On World Health Day on 7 April this week, the Air Quality Index (AQI) in Kathmandu exceeded 300 – one of the dirtiest in any city in the world. Breathing was literally <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/breathing-is-hazardous-to-health">lethal</a>.
Although the main source of pollution this week was smoke from brushfires raging across the country, emissions from diesel and petrol vehicles are a bigger year-round source of hazardous suspended particles and toxic gases.&nbsp;
The good news is that the sale of electric four-wheelers is growing rapidly, and battery-powered vehicles now account for one-third of Nepal’s total car imports. Outside Kathmandu, vans, microbuses and three-wheelers are switching to electric as never before
All this has happened even though there is still a hefty <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/1-step-forward-2-steps-back-in-nepal">tax on battery-powered vehicles</a>. In last year’s budget ex-Finance Minister Prakash Mahat increased the tax on smaller EVs and electric vans while inexplicably reducing the tax on luxury SUVs.
This year, all eyes are on the new Finance Minister Barsha Man Pun, who is under pressure to raise government revenue that has fallen drastically due to a slowdown in imports. Instead of lowering taxes and even announcing subsidies on electric cars and appliances, he may actually increase them. He could also do it selectively to favour certain EV brands imported by cronies.
“The government should be more careful in how it taxes electric vehicles,” says air pollution activist Bhushan Tuladhar who is also the director of Sajha Yatayat, the public transport company that is operating 40 electric buses. “It should be consistent, predictable and guided by science, it can’t be a kneejerk reaction with no real planning.”
One large electric bus can replace at least 10 cars, easing road congestion, improving air pollution and reducing petroleum imports. But existing excise and import taxes make battery-powered buses up to five times more expensive than a diesel bus of similar capacity.&nbsp;
On Tuesday, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/sajha-s-green-buses-go-greener">Sajha Yatayat inaugurated Nepal’s largest charging station</a> with 24 charging points where it will charge its 40 e-buses. Speaking at the event, Kulman Ghising of Nepal Electricity Authority (NEA) acknowledged that Nepal was undergoing a “massive transport transition”.&nbsp;
“We will soon have surplus power even in winter, and private EVs can only use so much of our electricity, what we really need is to electrify our mass transport,” he said. “On one hand, by increasing our consumption of electricity, it will reduce our petroleum imports and subsequently our trade deficit. It will also help us meet our net zero target. This is also very feasible as a business model.”
Petroleum imports account for one-fourth of Nepal’s total imports and is more than all of our exports combined. Reducing petroleum consumption by just 10% would save the country over Rs30 billion whereas even exporting all of our current power generation of 3,000MW would earn us just half that amount.
It is simple maths: prioritising <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/missing-pieces-of-the-hydropower-jigsaw">domestic electricity consumption</a> is a win-win-win for the country. Electrification of industries, tourism and agriculture would also mean tens of thousands of new green jobs and help stem the mass exodus of youth.&nbsp;
A policy decision is also urgently needed for electric taxis. Bagmati Province does not register new battery-powered cabs, but they are still being imported as private cars which then buy number plates of the older taxis. This means the electric taxis have to pay higher road taxes, keeping their fares high.
A battery-powered taxi can be fully charged for just Rs106, and will have a range of 180km. A petrol taxi would need Rs3,500 worth of petrol to cover that distance.&nbsp;
Climate expert Manjeet Dhakal says that budget fluctuations make people and investors lose confidence, and this is especially important ahead of the Nepal Investment Summit later this month.
“At a time when the whole world is moving towards clean energy, Nepal’s contradictory policy regarding EV sends out the wrong message to the business community,” he adds. “But at the next &nbsp;budget, we must incentivise electric buses. Even within the EV bracket, this is the segment we have to hit had if we are to make a real difference.”
Without state subsidy and support, the private sector is unlikely to expand on electric facilities. Pollution tax can very well come in handy here if there is a political will.
Even then EVs are just a part of an ecosystem, we need charging infrastructure, skilled human resources for the new technology, and policies that promote them.
Similarly, two-wheelers make up nearly 80% of total vehicles in Nepal. But there are electric bikes and scooters, government and the private sector have much to do to increase consumer and market confidence in them.
Consecutive governments have been flip-flopping tax rates on electric vehicles in recent years. In 2020, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-reduces-tax-on-electric-cars">the government reduced the taxes on battery-powered vehicles</a>. A year later, it re-imposed tax for electric SUVs while cheaper vehicles were still taxed less. Last year, the tax on smaller EVs and electric vans was increased while that on luxury SUVs was slashed.
Not long ago a former finance minister was caught questioning how the government would earn its revenue if it didn’t tax electric vehicles. Such is our policymaking that we rely on imports to generate income for the government when in fact revenue should be based on local industries and goods.
“Financial policy is based on politics and that is the sad reality, more so now with coalition governments,” says Tuladhar. “But even then, taxation should not be a long-term policy. But unfortunately, people who are making policies aren't riding buses &nbsp;so they have no interest in public transport or don’t even know what to do with it.”

Sonia Awale

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<img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfd179c7e80680e0a0bc6jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>In 1911, Nepal became the second country in Asia to install <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-1st-hydroelectric-plant-is-a-museum-piece/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-1st-hydroelectric-plant-is-a-museum-piece/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGTfe_ElDUnDBA5y1fWiNeNMmj3iw">a hydroelectric plant</a>, and was a pioneer in  electric transportation with the opening in <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=1651#.YREMFtMzbRY" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D1651%23.YREMFtMzbRY&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFCMXd7Cwgzp9Nvx_5uv6jjxw5VdA">1922</a> of a ropeway connecting Kathmandu to Dhorsing and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/business/ropeways-connecting-nepal,1749" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/business/ropeways-connecting-nepal,1749&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFoAmTmRhO8F_jUynodP4VGdDGB2g">later to Hetauda</a>.  The Chinese gifted an <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/kathmandu-bhaktapur-trolley-bus/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/kathmandu-bhaktapur-trolley-bus/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEJ0EZMCfEEa7kLPULhzZRB_DGcng">electric trolley bus line</a> from Kathmandu to Bhaktapur in 1975, which provided valuable commuter service for nearly 30 years. In 1995, the government replaced polluting diesel three-wheelers with electric ones, and 700 of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/12-full-opinion/how-to-get-things-done-in-nepal/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/12-full-opinion/how-to-get-things-done-in-nepal/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHCvZcncwin-QX5AckUaljaRos77g">Safa Tempo</a> are still running on 28 routes, serving Kathmandu’s public transport needs. However, despite these milestones in electric transportation, Nepal has not taken the leaps it could have in powering mass transit with the country’s plentiful renewable energy potential.“We missed the bus on electric buses,” says environmental expert <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/cleaner-air-with-greener-buses/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/cleaner-air-with-greener-buses/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEl_IlhZ7KVICnzsc-SRPKQHCTwSQ">Bhusan Tuladhar</a>. “We could have taken e-vehicles to the next level much earlier.”Indeed, the Safa Tempo now faces competition from diesel buses on trunk routes, and government policy on replacing larger diesel buses with electric ones has been erratic. Daily commuter volume in Kathmandu today now needs larger mass transit modes, but Safas are ideally suited for narrower streets of the inner city.“After the diesel three-wheelers were replaced by Safa Tempo, the government adopted a contradictory policy of promoting micro-buses,” explains Dharma Kumar Shrestha of NEVI (Nepal Electric Vehicle Industry).  <figure><img width="1435" height="1845" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfd1b9c7e80680e0a0bc7jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Sadly, in the early 2000s, the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/kathmandu-bhaktapur-trolley-bus/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/kathmandu-bhaktapur-trolley-bus/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEJ0EZMCfEEa7kLPULhzZRB_DGcng">trolley bus system</a> and another cargo ropeway to Hetauda were closed due to losses and mismanagement. Although private electric cable cars are coming into operation nationwide for tourism, there is still no strategic solution in sight for electrified public transportation, particularly electric buses.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-electric-transport-future-is-here/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-electric-transport-future-is-here/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEluSwdpWldVQB8IdEn83UBiR6-RQ">Electric vehicles</a> still have problems with carbon emission during production and battery disposal, but they will help improve the air quality and reduce Nepal’s petroleum imports which have more than doubled in the past 10 years. Some <a href="http://www.mofe.gov.np/downloadfile/E-mobility%20Assmnt%20NDC%202020_1623998131.pdf" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.mofe.gov.np/downloadfile/E-mobility%2520Assmnt%2520NDC%25202020_1623998131.pdf&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNE2VntIF8kJ7PIXXcPqAHkOF4QTHQ">12%</a> percent of the greenhouse gas emissions from the energy sector in Nepal comes from transportation, with heavy vehicles like fuel-run trucks and buses being the main polluters. There are now about 6,000 battery two-wheelers, over 27 thousand electric three-wheelers, and 1,000 electric vehicles in Nepal, but this is still only 1% of the total, according to a <a href="http://www.mofe.gov.np/downloadfile/E-mobility%20Assmnt%20NDC%202020_1623998131.pdf" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.mofe.gov.np/downloadfile/E-mobility%2520Assmnt%2520NDC%25202020_1623998131.pdf&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNE2VntIF8kJ7PIXXcPqAHkOF4QTHQ">Ministry of Forests and Environment report.</a> <figure><img width="1000" height="589" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfd1e9c7e80680e0a0bc8jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“Since transportation contributes a significant amount of Nepal’s total greenhouse emissions, a shift to electric is essential to achieve the country’s goal of being carbon-neutral by 2050,” says Radha Wagle, Chief of the Climate Change Management Division under the Ministry of Forests and Environment. Electric Vehicles are initially more expensive, but in the long run not are not just less-polluting, but will also help improve Nepal’s balance of trade deficit with India. While production and battery cost of electric bus makes them more expensive than a new diesel bus of the same capacity, running costs, maintenance and repairs means that for every kilometer travelled, an electric bus will be <a href="https://www.nepjol.info/index.php/jiee/article/view/34321" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepjol.info/index.php/jiee/article/view/34321&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHvg12N6jF8_nWl4dVJoCTHjzyUSQ">Rs14 cheaper to run.  </a> “The operational cost of a diesel bus is high,” says Tuladhar, who is also a board member of Sajha Yatayat, where 40% of the running cost is diesel. “If we switch to an all-electric fleet, we will have significantly lower costs that will let us provide better service. But because of the higher initial investment necessary, a government subsidy is necessary for the purchase of electric vehicles.” In this year’s budget, the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/new-nepal-budget-sparks-electric-comeback/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/new-nepal-budget-sparks-electric-comeback/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGOdQbO8PkEMjBfZpNw847NLJ3Q-w">government reinstated tax rebates</a> on electric vehicles which now makes their cost comparable to 4- and 2-wheelers of the same capacity. However, the capital cost of electric buses is still more than double the cost of diesel-run buses, which is why further subsidies are needed. The government can easily recoup the lost tax revenue from reduced petroleum import bills, experts say.  NEVI’s Shrestha agrees that government subsidies would inventivise buyers for electric vehicles, and also setting up charging stations across the country.  Among all registered vehicles in Nepal, nearly 80% are privately owned two-wheelers, but they contribute only 8% to total emissions from transportation. Trucks and public buses emit 57% of CO2.  The demand for electric vehicles is highly sensitive to government policies. With the taxes imposed in 2020, the import of electric vehicles in the first 5 months of the fiscal year at the start of 2021, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/how-much-will-electric-cars-cost-now/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/how-much-will-electric-cars-cost-now/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFvouUWmKFkrMCzKw9Z2vqYQ76y_g">declined by 88% compared to the previous year</a>. However, sales are expected to pick up again after the tax reversal. Electric rickshaws are gaining popularity in the Tarai, with over 26,000 registered  –- making up 0.82% of all vehicles in the country. <figure><img width="1588" height="946" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141128/636cfd219c7e80680e0a0bc9jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“A transition towards e-transport will reduce our trade deficit massively and further ensure green economic growth,” says Rajan Thapa, a climate change expert. Over the past decades, successive governments have taken pro-electric policies. The National Transport Policy in 2001 was developed to make the transportation sector environmentally friendly, and the Environmentally Friendly Vehicle and Transport Policy of 2014 calls for diversifying vehicles to run on electricity, hybrid, and gas. The government also is going to open 50 charging stations across the country and announced that it is buying 300 electric buses. The second Nationally Determined Contribution (NDC) that Nepal submitted to the UN last year pledges a 200km electric railway network, increasing the total sale of private e-vehicles to cover 90% and public transport (besides three-wheelers) to 60% of imports by 2030. This is expected to reduce carbon emission by 28% and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/green-sticker-green-light-to-pollute/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/green-sticker-green-light-to-pollute/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1628960160899000&amp;usg=AFQjCNE3Q7u9yrExf3zy5U0L51alzQDptQ">lower pollution levels in cities</a>. “The government of Nepal is being more ambitious and committed to ensuring net-zero emissions ahead of 2050, " says Prem Kandel, secretary of the Ministry of Forests and Environment (MoFE). “We have made a long-term strategy that will provide us with evidence and policy choices to look at potential ways of reducing carbon emission. E-mobility is one of the means of achieving our ambitious target.”Diya Rijal is a communication consultant for the UK government-funded Policy and Institutions Facility.

The road to electric transportation in Nepal

Sha Bahadur Gurung was 30 years old when he was arrested for participating in a peaceful protest. He died aged 65 last week in Bhutan’s Chamgang Central Prison. He was among 31 prisoners of conscience in Bhutan, many of whom are serving long sentences for opposing the regime’s forcible expulsion of 100,000 of its Lhotsampa people in the early 1990s. ‘Mr Gurung died on 15 December in his prison cell under circumstances that raise serious concerns about custodial negligence and long-term abuse,” said a statement by the Global Campaign for the Release of Political Prisoners in Bhutan (GCRPPB) based in The Hague which demanded an external probe, justice and release of remaining political prisoners. Gurung was from Chirang and was arrested in 1990 while serving in the Royal Bhutan Army, and accused of having sympathies for the Lhotsampa people. He was mostly held at the notorious Rabuna Prison in Wangdi Phodrang District.&nbsp; Gurung’s relatives in the United States said he had endured prolonged physical and psychological abuse during his imprisonment, and repeatedly subjected to torture and inhumane treatment. They believe the decades of ill-treatment had damaged his health, ultimately leading to his death. Earlier this month, Gurung was transferred from Rabuna to Chamgang Central Prison. On 14 December. He had gone to bed after dinner without any visible sign of distress. He was found unconscious in his cell the next morning.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224151248_5fc8305ecd320d89b9e343c04a1a897dc1353353da55b6d277f5398034b265ea.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251224151248_5fc8305ecd320d89b9e343c04a1a897dc1353353da55b6d277f5398034b265ea" data-rendition-name="original" width="902" height="1103" loading="lazy" alt="Sha Bahadur Gurung NT"> <figcaption>Sha Bahadur Gurung, who died at age 65 in prison in Bhutan after serving 30 years for expressing political opinion.</figcaption> </figure>  He was referred to a hospital in Thimphu, suggesting that he was still alive during transfer to a local health post. But it appears that he had already died before being taken from prison. Gurung’s death occurred two days before Bhutan’s National Day on 17 December, when families, supporters, and human rights advocates worldwide had hoped for the release of political prisoners through a royal amnesty. Instead, the death of one of the longest-serving political prisoners has caused grief and anger in the Bhutanese diaspora.&nbsp; “We strongly condemn the treatment and death of Gurung, a peaceful and justice-loving Bhutanese citizen,” the V statement said. ‘This tragedy raises serious questions about the treatment of political prisoners in Bhutan and stands in stark contrast to the country’s international image under the principles of Gross National Happiness, compassion, and mindfulness.’ Earlier this year, The <a href="https://www.ohchr.org/en/special-procedures/wg-arbitrary-detention/opinions-adopted-working-group-arbitrary-detention/opinions-adopted-working-group-arbitrary-detention-its-101st-session" target="_blank">United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention</a> said the Bhutan government was detaining citizens without parole for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/detainees-in-dire-straits-in-bhutan-s-prisons" target="_blank">expressing political opinion</a>. The New York-based Human Rights Watch (HRW) said in 2023 that there were least 37 <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/03/13/bhutan-free-long-term-political-prisoners" target="_blank">political prisoners</a> in Bhutan’s jails. Of them, 32 belong to the Nepali-speaking Lhotshampa community, which has faced <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2003/06/18/nepal-bhutanese-refugees-rendered-stateless" target="_blank">decades of discrimination and abuse</a> and eviction. Most of them were convicted because of prohibited political activity between 1990 and 2008. One political prisoner, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/no-country-for-dissent?fbclid=IwAR07lpitMBWAYSkny_3d_smQBlmoxAOQm1OxdNtl-27h8mV0RNO9IxVY2qs" target="_blank">Madhukar Monger</a>, who was released in 2023 after serving 29 years described brutal conditions in <a href="https://www.hrw.org/asia/bhutan" target="_blank">Bhutan</a>'s jails. Political prisoners were not given enough food, and medical care, he said, urging the internaitoonal community to press for the release of prisoners of conscience.&nbsp; In March, <a href="https://www.hrw.org/about/people/meenakshi-ganguly" target="_blank">Meenakshi Ganguly</a>, Deputy Asia director at Human Rights Watch, urged Bhutan’s international partners to call on the Bhutan government to release all remaining political prisoners immediately.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224161216_9d11a78ed5490091c595341900e4c26f5c0dd0328718f6930ef19c1e9b7f95a6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20251224161216_9d11a78ed5490091c595341900e4c26f5c0dd0328718f6930ef19c1e9b7f95a6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1422" loading="lazy" alt="Bhutan political prisoners NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224161216_176855f3d3df42d24ac7e77372bbf49115695b732a6c094a66267e969111dfca.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20251224161216_176855f3d3df42d24ac7e77372bbf49115695b732a6c094a66267e969111dfca" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1420" loading="lazy" alt="Bhutan political prisoners NT"> </figure>  &nbsp;

Bhutan political prisoner dies in detention

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

Some chicken, some neck

‘Get out of my house.’ ‘All my sickness is because of you.’ ‘You’re a millstone around my neck.’ Arundhati Roy heard these admonitions from her mother over and over throughout her life.&nbsp; This must be a singular, yet universal experience. There must be very few daughters who make it through life unscathed by their mothers. And vice-versa.&nbsp; How many of our mothers look at us and see in us the potential of all of the lives they could have lived? How many resent us for it, or want us to live those lives in their stead? And how many of us look back at our mothers and imagine what they would have achieved had they not been expected and assigned to play the role of wife, daughter-in-law, mother — had we never existed in their lives? How many mothers project their experiences onto their own daughters and continue the cycle? No daughter seems to escape it — no matter how well-behaved, docile, unruly, or rebellious. Certainly not the child who would go on to become a Booker prize-winning author. Arundhati Roy’s memoir Mother Mary Comes To Me chronicles her complex relationship with her mother Mary, or Mrs Roy, as her educator mother had her two children refer to her. In December, Arundhati Roy was in Kathmandu to sign books and briefly interact with readers at two bookshops in the city. She describes a childhood overshadowed by her mother’s volatility towards her and her brother. Mary herself was raised by an abusive father to escape whom she married the first man who proposed — Arundhati’s father who in her mother’s words turned out to be an alcoholic ‘Nothing Man’.&nbsp; Mary left her husband in Assam and eventually wound up with her two children in her town of Aymanam in Kerala, encountering other family members along the way who did not treat her, or her children with respect. The trauma and cruelty her mother endured could not be contained in her body, and spilled out onto her two children, towards whom she was physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive.&nbsp; While she treated her children with disregard, she would build a school in the nearby town of Kottayam from the ground up, educate thousands of children, take up a legal fight that led to the Supreme Court granting Syrian Christian women in India equal inheritance rights, and uplift many orphaned children and women in Kerala.&nbsp; Arundhati lived with both her mother’s brutality and brilliance. And like her daughter, readers must reconcile the indefensible parts of Mary Roy’s personality — the cruelty of calling her nine-year-old daughter a bitch, or shooting the family dog that mated with a stray — with her unyielding drive to educate thousands, fight for equal rights, and challenge the way her world viewed women.&nbsp; Mrs Roy had little kindness for her own children, but plenty for the students, children, and women whose lives she shaped, and made better. And her kindness was not rooted in empathy, but in anger at the hand she had been dealt in life. Eventually, Arundhati decided to temporarily cut all contact with Mrs Roy — not because she did not love her, she writes, but so that she could continue to love her. Her desire to get away from her abusive mother, and her fascination with the ideas inspired by the architect who built her mother’s school, would lead her to the Delhi School of Architecture at age 16. In Delhi, Arundhati became roommates with Hisila Yami before she and her Maoist ideologue husband Baburam Bhattarai went underground to lead Nepal’s decade-long armed struggle. &nbsp; But architecture was not her calling. In Delhi, the heart of India’s statecraft, Arundhati came into young adulthood against a backdrop of the country’s changing socio-politics, which began to take a turn for the hyper-nationalist, Hindu supremacist community that it has now largely become. The winds of those changes have now blown into Nepal. In the city, far from her mother, Arundhati met the man who would become her partner of many years, collaborating with him on several films and screenplays before finding the language (‘I needed to hunt [language] down like prey,’ she writes) she needed to become the writer she is now.&nbsp; She went on to write her Booker prize-winning novel The God of Small Things, but the wealth and status the book brought her did not sit comfortably. So she smashed her newly-built gilded cage, as she describes it, and became more political. Contrary to norm, she published several works of non-fiction, and would only publish her second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, in 2017, 20 years after The God of Small Things. &nbsp;&nbsp; Her fierce opposition to India’s nuclear policies, to a dam that would displace millions of indigenous people and ecologically damage the Narmada Valley, her championing of Kashmiri self-determination, and her time spent with Maoist rebels in the forests of Chhattisgarh as they took up arms to defend their land and resources against corporate interests made her an enemy of the state.&nbsp; Meanwhile, being raised by a single mother had never sat well within her Syrian Christian community. ‘I wasn't Christian enough. I wasn't Hindu enough. I wasn't communist enough. I wasn't enough,’ Roy writes in her memoir. For all her love for India, the nation did not seem to reciprocate. The circumstances might be different, but it might strike a chord with readers in Nepal, many of whom marched on the streets in September hoping for a better tomorrow, but were gunned down by the very institutions meant to protect them. It might resonate with those who are not seen as citizens of this nation simply because they might not fit into an imagined idea of Nepali nationhood.&nbsp; Arundhati’s relationship with her mother, who was simultaneously proud and disdainful of her daughter’s accomplishments, continued to be tumultuous until the end of Mary Roy’s life.&nbsp; One of Mrs Roy’s last messages to her daughter before she passed was: ‘There is no one in the world whom I have loved more than you.’ Arundhati muses that her lifelong refusal to stop loving her mother must have finally breached her barriers. One wonders if that final declaration of love was solace enough, apology enough, for all the pain caused.&nbsp; But for Arundhati Roy, her love for her mother and her motherland outweighs the cruelty both have shown her. This, too, must be a singular, yet universal experience.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Mother Mary Comes to Me review"> </figure>

The sins of our mothers

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

battery-powered-vehicles

EV year २०८१

The road to electric transportation in Nepal

Bhutan political prisoner dies in detention

Some chicken, some neck

The sins of our mothers

A dystopian motherland