Last month, Finance Minister Bishnu Paudel and Pokhara Mayor Dhanraj Acharya were burned when hydrogen-filled balloons exploded at the launch of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/pokhara-s-tourism-woes">Pokhara Visit Year 2025</a>. Both were flown to Kathmandu for treatment. In 2023, Nepali Congress Member of Parliament (MP) Chandra Bhandari was severely burned in a kitchen fire. He was taken to India for treatment. His Rs5.6 million medevac and treatment bill was paid by the government. It took the<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/burning-in-the-aftermath,3757"> burn injuries </a>of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-nepal-s-vip-prisoners-do-in-jail">high-profile figures </a>in Nepal to finally spark action on an issue that affects mainly the country’s poorest. “We call this the burns paradox,” says Kiran Nakarmi at the Nepal Cleft and Burn Centre at Kirtipur Hospital, where the Pokhara patients received care. “Treatment is costly and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19400">most victims are poor</a>."&nbsp; About 60,000 people suffer <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/removing-scars?fbclid=IwAR2MiX-ZhGNSsqUwgDYfvLWE3a7ZeLaHncz66MMKLQGtSSraTjr9cF5mIWo">burn injuries</a> in Nepal each year and 2,200 of them die. The demand for care in Kirtipur is growing.&nbsp; In 2014, it treated 90 <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/A-burning-desire-to-help,881">burn patients</a> and this more than doubled to 194 in 2015, reached 373 in 2016, and peaked at 790 in 2023. Last year the Centre treated 753 patients, and in January alone this year it was 111. Ninety-two percent of cases come from outside Kathmandu from 75 districts,” says Nakarmi. “When we started it was 42%.”&nbsp; Ideally, burns treatment should be decentralised so that local levels have primary <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/altruistic-healthcare-models-in-nepal">burn care centres</a> no more than two hours away, where patients can get initial treatment like cooling and dressing of wounds, and fluid replacement. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/removing-scars?fbclid=IwAR3YJaMAa7AekbmwWYy3UlNnJkDj8XZk8qRxcagXd7Sl0M4m4SzolGs_0ow">Removing Scars</a>, Yugeshwor Koirala If necessary, they could be transferred to regional centres to handle surgery for minor burns. The government has already designated six such facilities across the country, and Nakarmi says the Centre could train their staff. He clicks forward on a slide to show a female patient brought in two months ago with her buttocks and thighs burned. “The wound was deep, it was not going to heal on its own. She needed some kind of graft.” If surgeons at a regional facility were properly trained, they could have done the graft. Instead, the patient waited for one month before coming to Kirtipur.&nbsp; Nakarmi is looking for funding for a 70-bed national burn care centre at Kirtipur Hospital, where patients can be isolated from the risk of infection that comes with sharing space in general wards. Another MP, Bindabasini Kansakar, is herself a<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-acid-attack-survivors-find-a-saviour"> survivor of an acid attack </a>by a spurned suitor in 2013. She registered a Bill in Parliament last year that includes specialised burn units in all <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/devolution-for-development">government hospitals </a>with 100+ beds, and in some private hospitals and medical colleges in Kathmandu. She is also calling on the government to create a fund to give immediate <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/justice-delayed-justice-denied-byrx8a1c">financial support to victims </a>and their families, discounts for women and children, especially from poorer communities, as well as training for health staff, twice yearly awareness programmes at local levels, and strong penalties to deter acid attacks and intentional burn injuries. Parliament’s delay in passing the Bill is ‘deeply frustrating, especially given my personal experience,’ Kansakar wrote to us.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250314110312_8d1a63b9d63d2ee0c116ffa1bc46e9a3aa5e63e7cdeeceb5a67fd7e772fbe957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20250314110312_8d1a63b9d63d2ee0c116ffa1bc46e9a3aa5e63e7cdeeceb5a67fd7e772fbe957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1446" height="717" loading="lazy" alt="burn incidents in Nepal"> <figcaption>Member of Parliament Bindabasini Kansakar before an acid attack by a spurred suitor in 2013 (left), after, and now. </figcaption> </figure>  ‘I know first-hand the physical, emotional, and financial struggles<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18771"> burn victims </a>endure. Delays mean more victims are left without proper care, financial support, or legal protection,’ she added. ‘If burns affected wealthier or more influential communities, the response might have been swifter. This inequality is precisely why the Bill is so crucial — to ensure<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/justice-delayed-justice-denied-byrx8a1c"> justice and support for all victims</a>, regardless of their social standing.’ Burn incidents are the second most common injury in rural Nepal, according to the World Health Organization, and researcher Kamal Phuyal says that making just a handful of simple adjustments to everyday life could prevent most major burns. Before <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/ways-nepal-can-rebound-from-covid-19-2966ixvu">Covid-19</a>, he ran a research project in three municipalities in the mountains, hills and Tarai. After six months gathering data, the team told locals to make changes in their communities to prevent burns. For the next two and a half years, Phuyal worked with health staff, female community <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/enlisting-female-health-volunteers-to-fight-covid-19-b4qlgy1e">health volunteers</a> and other locals. In that time, the number of major burns in the three districts dropped from 21 to zero for two years running. The most effective change was to stop people from cooking on the ground. “If you can put the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-s-cooking-in-nepal-besides-politics">cooking stoves</a> just three feet (1m) off the ground, 50% of burns can be eliminated,” explains Phuyal.&nbsp; Nakarmi says that 70% of patients at Kirtipur Hospital, too, got burn injuries in the kitchen. “It should be the safest place to be, but it is the most unsafe,” she adds. Phuyal says<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/deputies-drive-development-in-rural-nepal"> local representatives</a> were convinced by his findings and, especially in Makwanpur, eager to make changes. He expected them to adopt a policy to approve construction of a house only if the plans included putting the cooking space 1m off the ground, to reduce burn incidents, Phuyal explained at a training session at Sushma Koirala Memorial Hospital (SKMH) last October. But <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-uneven-covid-19-deaths">Covid-19</a> hit, the project ended, the officials were replaced after elections, and the work lost momentum. Today, no <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/local-government-by-the-people-for-the-people-of-the-people">local government</a> seems to have moved forward on <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18770">burn prevention</a>. During the training session at SKMH, the hospital’s deputy director, Rojina Shilpakar, described some of the burn cases at the facility in recent months. In Dailekh district, two boys were severely burned while collecting fodder. “The parents all thought that they would die so they didn’t take them for medical help. But after two weeks they survived and the story was posted on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-social-media-contagion">social media</a>.” The hospital reached out and arranged for both boys to be brought to Kathmandu, one to Kirtipur Hospital and the other to SKMH, with burns on 40% of his body. “He was emaciated, just flesh and bones, covered in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/medicine-goes-back-to-its-roots?fbclid=IwAR31DMkL6vtx8KFvX3KG79Jf6omKN8H8VZ0Dr9G-1UWtIBlFHNphMJi8mrY">herbal medicine </a>that looked like mud,” recalls Shilpakar. If he had been brought for treatment quickly, he could have recovered sooner, she adds. But he was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nearly-half-of-nepali-children-still-malnourished">malnourished,</a> and contractures had developed where one part of the body sticks to another, preventing movement. “We couldn’t take him to the operating room right away because of his malnourished condition. He had to gain some weight, increase his haemoglobin levels. Even skin grafts were not taken properly, so it affected the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-art-of-healing">healing,</a>” explains Shilpakar. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/pandemic-of-poverty">Poverty</a> prevents many families from<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/it-s-an-emergency-nepal-needs-to-improve-trauma-care"> seeking care</a>, although both facilities will not turn away burn cases for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/poor-cash-rich-nepal">lack of money</a>. SKMH paid the bills for the Dailekh boys' treatment, including an eight-month hospital stay. Now seven, the youngster has already had a follow-up surgery and is likely to need more operations as he grows. Smaller <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/healthcare-moving-from-hospitals-to-homes">hospitals</a> outside Kathmandu often do not not accept severe burn cases, and instead send them immediately to a larger facility. “If the patient dies within a few hours, they will be blamed, So they just try to push them away,” adds Shilpakar. SKMH has been <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16801">training health workers</a> from across the country to treat burns since 2012. This includes countering the prevalent belief at the time that burn victims should not be given fluids. Patients would reach the centre <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/dirty-dangerous-difficult-and-dehydrating">dehydrated</a>, and then go into acute <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/saving-kidneys-to-save-nepal">kidney failure</a>. Some with a high percentage of burns die. Those cases have decreased in the last few years because <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/nepal-health-workers-at-risk-of-workplace-hazards">health workers </a>have been trained, including to give fluids to patients. The treatment at the Cleft and Burn Centre has become much more effective since it opened in 2014. Says Nakarmi: “Back then we could not save anyone who had 40% burns or greater. Now we can save half of victims with 40% burns, and if someone has 60% burns, they have a 15% chance of survival. We aim to save half of patients with 60% burns.” The centre developed a six-day training for health staff on burns care for workers from facilities country-wide, but funding was provided by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/how-usaid-cut-affects-nepal">USAID</a> and has been cut. There is no replacement in sight. Recent increase in government support for burns treatment seems to have been sparked by the case of MP Bhandari. In October, the government announced free treatment for patients from the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/why-nepal-s-poverty-rate-is-stuck"> poorest families</a>.&nbsp; “But there is a little catch,” says Nakarmi. “The treatment of destitute burn victims, are supposed to be covered right? But everyone else also wants to get support. A lot of Nepali people are not destitute, but they are poor. We just try to cover their costs as much as possible.”

Marty Logan

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A burning problem that needs solutions

Pritam Kunwar was born with a cleft lip and palate in Pokhara, but his family could not afford treatment for his condition. His face was disfigured, his speech was unintelligible, and the food he ate would often get into his nasal cavity.&nbsp; Finally, at 15 he received cleft surgery, but without post-operative therapy his speech was still impaired. Then one day, at age 26, his life changed. He used to make a living rowing boats at Phewa Lake, where a foreigner hopped on for a ride. He turned out to be a plastic surgeon volunteering in Nepal who referred him to Fishtail Hospital. That is where he met Shankar Man Rai. Kunwar underwent a second surgery, and received speech therapy. Today, he holds a Taekwondo black belt, and runs an academy by Pokhara’s Lakeside, training young women in self-defence. “Before my second surgery, the students at my martial arts academy did not understand a word I said, but after I could speak properly they learnt faster,” recalls Kunwar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230804080844_7e557a7682a0bc504237ed5cf9b1b6082ecf346ee34a541c43ae00d25377a2d2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20230804080844_7e557a7682a0bc504237ed5cf9b1b6082ecf346ee34a541c43ae00d25377a2d2" data-rendition-name="original" width="7238" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Removing scars 2"> <figcaption>Pritam Kunwar was born with a cleft lip and palate in Pokhara. After two surgeries and speech therapy, he now runs a Taekwondo academy training women in self defence.(Photo: Jana Ašenbrennerová)</figcaption> </figure>  On average, one out of every 500 live births in Nepal is a case of cleft lip or palate, birth deformities in which the lip or palate fail to fuse. Incidence in Nepal is higher than in most parts of the world for reasons which are unclear, but may have to do with a combination of genetic and environmental factors.&nbsp; However, the numbers afflicted are going down due to awareness and treatment at the <a href="https://nepalcleftandburncenter.org/">Nepal Cleft and Burn Center</a> at Kirtipur overlooking Kathmandu.&nbsp; “Before the 1980s, cleft and burn treatment through plastic surgery was unheard of in the country,” explains Shankar Man Rai, who is now a plastic surgeon and director of the Kirtipur centre. “International volunteer teams carried out the procedures, while Nepali doctors remained under-equipped.” Since then, Rai’s team has seen that scenario change. Improved awareness of the condition means parents bring their children for treatment to the 30-bed Centre almost as soon as they are born.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230804080844_56ba408f9cd1b497374609fc6002f6a5412b99432d4aff498f8f8fca81445e6d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230804080844_56ba408f9cd1b497374609fc6002f6a5412b99432d4aff498f8f8fca81445e6d" data-rendition-name="original" width="3600" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Removing scars"> <figcaption>Shankar Man Rai(Photo: Jana Ašenbrennerová)</figcaption> </figure>  Nepali paediatric and general surgeons were trained by the international teams, and for over 25 years Rai’s team has been treating thousands of burn and cleft patients free of cost. The facility is funded by two non-profits, ReSurge International and Smile Train. The facility at Kirtipur was inaugurated in 2014, but the <a href="https://nepalcleftandburncenter.org/">Cleft and Burn Center </a>was initiated in 2002 by American textile retailer Jim Webber after meeting Rai in Nepal. Webber ran the Tibet Rug company, and organised financial support from other rug importers from Nepal to help fund the project.&nbsp; Since then, the Center has been Nepal’s first and leading teaching hospital specialising in deformity-correction surgery. Today, it is being run by Kirtipur Municipality and the non-profit <a href="https://www.phectnepal.org/">Public Health Concern Trust Nepal (phect-NEPAL)</a>, providing free treatment not just to patients at the centre but through camps in remote parts of the country.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230804080844_a5ba78663011d44d14e8c3f4d8dccbf4eb23c07d9d5dd7770187c4788023878b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230804080844_a5ba78663011d44d14e8c3f4d8dccbf4eb23c07d9d5dd7770187c4788023878b" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Removing scars"> <figcaption>Photo: PHECT NEPAL</figcaption> </figure>  Kiran Nakarmi is the head of the Department of Burns, Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery at Kirtipur Hospital who worked with Rai to set up the centre. He says a cleft lip is easily recognised in infants, and can now even be diagnosed via ultrasound before birth. “Timely treatment is important because it yields better speech outcomes,” Nakarmi explains. “Our focus is on comprehensive care. Surgery alone is not enough, it needs follow-up with speech and occupational therapy and counseling.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230804080848_ee0057f9cd2d17d2834babd2164720028ef66b3d41fec3199246d7e21b2d4d91.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20230804080848_ee0057f9cd2d17d2834babd2164720028ef66b3d41fec3199246d7e21b2d4d91" data-rendition-name="original" width="3600" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Remioving scars 6"> <figcaption>Kiran Nakarmi looks at a patient.(Photo: Jana Ašenbrennerová)</figcaption> </figure>  The Kirtipur center’s camps have reached many rural parts of Nepal, impacting more than 20,000 cleft patients. Initially, speech therapists used to go to the camps but now has trained nurses like Kabita Bhattarai Gurung to carry out the same task.&nbsp; The outreach camps provide free food, lodging, orthodontic treatment, parental counseling, and speech therapy to patients, a model which Rai says can be replicated globally.&nbsp; The caseload for cleft palates has fallen sharply and the Kiritpur center which used to carry out up to 1,200 cleft operations a year till a decade ago now performs half that.&nbsp; <h2>Burning need</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230804080844_9a3c5a83db7f5f9ef918acbe1093472f7c9c2c6e9266078038b34420e00208bf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20230804080844_9a3c5a83db7f5f9ef918acbe1093472f7c9c2c6e9266078038b34420e00208bf" data-rendition-name="original" width="3600" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Removing scars"> </figure>  But with the decline in cleft cases, there has been a growing need to treat burn patients at Kirtipur.&nbsp; Bhesh, 14, was playing in his home in western Nepal when he heard his mother shriek from the kitchen. She was cooking when the open fire spread and engulfed the house.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/burning-in-the-aftermath,3757">Burning in the aftermath,</a> Sahina Shrestha Four days later, both Bhesh and his mother arrived at Nepal Cleft and Burn Center. The long ride had been excruciating, and with burns over 30% of her body, his mother died shortly after. Bhesh went through several surgeries and skin grafts. Over a third of the patients admitted to the Centre are children, and half are women.&nbsp; “We think that the home is the safest place, but that is where most burn injuries occur,” says Rai. “The proportion of children with burns at the Center shot up to over 40% during the pandemic. At home they were more at risk.” Rural women are exposed to open fires, and children suffer because they are largely unsupervised in high-hazard settings. Disfigured burn patients have to deal with social stigma because they are seen as a sign of bad luck.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230804080848_0f27d63b1f3a521c61cdb69bc45799d40ba1bea94c60d094cab9e6b5d7279035.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20230804080848_0f27d63b1f3a521c61cdb69bc45799d40ba1bea94c60d094cab9e6b5d7279035" data-rendition-name="original" width="3600" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Removing scars"> </figure>  The Center also treats burn violence usually perpetrated against women in the homes of in-laws, and this adds to the count of the 110 people who die of burns each year in Nepal. “Burns survivors in Nepal need more support,” says<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18771"> Wendy Marston, co-founder and advisor of Burns Violence Survivors (BVS) Nepal</a>. “Small acts of kindness from all of us, such as the spreading of education, and charitable giving, can go far in helping these survivors and patients.” BVS Nepal works with underserved patients in over 12 hospitals, providing funds for their treatment, therapy, and setting up businesses for survivors. Its prevention approach is shared by the Burn and Cleft Center which also holds burn awareness camps for community health workers and local people. “For household burns, awareness is surely the first step towards prevention,” Rai says. “But we can’t simply tell people what to do if they don’t have the means to act.” A WHO study shows that burns are the second most common injury in rural Nepal, accounting for 5% of disabilities in the country,&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/tsering-sumjok-is-all-right">Tsering Sumjok is all right</a>, Sahina Shrestha “When we first started treating burns, we began with disabilities caused by post-burn contractures,” explains Nakarmi. “If the wound is in a place such as a joint, this causes the patient to lose mobility.”&nbsp; The Kirtipur team prioritises comprehensive care for burn contractures. But unlike with cleft palates, they failed to see any decline in the caseload even after years of effort. Rai says this is because burn survivors are not getting the treatment needed. Surgeons hope that using flaps and grafts they can reduce the occurrence of contractures. Nepal’s difficult geography keeps patients like Bhesh from quickly receiving care. Burn survivors from all over the country are referred to the few specialised centres in Kathmandu, but there is usually a long waiting list and it takes weeks before a doctor can see them.&nbsp; The Kirtipur Center has largely succeeded in minimising waits by enabling surgeons to go to patients instead of the other way around. This means patients at the Center receive the surgery they need within days of being admitted.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230804080852_34cfa9c4509717fa9b1fb8ff4184effa8d3e8d199b834ffae5ca43c117dd6611.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20230804080852_34cfa9c4509717fa9b1fb8ff4184effa8d3e8d199b834ffae5ca43c117dd6611" data-rendition-name="original" width="3600" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Removing scar"> </figure>  But there are challenges. “Your treatment is not possible here,” were the words that Nepali Congress leader Chandra Bhandari heard at the Nepal Burn and Cleft Center where he was rushed there after suffering severe burn wounds in a gas cylinder explosion in February. Bhandari was eventually medevaced to Mumbai where he was successfully treated.&nbsp; “It is unfair that any Nepali should have to go abroad for burn treatment,” Bhandari told Nepali Times. “Our surgeons are the best in the world, yet they have had to rely solely on individual and community effort. The government urgently needs to support the surgeons, and I pledge to do what I can.”&nbsp; There are only 30-40 reconstructive plastic surgeons in the country, eight of them at Kirtipur, which offers a residency program for reconstructive plastic surgery affiliated with the National Academy of Medical Sciences program at Bir Hospital, whose curriculum was developed by Rai.&nbsp; While cosmetic plastic surgery is a booming profession in Nepal, the niche dedicated to burns treatment has not got the attention it deserves. Kirtipur Hospital, for instance, only has seven ICU beds, The country’s only skin bank at the Center has got only 31 donations in the nine years since it was set up.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/A-burning-desire-to-help,881">A burning desire to help</a>, Kunda Dixit With little government support, the Center mostly runs on international help for free treatment to about 600 patients a year. But even as its focus shifts from clefts to burns, international assistance is skewed in favour of cleft palates.&nbsp; “We get more donations than we need for clefts,” Rai reveals. “Burns are where we need greater investment, but because they are more expensive and complex, and have higher odds of ending in mortality, there is less interest from donors.” Not only is the government not providing needed help, its bureaucracy puts up obstacles every step of the way. Kirtipur Municipality received a donation of Rs2,900,000 for urgent burn treatment supplies. But red tape has delayed delivery. The Center now has an ambitious plan to establish a sustainable fund for free burns treatment by encouraging donations from well-to-do local Nepalis and the diaspora. The goal is not to have to turn to international donors for money. The Nepal Cleft and Burn Center will soon open a branch in Itahari of Sunsari district with the same level of care as Kirtipur.&nbsp; Says Nakarmi: “We don’t need big, lavish burn hospitals all over the country. We need a lot more primary burn centers where rural patients can receive immediate care, and then be referred to the larger centers if need be.” Nepal has seen major improvements in burn and cleft palate surgeries in recent years thanks to doctors like Rai and Nakarmi. Says Rai: “I am sure we will see a day when no patient seeking treatment in Nepal has to live with scars, both figuratively, and literally.”&nbsp;

Removing Scars

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203b79c7e80680e0b2821jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="695"/><figcaption>Tsering Sumjok Gurung with German plastic surgeon André Borsche (left) and Peter Hinze (right). Borsche had treated her childhood injury at the Sushma Koirala Memorial Hospital in Kathmandu. All photos courtesy: PETER HINZE</figcaption></figure>Last November, in the waiting room of a hospital in Bad Kreuznach in Germany, Tsering Sumjok Gurung caught glimpse of a familiar face.The tall man with graying hair and moustache was wearing a white coat over a yellow jumper. He was none other than plastic surgeon André Borsche who had treated her horrific childhood burn injury at the <a href="https://www.skmt.org.np">Sushma Koirala Memorial</a> Hospital in Kathmandu ten years previously.“It was an emotional reunion for both of us,” Tsering, now 23, remembers. “He was very friendly and wanted to see how my injuries had healed.”Tsering was 18 months old that summer when her family made the annual migration up to high pasture to graze their yaks. One day, while her mother was tending the livestock, Tsering fell off her crib right into the fireplace. She was badly burnt on her back, and right arm.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/A-burning-desire-to-help,881">A burning desire to help</a>, Kunda Dixit<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203ba9c7e80680e0b2822jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="308" height="462">There were no doctors in her village of Bhijer, so she was treated for the next four years by the local <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/I-am-an-amchi,3349" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">amchi healer</a>. This kept her alive, but the skin on her right arm was fused with the torso. All her childhood, Tsering was carried around in a doko bamboo basket.“Burns are common in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/dazzling-dolpo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dolpo</a> because home life revolves around the kitchen fire,” says Tsering. “I was lucky.”Despite being painful to move around, Tsering started going to school in Bhijer and excelled in studies. In Grade 2, a group of wealthy American and Swiss trekkers visited the school that they had supported. They noticed Tsering, examined her injuries, and helped bring her to Kathmandu for school and treatment. Over the years, the two families have also funded a hospital and a cheese factory in the village.Tsering used to watch her classmates in Kathmandu run and play, or dance in school programs, but could not participate because of her injury. She was eventually admitted to the Sushma Koirala Hospital, which is supported by INTERPLAST-Germany, where André Borsche and his team performed five major operations with reconstructive surgery. Every week, she had to make a painful bus ride from her dorm in Boudha to the hospital in Sankhu for physiotherapy and follow-ups.She missed many classes, but she made up for it by reading books which inspired her to become a doctor, so she could serve her community in Dolpo. Not able to afford higher education, in 2017 she started working as a hostel warden at a school in Chobar.That is when she met German journalist Peter Hinze who was researching his first book on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/The-Great-Himalaya-Trail/dp/3957281377" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.amazon.com/The-Great-Himalaya-Trail/dp/3957281377&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1641892465582000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3DjWYFudXKEdEQ0H4UlQmW">The Great Himalayan Trail, </a>and Tsering later travelled with him to Upper Dolpo to make a film with herself as the lead character.Tsering was back in Bhijer for the first time in ten years, and her family and neighbours were surprised how much she had grown and changed. Her injuries were not visible anymore, and no one could believe that a little girl who had such terrible injuries would be so transformed.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18771#.Ydv72C8w3u0">Lending a hand</a>, Nepali Times“I met the right people who helped me get treatment otherwise my life would have been different,” Tsering says. “Even now, there are many children in my neighbouring villages who are not as fortunate.”The film project was cancelled because of the pandemic, but Hinze converted the research into the book 100000 Schritte zum Glück about Dolpo, and invited Tsering to Germany for the unveiling in November. The book made it to number 4 on Amazon's best seller list in Germany.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203bd9c7e80680e0b2823jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="169" height="242">And he had a surprise in store – a meeting with the surgeon who had treated her in Kathmandu all those years ago. It was an emotional and joyful reunion.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203bf9c7e80680e0b2824jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="641"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“This was one of the best days in my 26-year career, when I could see the wonderful result of our charity work,” said André Borsche.Tsering was equally happy: “I made it from my family stone hut in Bhijer to the hospital in Germany to meet the surgeon who changed my life.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-acid-attack-survivors-find-a-saviour/">Nepal’s acid attack survivors find a saviour</a>, Sabina Devkota<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203c19c7e80680e0b2825jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="750" height="1000">In the hospital, Borsche examined her burn scars and was satisfied with how well her back had healed. He suggested one more operation, but Tsering refused any more treatment.“I am over medical procedures for now,” Tsering told Nepali Times on her return from Germany. “After all those surgeries, I am put off by the sight of blood. I don’t want to think about the pain afterwards. For now I think I am ok.”These days, when Tsering is not busy with her full-time work at the Chobar school, she helps Hinze with Project Dolpo, a private initiative to help those who need assistance in her home district. She gets frequent calls from families in Dolpo who are in distress.Says Hinze: “I think this is a motivating story about a girl who never gave up, and who trusted herself. It shows how when help gets to the right people, the underprivileged and the almost forgotten, it can make a big difference to their lives.”This past week in Kathmandu, Tsering has been busy taking a seven-year-old boy from Dolpo who was also badly burnt with boiling water, and was brought to Kathmandu for treatment. Tsering has been taking the patient to the burns hospital in Kirtipur for medical attention.“It happened to me, and now to this boy. These accidents occur so frequently and Upper Dolpo just does not have the facilities to treat burn injuries,” says Tsering.For now, she wants to complete her education and ultimately return to Dolpo: “I feel it is my responsibility to give back to my community. The only way my village is going to develop is when young people like me get educated, and head back to help others like us. There is so much to do.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-prolonged-trauma-of-acid-attack-survivors/">The prolonged trauma of acid attack survivors</a>, Laxmi Basnet

Sahina Shrestha

Tsering Sumjok is all right

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

‘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.

A dystopian motherland

From its headwaters near Mansarovar on the Tibetan Plateau to its confluence with the Ganga in India, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/faith-to-reality">the Karnali</a> remains one of the last great free-flowing rivers in the Himalaya. At a time when most major Asian rivers have been dammed by concrete, the Karnali still surges, migrates, floods and recedes according to its own natural rhythms. This sustains an entire living system -- wildlife, communities and cultures — that cannot be replicated once a river is turned into a staircase of reservoirs. The Karnali is a natural artery for western Nepal. It nourishes fertile floodplains, recharges aquifers, supports fisheries and connects remote communities.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251221101240_213faa0e9da42af63e6c4f8a41e23a96efbd9f29a1d148227d65d2f16bb64b53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251221101240_213faa0e9da42af63e6c4f8a41e23a96efbd9f29a1d148227d65d2f16bb64b53" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Confluence of the Humla and Mugu Karnali.</figcaption> </figure>  Bardia National Park and its rich biodiversity, including the tiger and fresh water dolphins, depend on the river and its seasonal interaction with the floodplain and wetlands. Riverine birds, crocodilians, endemic fish, all depend on the river. Millions of people in Nepal and India rely on the Karnali (called Ghaghara in India) for household use, irrigation and livelihoods. This living river now faces <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/dams-and-dreams-a-journey-down-the-karnali">a cascade of proposed hydropower projects</a>. So far, the Upper Karnali &nbsp;(900MW) and the massive Karnali-Chisapani (10,800MW) have been purposed. Both have been mired in controversy and have been delayed. Construction of smaller projects like the Bheri-Babai Diversion are already underway.&nbsp; The Upper Karnali is a Rs146 billion project first purposed in 2006. It started construction earlier this year with the Indian conglomerate GMR leading the task. Even so it faces a setback as Bangladesh cancelled the power purchase deal of 500MW.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109124_80c381c4299dd7e18dbbcacb26e567edc5cfffba76d428e3b325dd194eae8a47.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025122109124_80c381c4299dd7e18dbbcacb26e567edc5cfffba76d428e3b325dd194eae8a47" data-rendition-name="original" width="4284" height="5712" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Free-flowing Upper Karnali.</figcaption> </figure>  The project is located on the stupendous Karnali Bend where the water can be pushed through a 2.5km tunnel over a drop of 130m, creating a huge generation capacity. But Nepal’s move towards big dams comes at a time when scientists warn of more extreme weather events like floods and landslides in the already fragile Himalayan landscape. Nepal now needs investment in storage projects as most hydropower plants are of the run-of-river type, which means power generation drops in the dry season. But a piecemeal dam-by-dam approach risks destroying a unique resource for benefits that could be achieved elsewhere with far less ecological cost. Once a free-flowing river is fragmented, its sediment delivery is choked, fish migrations are cut off, floodplains dry out and local cultures that revolve around seasonal flows begin to unravel. These changes are effectively permanent.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109120_4f59b09b6e03889457b9b98d72d6b604d3519895f8825b4b03f486d67ea299af.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025122109120_4f59b09b6e03889457b9b98d72d6b604d3519895f8825b4b03f486d67ea299af" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Local children play indigenous musical instrument.</figcaption> </figure>  “The Karnali is the last and most pristine Himalayan River left, most others are already exploited. It should be protected as a wild, scenic, free flowing river as a gift to future generations,” says activist Megh Ale, who wants the river to be developed as an eco-tourism corridor on the pilgrim trail to Mt Kailash and Mansarovar.&nbsp; “We have many big tributaries to the Karnali,” Ale adds. “We can keep the main stream of the river as free flowing, and develop hydro projects on the tributaries. More than 6,000MW can be produced without touching the main river stem.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_223faf7f50c43f3bf008a7745b90131fa91975689109533b71ed7d9dcdb8c53e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025122109128_223faf7f50c43f3bf008a7745b90131fa91975689109533b71ed7d9dcdb8c53e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1875" height="2500" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Rafters say Karnali is one of the best places for white water rafting in the world.</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal has abundant alternatives to hydropower: solar energy has been hardly tapped, and integrating them with pump storage systems are cheap, quick to build and are low impact. Smarter siting and design, modern transmission links and regional power trading can deliver reliable energy without sacrificing the country’s last pristine river. Preserving the Karnali would also pay dividends in climate resilience: free-flowing rivers buffer <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-denial-in-the-himalaya">extreme floods and droughts</a>, carry sediment that builds deltas and replenishes nutrients on farmland, and provide insurance against glacial and monsoon variability.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109124_a5726642ee785b624ee3e6d81a051091c91a8d388dba8c33f4a03bab1fddc97f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2025122109124_a5726642ee785b624ee3e6d81a051091c91a8d388dba8c33f4a03bab1fddc97f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1875" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Tharu women repair a channel fed by the Karnali, which is a life line for their farms.</figcaption> </figure>  The Karnali is also a cultural and economic asset in its own right. As a rare, undammed Himalayan river, it underpins nature-based tourism, scientific research, and a way of life for Indigenous and local communities. Kalashtham Tharu, 32, is an elephant mahout in Bardia, and says the Karnali is an important source of water for animals and farming. Diversion for irrigation near Chisapani has meant that a channel going into Bardia National Park has gone dry, affecting biodiversity and nearby farms. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109120_6d3a45a440263e859d64c427a8543c6ede5a447a411797d25a6a41d713d33e91.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025122109120_6d3a45a440263e859d64c427a8543c6ede5a447a411797d25a6a41d713d33e91" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="2000" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Panning for gold on the banks of the Karnali. She makes Rs200,000 per year. </figcaption> </figure>  Similarly, the Sonahar community in Bardia relies on the river to pan for gold, their sole source of income. Anita, 40, says there is much less water in the Karnali this year. On an average, she makes Rs200,000 from middlemen for the gold she pans during non-monsoon months. &nbsp; WILD RIVERS Around the world, countries are beginning to recognise the value of keeping a few great rivers wild. Protecting the Karnali would place Nepal at the forefront of that movement and strengthen efforts to seek international recognition for the river’s outstanding natural heritage. Any decision should be grounded in a transparent, basin-wide assessment that weighs the full social, ecological and economic costs—not just the megawatts on a project spreadsheet. That means evaluating alternatives, safeguarding critical habitats and migration routes, and recognising the rights and knowledge of the people who live along the river. It also means asking a simple question: If Nepal can meet its energy goals without damming the Karnali’s main stem, why wouldn’t it?  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_3e357c863de55b397f09cfd666c762de297a8b07ac024a41a8bb5b9e8d3a76cf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2025122109128_3e357c863de55b397f09cfd666c762de297a8b07ac024a41a8bb5b9e8d3a76cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>River mining the Karnali in Kalaili district causing uneven landscape with the river flowing away from Bardia National park.</figcaption> </figure>  Advocates have petitioned Nepal’s Supreme Court to protect the Karnali, with a hearing scheduled in Kathmandu on 22 December. International lenders and investors should take note: Financing high-impact dams on the Karnali would run counter to emerging global standards on biodiversity, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/dancing-with-the-river">climate resilience</a> and free-flowing river protection. Funding clean energy in Nepal should not require sacrificing the country’s most pristine river. For three decades, I have documented the Karnali from its source in Tibet to its entry into India, capturing the river’s seasons and the lives it sustains. The images I have captured and the voices of people who depend on the river, tell a simple truth: a free-flowing Karnali is irreplaceable. Once the concrete is poured, there is no going back.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122109128_760ae5218d5f7e961c198da0a6c8696247e34281752a2857de935f9e8aec2c5c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2025122109128_760ae5218d5f7e961c198da0a6c8696247e34281752a2857de935f9e8aec2c5c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1504" height="1502" loading="lazy" alt="Karnali"> <figcaption>Inner sanctum of Mt Kailas in the vicinity of Manasarovar and Rakshas lakes in Tibet.</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal has many options for generating power. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-karnali-portrait?%2F">It has only one Karnali</a>. Keeping this river wild would be a gift to the living Earth and to future generations — a legacy measured not in megawatts, but in life. Says Megh Ale: “We are very rich in natural resources but manage them very poorly. We want instant solutions but do not have a long-term vision. We are not against development but there needs to be a good balance with nature.” &nbsp;