At the start of 2023 I was working in a bank, by the end of the year I was standing at the top of Gokyo Ri watching as the last light of the day hit the top of Everest. If you had told the January 2023 version of me what my life would be like now, I would have laughed. I have spent the last five months in Nepal, while this is my fourth time in Nepal, it has been the first time that I have properly lived in the country and my first time pursuing my passion for journalism and photography. There is something magical about Nepal that is apparent from the moment you arrive - a sense of comfort and innumerable possibilities. It is a rare thing to visit a new country and immediately feel at ease. I never knew it was possible to be overcome with nostalgia for a place I had never visited before until I came to Kathmandu.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060252_97157c465c2bf34d65eb7af17bcac6d2204042f1fc4c51b6de30047155f98c51.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240208060252_97157c465c2bf34d65eb7af17bcac6d2204042f1fc4c51b6de30047155f98c51" data-rendition-name="original" width="4992" height="3328" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog3"></figure>  Throughout my time at the Nepali Times, I have written about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/a-flowering-artform">Nepali botanical art</a>,<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/just-jazz-in-kathmandu"> jazz festivals</a>, profiled an ex-soldier and athlete, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mobile-rule-makes-nepal-immobile">mobile phone legislation</a>, climate change, and Nepali <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/business/nepali-chef-s-french-connection">cuisine</a>. I have found that journalism is a wonderful vehicle through which one can develop a better understanding of the world and one’s place in it, and, ultimately, learn and experience things that you would otherwise never have the opportunity to. I have been able to learn more about Nepal, its culture, and its society. By writing articles for the Nepali Times, I’ve been able to join together the diverse fragments of Nepal that I have experienced into one cohesive tapestry. The highlight has been meeting the people and having the opportunity to share their stories. In October in the Annapurna Region, I had the good fortune of meeting Captain Poon when I stayed at his teahouse in Ghorepani, who graciously shared with me his incredible life story. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/ex-soldier-dives-into-business-and-politics">Captain Poon</a>’s life can only be described as remarkable, he began his journey as a Gurkha before becoming an international diving champion only to then become a business owner, a politician, and a local hero. I loved being able to learn more about his life and ultimately share his story so that others could also have the privilege of knowing him. Seeing the reaction to the story by him, and his family, was truly wonderful and allowed me to realise the power and impact that stories can have, and the ability of journalism to allow people to connect with the lives of those even in the most remote of places.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060252_d904f5a6fa3dc0181b5eeadae1e37399dadb7a8d80a310a97b7af1c31e020463.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240208060252_d904f5a6fa3dc0181b5eeadae1e37399dadb7a8d80a310a97b7af1c31e020463" data-rendition-name="original" width="2948" height="2806" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog2"></figure>  Naturally, no trip to Nepal would be complete without a trek, so I spent the first two weeks of December journeying to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/go-gokyo">Gokyo Ri</a>. It was a spellbinding experience, the deafening beauty of Nepal’s mountains was heightened by the fact that for the majority of the journey, the only people on the narrow paths were the guide and I. The sheer scale of the towering mountains and the vast and expansive landscapes were so overwhelming that I often felt the urge to look away. In the best possible way, I had never felt so small in my life, talk about giving you a sense of perspective. However, my perspective was also altered in another way - while I was able to witness the diverse beauty of the Khumbu region, I also witnessed the devastating impact that climate change is already having on the beautiful Himalayas. Despite being in one of the highest places in the world and in the depths of winter, there was a distinct lack of ice and snow, this was most notable looking down on the Everest Range, where the snow was sparse at best where even the tallest mountain in the world looked bare. In Europe, talk is cheap, and climate change is treated as a selling point but it is these regions such as Khumbu that will be the most affected. It was truly an eye-opening experience that I will forever remember.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060256_58f188835a61d00c9b1640020703021355c324cc4ead410cec28fffd1ddfff0d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240208060256_58f188835a61d00c9b1640020703021355c324cc4ead410cec28fffd1ddfff0d" data-rendition-name="original" width="4096" height="2730" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog 5"></figure>  Another thing that was particularly striking was witnessing the different attitudes towards life and death in Nepal, especially in comparison to Western perceptions. A few days after landing in the country, I had the privilege to experience Gai Jatra in Bhaktapur, a celebration of life in the face of death, for those who had lost loved ones the previous year, it is a chance to celebrate their honour, very much reminiscent of the “Day of the Dead”. Generally speaking, in “the West” we shy away from death, refuse to speak of its existence and ultimately dedicate our lives to delaying the inevitable. Through festivals like Gai Jatra, I found that death became not a scary, elephant in the room, nor a source of tragedy but rather an opportunity to celebrate life, to bring people together, to create a sense of hope. Life and death are not beginnings and endings but rather part of the constant passage of time. No place is a better embodiment of the refreshing Nepali attitude toward mortality than Pashupathinath where I was lucky enough to witness the evening prayer, and to put it plainly, I had never seen anything like it. The exuberant atmosphere would never make you think that is technically a site of death. While grieving families cremated their lost loved ones, 100m away were people singing and dancing, and street vendors selling cotton candy. One would think that this would be a juxtaposition but upon reflection, perhaps not, perhaps joy and grieving need not be mutually exclusive.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060252_4c6d8eac5bd31e5b757be8980be6e86541e27c8647d33ed11f48cce0f022eba8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20240208060252_4c6d8eac5bd31e5b757be8980be6e86541e27c8647d33ed11f48cce0f022eba8" data-rendition-name="original" width="3120" height="2080" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog4"></figure>  At the risk of sounding clichè, the more of Nepal I experienced, the more Anthony Bourdain’s “travel is about the gorgeous feeling of teetering on the unknown” rang true. There is nothing more rewarding than getting to know a place, to slowly peel back the layers of expatriate separation, and begin the process of making a new place your home. There is truly no place easier to make your home than Nepal, the country is warm and welcoming, and its people even more so. Journalism has provided me the opportunity to unfurl my tourist pre-conceptions of Nepal and enabled me to dive head first into the complexities of this magical country. I found that just when you think you have experienced everything that Nepal has to offer, something shifts and a completely new, unexpected side of the country is serendipitously revealed.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060256_4e6f6f0d70a4e07f8bdf5a668b96b7baf04d3e8a060c924d442505b60867d531.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20240208060256_4e6f6f0d70a4e07f8bdf5a668b96b7baf04d3e8a060c924d442505b60867d531" data-rendition-name="original" width="2080" height="3120" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog 6"></figure>  As someone who grew up reading Tintin and spent their teens idolising Anthony Bourdain, this experience has been the manifestation of my childhood daydreams. I witnessed the sun setting over the World’s tallest mountain, visited the holiest of temples, tried the sweetest of foods, and most importantly, met the most incredible of people. While a part of my heart breaks that this experience has come to an end, I do not feel bitter or forlorn, rather I am filled with immense gratitude. I have never experienced such kindness and joy as I have from the Nepali people and I hope to take some of that warmth back with me to Europe. Namaste Nepal, and thank you for everything.

original

674x448

610x380

500x500

400x266

400x240

400x203

301x200

1250x600

1084x550

Beyond the pre-conceptions of Nepal

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238939c7e80680e0c7392jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"/><figcaption>VECTOR FOR VIRUS: Stagnant pools of water, an ideal breeding site for the dengue mosquito, outside the Sukraraj Tropical &amp; Infectious Diseases Hospital at Teku, which on Thursday saw 250 new dengue patients. Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption></figure>It is not called ‘breakbone fever’ for nothing. Every bone, every muscle, every joint throbs with searing pain, as my body burned with high fever. It was not just for a day or two, it lasted weeks. The fever has finally subsided, but I am too weak even to walk.As a public health graduate myself, and someone who has covered health and environment for this publication, I am used to covering disease outbreaks. But my experience with Covid last year, and now being struck down by dengue, I became the story I was reporting on.It has been two months since the first cases of dengue surfaced in Kathmandu Valley. There was  an outbreak in 2019, and everyone thought it would pass.But this monsoon, there has been no letup. The virus has spread like wildfire, exposing just how woefully unprepared national and local governments are in preventing a disease that has no cure.The fever has now spread to all 77 districts with 10,000 patients in hospitals, many thousands more are recovering at home. Doctors have reported Covid patients with dengue complications.“We are at the peak of the dengue outbreak,” warns Sher Bahadur Pun, virologist at the Sukraraj Tropical &amp; Infectious Disease Hospital in Kathmandu which is seeing 250 patients a day. “I wish I had better news, we are at the mercy of the virus, and will just have to wait for winter.”But Kathmandu Mayor Balen Shah posted on Facebook asking the public not to wait for winter. He said money had been allocated for wards, many are carrying out  ineffective fumigation.Roshan Pokhrel, Secretary at the Ministry of Health says: “There is no cure for this. The only way is to search and destroy mosquito breeding grounds.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/state-of-malaise/">State of malaise</a>, Sonia AwaleBut that is easier said than done. Draining stagnant pools is too late, infected mosquitos are already inside homes. The female Aedes aegypti mosquito has ideal breeding areas during this wet monsoon, and climate change is letting the virus move to higher elevations.A female mosquito can lay up to 700 eggs even in a small pool of water, and can pass on the virus to its offspring. The mosquitos then can fly and infect in a radius of 300m, and they bite mainly in the daytime so that mosquito nets while sleeping are not really a deterrent. When the pools dry up, the larvae lie dormant and carry the virus next summer.“Preventing mosquito bites is still the priority, people need to know about effective repellents, especially the ones containing DEET (diethyltoluamide), recommended by WHO and CDC as the most active ingredient in insect repellents,” says Buddha Basnyat, a physician at Patan Academy of Health Sciences.Also important is to assure patients that although painful, dengue is rarely fatal, Basnyat assured me this week as I tried to regain my strength after two weeks of high fever.Last month, I was preparing a review of new studies about air pollution when I started feeling feverish. It got difficult to even sit at my desk. Wincing with pain, I barely met the deadline for page 1. At that point, air pollution seemed to be the least of my problems.The next two weeks are a blur. Fever that reached and stayed at 103°F for days on end, even touching my skin was painful, my eye sockets hurt. Paracetamol was the only medicine, and I needed cold presses to keep the fever down.One evening, the temperature hit 104°F and that was when I felt like I was hallucinating. With such high fever, sleep is impossible. I could not even toss and turn because of the pain.Eating was out of the question, even drinking water took enormous effort. Aside from the pain was the nausea and retching, which made the pain worse.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-dangers-of-the-dengue-virus/">The dangers of the dengue virus</a>, Tom RobertsonI cannot explain in words just how unpleasant dengue is. God forbid, you have to experience it yourself.The other experience of my convalescence was how the medical profession in Kathmandu from doctors to pharmacies are abusing this epidemic for unethical profit. There is no medicine for dengue, just paracetamol to numb the pain, water to replenish the body’s fluids, and rest – lots of it.My neighbourhood in Patan is a dengue hotspot, every household has at least one person who is sick. Some neighbours have been prescribed antibiotics, even though they are harmful to dengue patients.“Dengue is a viral infection, prescribing antibiotics does no good,” Buddha Basnyat told me. “They are prescribing Azithromycin used for typhoid and typhus. This misuse can actually lead to resistance against those diseases.” Virologist Pun at Teku Hospital says he is getting patients at his fever clinic with complications because of antibiotic intake. Patients buy antibiotics over the counter in the misguided notion that it will make the fever go down.The only effective prevention is to remove mosquito breeding grounds, but with the city being in the state it is in with garbage piles, open drains and potholes, it will need a mass awareness campaign with enforcement and fines as is done in other tropical Asian cities.Climate change means that mosquito vectors and their pathogens are moving up, and besides dengue we will also have to watch out for malaria or encephalitis in areas they were unheard of before.“Vector insects are moving from the southern plains to the northern mountains and with them the diseases they carry,” explains Pun.This means Nepalis may have to experience more deadly outbreaks before the most vulnerable people become a priority for the state.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mosquitoes-move-up-mountains-as-the-earth-warms/">Mosquitoes move up mountains as the earth warms</a>, Sonia Awale-----------------------------<h2>Operation Search and Destroy</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238959c7e80680e0c7393jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="699"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Dengue is a viral infection transmitted to humans through the bite of infected Aedes aegypti or Aedes albopictus mosquitos. Because there are four different serotypes, an individual previously affected can get even more severe dengue due to the body's auto-immunity.There is no cure for dengue. A vaccine is available, but it is recommended only for those previously infected. Patients can be tested for dengue with RT-PCR or enzyme-linked immunosorbent assays (ELISA).Prevention is better than cure, and this is most true for dengue. Some 80% of dengue cases are asymptomatic, but for the rest it could be a very painful experience for up to 2 weeks.Painkillers are not advised, only paracetamol, up to 1,000mg at one time 3 times a day.The only antidote to dengue is to deprive the mosquito of stagnant pools of water to breed. It can be a plastic bottle cap in a garbage dump or the inside of a discarded tyre, anything is suitable for the female mosquito to lay her eggs.She can lay up to 700 eggs in their two-week lifetime. And if the mother is infected, all her offspring are born with the virus too. These mosquitos can fly and infect everyone in a 300m radius.Dengue was first detected in Nepal in 2004 on a visitor. Since then there have been cases every year with the biggest outbreaks in 2019 and this year. Once present in the environment, the virus can remain for years since the infected mosquito larvae can carry it into next summer.The only way to prevent dengue and other mosquito borne diseases like malaria and encephalitis is to declare Operaton Search and Destroy on their breeding grounds.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/climate-health-emergency/">Climate-health emergency</a>, Sonia Awale

Sonia Awale

Dengue days are here to stay

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 75th 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. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.

Things eventually work out

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

In a democracy, governments come and go. But Nepal had become so entangled in the triangular affair between Sher Bahadur Deuba, K P Oli and Pushpa Kamal Dahal that it was becoming impossible to tell who was canoodling with whom.&nbsp;
All three had long since abandoned their party ideologies. Staying in power was all that mattered as they turned Nepal’s democracy into a kleptocracy.&nbsp;
For the past at least 20 years, we have warned them to mend their ways. Democracy had to be rescued from the hands of such kakistocrats. Waiting to pounce were monarchists and anarchists of every ilk, outcast Maoists, and supporters of a leader jailed for fraud. Tycoon Durga Prasai said his rally in March was to restore a Hindu monarchy, but he was just a temporary royalist whom even the ex-king spurned.&nbsp;
All this converged into a perfect storm on 8 September. Commandos shot and killed 19 innocent young people outside Parliament, the anger boiled over into targetted arson and vandalism the next day. The government fell, and Sushila Karki was elected interim prime minister through Discord.&nbsp;
With not just their monopoly on power but also their very lives in danger, the triumvirate was at first in total shock. Then came conspiracy theories and an inability to gauge the rage from decades of misrule.
Nepalis had assumed that after September the old parties would see their folly, and step down to hand over the leadership to a new generation. But 10 weeks later, there is no sign of any act of contrition.
In the NC, Sher Bahadur Deuba has sidelined the caretaker he himself appointed, Purna Bahadur Khadka, and is active again as the party prepares for a showdown in its Convention next month. The UML is proceeding with its own General Convention, where Oli is fully assured of a third term as party boss. Dahal sees no alternative to himself in his newly-forged Nepali Communist Party and is eagerly eyeing becoming prime minister for the fourth time.&nbsp;
The three leaders who everyone had hoped would finally retire have reincarnated. It is obscene for obsolete politicians to still hanker for power after all that has happened.&nbsp;
SHOCK AND AWE
The three leaders who have been prime minister a dozen times between themselves want to cling on, but this is not abnormal if we apply <a href="https://www.bbc.com/audio/play/w3cszmjz" target="_blank">Elisabeth Kübler-Ross</a>’ theory of the five stages of grief. The author of <a href="https://www.google.com.np/books/edition/On_Death_and_Dying/GlSq0AEACAAJ?hl=en" target="_blank">On Death and Dying</a> was analysing how people with terminal illness deal with their situation, but her 5-stage theory may be applicable to the way heads of the NC, UML and NCP are reacting to the shock of being overthrown — first with denial, then anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.&nbsp;
On 9 September, distressed by what had befallen them, the three were in total denial. Then began the stage of anger. Oli ranted in public about a conspiracy to install an ‘unconstitutional’ interim government, blaming the Nepal Army, and vowing not to take part in election even while preparing for it.
The NC has decided to participate in elections, although it has to first sort out its internal power struggle. The NCP and the RSP have united with smaller parties and are actively preparing to campaign. GenZ groups are speaking in different voices, with Sudan Gurung and Miraj Dhungana openly trying to unseat an interim government they themselves installed.&nbsp;
The parties are now in the third stage: bargaining. Instead of asking himself in hindsight what he should have done, Oli wants Parliament restored but has also registered his party for elections. The UML won't allow elections unless the government lifts restrictions on Oli’s movement.
Likewise, GenZ groups are putting up conditions for supporting polls: arrest Oli and others. Karki is single-mindedly focussed on elections, even if it has to be put off by two months. The Army would also like polls on time because it does not want a repeat of September when it had to intervene to form the interim government.
If Karki’s 6-month mandate ends without elections, and if by then the GenZ’s trust in the interim government collapses, then UML and NC could plan to press for an all-party election government, restoration of Parliament which would then dissolve itself to appoint a new prime minister that Karki would also be agreeable to.
The current state of affairs makes it difficult to imagine elections being held on 5 March — mainly because polls would be incomplete without the three main parties taking part, and it is unlikely they would participate in polls that they are certain to lose since they have not reformed themselves. Amidst these ifs and buts, the role of the Army will be critical.&nbsp;
The fourth stage of grief is depression, and that is what will happen to the parties when the reality of their unpopularity finally hits them. Only then will they finally accept their fate, realise that it was all their own doing, and perhaps reinvent themselves.
Kübler-Ross said the five stages did not necessarily have to be in that order, or that sometimes there may only be three phases, which may be applicable to the parties. What is for sure is that the three leaders are in no mood to atone for their sins.
Rabin Giri is an editor with <a href="http://nepalnews.com/" target="_blank">nepalnews.com</a>.&nbsp;

blog

Beyond the pre-conceptions of Nepal

Dengue days are here to stay

A new normal

Things eventually work out

My father’s son

Stages of denial