds of photographers, including from Nepal.But the case has far-reaching implications that go beyond Shahidul Alam as an individual, and even beyond Bangladesh. The arrest has to be seen in light of worrisome trends that have begun to afflict large sections of the world, including many countries in the South Asian region.Broadly speaking, this has to do with the attack by the state upon what is often called ‘freedom of expression’.In recent months, governments in South Asia have tried to criminalise all criticism of the government, both by publicly prominent personalities and by private citizens expressing themselves on social media.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/suppressed/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Suppressed</a>, Om Astha RaiIn Bangladesh, several people have been arrested for posting or sharing comments critical of the government on Facebook. The government there is planning to replace the notorious ICT act with even more draconian legislation. In Myanmar, journalists reporting on the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/living-on-the-margins/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rohingya crisis</a> have been arrested and charged with violating the Official Secrets Act.In the past week, several high profile activists and intellectuals have been arrested in India in what is clearly a vendetta on the part of the government. And in Nepal too, the government has <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/suppressed/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">passed legislation that would prevent journalists from reporting on state activity</a>.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/strongman-rule/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Strongman rule</a>, Om Astha RaiGovernments have claimed that such measures are necessary to preserve national security. In order to maintain their power, rulers in the region have tried to instigate nationalist sentiments among the population. Organisations campaigning for greater justice have been vilified as tools of foreign countries.The intention behind these efforts is clear. Governments want to establish their own interpretation of history and current events as the only legitimate one. They want to be left free to bulldoze decisions without having to confront independent civil society groups. And in the process, they are trying to create populations that are fearful, inward looking and xenophobic.The campaign for the release of Shahidul Alam is not just about an individual who has been unjustly persecuted. More broadly, it is a campaign to resist the steady encroachment upon democratic space across the region. It is a campaign against a narrow-minded nationalism and the arbitrary use of power. A campaign that stands for tolerance, the rule of law and the rights of the most marginalised people.During her visit to Kathmandu for the BIMSTEC conference, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/freeshahidulalam/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">would do well to realise that her government has only lost international legitimacy by arresting Shahidul Alam</a>. His immediate release will be an important first step towards restoring the Bangladesh government’s credibility.Other heads of government visiting Nepal should similarly recognise that attacks on journalists and members of civil society only serve to increase hostility and anger towards the ruling authorities. Dismantling legislation that impedes the right to free expression will be necessary if states are to regain the trust of their populations.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107141112/636904759c7e80680e037d24jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1019"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107141112/636904799c7e80680e037d25jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1021"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107141112/6369047c9c7e80680e037d26jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="997" height="1500"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107141112/6369047f9c7e80680e037d27jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1007"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107141112/636904829c7e80680e037d28jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="961"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>

The death of democracy

Shantanu Dhakal wakes up to a cold misty dawn, dons his college uniform and fastens his tie, tightening it carefully so as not to dislodge the tracheostomy tube protruding from his throat.
Gingerly, he brushes his teeth, mindful not to hurt the wound on his left cheek, where a bullet tore through during the GenZ protests on 8 September in the highway town of Itahari in eastern Nepal.&nbsp;
Dhakal, 18, came home from college that day three months ago and then took the bus to Itahari to join some friends who were protesting in front of the sub-metropolitan city office. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowd was chanting anti-corruption slogans and holding up placards.
Like most young Nepalis, Dhakal and his friends had been angered by videos on social media of the offspring of Nepal’s rich and powerful flaunting their lavish lifestyles.&nbsp;
"That was the trigger for me to join the protest, it opened my eyes to just how widespread nepotism and corruption was," Dhakal told Nepali Times.&nbsp;
The police arrested a few students, angering the crowd even more. They massed at the gate of a nearby police station to demand their friends be released. &nbsp;
Dhakal was standing across the street from the police station when the first shots rang out. The crowd scattered. As he ran for cover, there was a searing pain in his left jaw. Blood was streaming and it took some time for him to realise he had been shot.&nbsp;
“I was bleeding profusely and couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, there was a ringing in my ears,” Dhakal recalls. “I collected myself and continued to run, fearing that I would be shot a second time.”
Dhakal collapsed some distance away, and a fellow protestor took him to a nearby hospital, where doctors bandaged his jaw. He was referred to Birat Medical Teaching Hospital, where surgeons immediately performed an emergency operation. &nbsp;
The bullet had torn through his left jaw, shattering the bone, teeth, and soft tissue. Blood had rushed into his throat, obstructing the airway so doctors first performed a tracheostomy, installing a tube in his throat to help him keep breathing. A week later, the doctors reconstructed his jaw with metallic plates, grafting skin from his chest and transplanting it to the lower left side of his face.&nbsp;
Dhakal spent three weeks in hospital before being discharged. But the relief of being home was marred by disturbing thoughts. He says, “Just sitting there doing nothing began to take a toll on my mental health.” &nbsp;
Since he was always interested in content creation and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@docsbyshantanu">producing short documentaries</a>, he decided to document online his near-death experience and post-protest life.&nbsp;
Shantanu Dhakal’s Instagram and TikTok <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shantanu__dhakal/">posts are simple, short videos</a> every other day about his treatment process, dressing his wound and cleaning his tracheostomy tube, attending events with others injured during the protests, and scenes from everyday life in his family farm.&nbsp;
The comment section has Nepalis and people from around the world reaching out to ask how he is doing and keeping his spirits up. Dhakal now has a caring social media community, and he uses the platforms to keep in touch with other injured protestors across the country.&nbsp;
Life is returning to a new normal. This week, he returned to college to resume classes after more than two months and is making up for lost time. He has adjusted to speaking and eating with the tube, although the pain never quite goes away.&nbsp;
“I can eat mostly fine, but it is still difficult to speak,” he says. Soon, he will go to hospital for his fortnightly follow-up, and doctors will determine when his tracheostomy tube can be removed.
Like other young Nepalis, Dhakal is now even more politically engaged and actively reads the news of the interim government installed after the GenZ protests.&nbsp;
With the 5 March elections only three months away, young Nepalis like Dhakal hope that the elections will throw out the old and bring in the new. He is among the more than 800,000 new voters who have registered.&nbsp;
“The most important thing is that we have stable government,” he says. “As far as candidates go, an ideal one for me would be a person who prioritises health and education. But if the candidates in my constituency are not up to mark, I may not vote.”
Dhakal along with other injured protesters and relatives of those killed met &nbsp;Energy Minister Kulman Ghising, who has launched his own Ujyalo Nepal Party, and he is cautiously optimistic about the work of the current leadership. &nbsp;
It is a different story in Kathmandu, where Prime Minister Sushila Karki is struggling to manage the expectations of various youth collectives while trying to convince the old parties to participate in elections.&nbsp;
While the UML and NC are actively trying to delegitimise Karki’s government as they prepare to hold their respective general conventions, they are also preparing to give out tickets for elections.&nbsp;
Self-proclaimed GenZ leaders who used Discord to elect Karki prime minister are putting up their own conditions for the polls, even demanding her resignation for failing to meet their demands. This is in sharp contrast to the feelings of many of those injured during the protests who want elections so the nation can heal, and move on.

A new normal

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

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

The Himalaya is not fragile

The second season of the Nepal Premier League (NPL) is a prettier and more mature product. The Tribhuvan University International Cricket Stadium has new flood lights, colourful seats, and more of them from which fans watch not just sixers soaring into the evening sky but also spectacular sunsets over the mountains.&nbsp; Tuesday’s match was a double header with matches 20 and 21 of the season. The early game was Chitwan Rhinos vs Janakpur Bolts, and in the evening Karnali Yaks played Pokhara Avengers. These were teams towards the bottom of the table, with plenty to play for.&nbsp; Things looked fluorescent with the high-vis vests of security, bright pink jerseys of the Bolts, vivid orange Rhinos and the neon green inDrive logo. Security is tight, and between buying tickets and getting to seats viewers are patted down four times, their ticket stubbed twice. The seats are divided into zones, set out by fan base, and they are full and loud throughout.&nbsp; The biggest name in NPL 1.0 last year was probably Shikhar Dhawan, but the second season has brought in internationals who have played at the highest levels: Jason Roy, Faf du Plessis, Imran Tahir, Wayne Parnell, Sohail Tanvir, Martin Guptill. &nbsp; Although they are now in the 35-40 age range and well past their athletic prime, they have been valuable as sources of experience and technique for young Nepali teammates who are preparing for the T20 World Cup in February. They are seeing firsthand the work that goes into being an international level professional.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photos: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  NPL 2.0 is also much more commercial. Boundary ropes and zones have logos on them, KFC and Asian Paints have their anamorphic logos designed for angle on the field, there is an electric vehicle on display, and the digital scoreboard shows ads in between balls and action on the field.&nbsp; Sponsors and advertisers have allowed the organisers to pull out all the stops to put up the month-long tournament. Maybe the next season will be broadcast with virtual advertising with digital overlay.&nbsp; Cricket is a much faster and more dynamic game in person with the whole field in view, while still being relaxing to watch due to its stop start nature, the winter sun and enchanting sunset views.&nbsp; In the morning game Janakpur bowled first. The defending champions had a defence failure with five losses out of five. They could not break the opening partnership of the Rhinos, who were cruising at about nine runs an over.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> </figure>  Thirteen overs into the Rhinos’ inning, they are 109 for zero. English batsman David Malan, 38, is on 59 off 42, and his opening partner Arjun Saud, 22 from Dhangadi, is on 50 off 37. The message from the dug out is clear: there are wickets in hand, so hit some sixes.&nbsp; Namibian leg spinner Nicol Loftie-Eaton was bowling for the Bolts, and the batsman went after him. They got off twice, with Rupesh Singh losing an easy catch in the sun, and then putting down a much harder chance running to his left.&nbsp; American Sanjay Krishnamurthi took a fantastic catch diving forward in the very next ball. The rest of Chitwan’s batting order got out regularly while still scoring at a decent clip. The Rhinos ended up posting 174, a big score of course, but not the 200+ that their strong start suggested.&nbsp; In the last over, young left-handed national team batsman Kushal Malla lofted a six on the off-side. The ball scored a direct hit on a cheerleader’s face, she crumpled to the ground, and was rushed on a stretcher to an ambulance. Meanwhile, Mr Gaida, the one-horned Chitwan mascot, stole the show as he roamed the boundary, swaying to the wide mix of DJ songs. The crowd cheered.&nbsp;  <figure> <video controls src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251206071236_63033e071dcdf7e9c6382f889e72f438318faed63d9a3c52d4ba6c10a6e357f6.mp4" alt="" width="100%" height="100%"></video> <figcaption>Mr Gaida, the one-horned Chitwan mascot, stole the show as he roamed the boundary, swaying to the wide mix of DJ songs. Vidoe: VISHAD RAJ ONTA</figcaption> </figure>  As the Bolts started batting, popular Irish commentator Andrew Leonard came down from the press box to check on cheerleaders. Three cheerleaders were reduced to one, but a male breakdancer had joined her.&nbsp; Janakpur were never in any real trouble as they chased. Young Pakistani all-rounder Maaz Sadaqat’s 63 off 30, and Anil Sah’s 61 of 36 propelled the Bolts to the target with two and a half overs to spare.&nbsp; At dusk, the floodlights come on, adding to the atmosphere. There is smoggy Kathmandu below and Langtang glowing pink on the horizon as the second match began.&nbsp; Karnali Yaks captain Sompal Kami won the toss and chose to bowl, but Adam Rossington’s 108 off 58 and Jason Roy’s 46 of 34 meant that Pokhara set up a target of 202. &nbsp; The Yaks started well, and were still very much in the game at over 10 with 95/3. But they lost wickets and slowed down. The pressure of the rising run rate got to the batting order, and soon they were all out for 167.&nbsp; In between innings and games, there is plenty for viewers to do in the carnival-like atmosphere outside. Asian Paints offers free face-painting. Ncell has a stall where viewers can pick up free new sims and play against a bowling machine to win t-shirts. KFC is the only food option around. Red Bulls are Rs150 per can. “Why do you think they’re dancing so hard out there?” asks the vendor of the caffeine-rich energy drink. “Red Bull.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025120412128_06edd8e6713c1e76c39364d3efb8ea54d4f7c3d8d2bf0d90933c993fdcfeba74.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025120412128_06edd8e6713c1e76c39364d3efb8ea54d4f7c3d8d2bf0d90933c993fdcfeba74" data-rendition-name="original" width="934" height="656" loading="lazy" alt="NPL fixtures NT"> </figure>  <h2>Starting a new innings</h2> Tek Raj Kharel had just dropped off his inDrive customer near Zone 3 and had been following the tournament, watching games in between rides. He thinks the NPL is more than a game, it is a carnival. “This festival is more for women than men,” says Kharel. How so? “They go to be seen on the digital screen and take selfies, and the men go to see the women.”&nbsp; This week both male and female fans on the stands were certainly dancing hard, and they did not seem to care much about which team was winning. They cheered both when batsmen hit boundaries, and when a wicket fell. They were there to have fun, cricket was just an excuse. A pair of friends were not having as much fun, and were obviously not too much into cricket. The youngsters exited early, with one telling the other to never invite him to something as boring again. Many other couples seemed to be on dates.&nbsp; There were also many dads with their young kids, both generations enjoying themselves. There are not too many other events in Nepal that the family can go to like this.&nbsp; “Any match you watch here is pretty entertaining,” says an older fan. “I didn’t really know much about cricket before but now it has become a habit.”&nbsp; Thanks to new Youth and Sports minister, 26-year old Bablu Gupta, at the end of day’s games, fans get a free ride on shuttle buses to Kalanki, Swayambhu, Bhaktapur and elsewhere in the Valley.&nbsp; There is a lot that is very good with the NPL, and not much that is bad. A few things need quick fixes.&nbsp; While the stadium itself is all right, outside where the stalls are, the ground is dusty and resembles a construction site with litter everywhere. There are no actual bathrooms. Siddhartha Bank has set up a few small makeshift steel sheds, where fans stand shoulder to shoulder to relieve themselves. &nbsp; The pricing system has to be rethought. Tickets started at Rs300 last year, and the stadium was packed. Tickets cost Rs500 now, and on weekdays many seats are empty. A new system where tickets get discounted depending on booking time would improve the atmosphere with bigger crowds. &nbsp; Even so, the NPL is a breath of fresh air in post-GenZ protest Nepal with the hope that the country is starting a new innings.&nbsp; Tickets on Khalti.

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