<figure><img width="873" height="655" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd3779c7e80680e08f96bjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Prakash Parajuli at the Tribhuvan International Airport, before boarding his flight to Japan. PHOTO: PRAKASH PARAJULI</figcaption></figure>On 21 December 2020, Prakash Parajuli was waiting at the Tribhuvan International Airport to board his flight to Japan. He had secured necessary paperwork for his job there as a caregiver, and was in high spirits at the prospect of starting anew despite the pandemic.Parajuli is employed under the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-future-is-older/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Japan Government’s Specified Skilled Worker</a> (SSW) residence status. “This is a result of a lot of hard work and patience. For many months, I focused entirely on studying for the Japanese language test,” Parajuli told Nepali Times before he boarded his plane.After working in Qatar for two years as a cashier with a monthly income of around Rs40,000, he had come home and started looking for fresh migration opportunities. Now, he is set to earn around Rs145,000, excluding overtime and bonuses. “I plan to work very hard and hope to stay long-term in Japan,” he says.In March 2019, the governments of Nepal and Japan signed a memorandum of cooperation for the SSW residence program. The SSW1 category of the program allows workers to remain in Japan for a maximum of five years, with workers ensured equality of treatment as well as the ability to change employers within the same sector. There is also a longer-term SSW2 category that allows unlimited visa renewals and dependents. In the next five years, a total of 345,000 workers were to be hired from all SSW partner countries. <img width="200" height="174" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd3799c7e80680e08f96cjpeg.jpg" alt="">In addition to the win-win situation that such labour programs afford, by helping 14 sectors address severe worker shortages in super-aging Japan (see figure), it also allows Nepali youth to be gainfully employed at higher earnings in a secure labor market. Nepal had one more reason to be jubilant— it was the second country to sign the agreement with Japan after the Philippines. <figure><img width="1768" height="996" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd37a9c7e80680e08f96djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But little did we know that almost two years down the road, Parajuli would be just one of the handful of Nepalis who would benefit from this agreement despite the head start.The agreement was a hybrid of the existing agreements Nepal has with other countries: it was neither a purely government-to-government model like that with South Korea or <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/demand-grows-for-nepali-caregivers-in-israel/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Israel</a>, nor did it allow recruiters to play a role like the agreements with Malaysia and select Gulf countries. It was signed under a government-to-business model in which the Nepal Government proposed setting up a Japan Unit at the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/labour-recruiter-netted-in-sting-raid/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Department of Foreign Employment</a> (DOFE) to oversee all aspects of the SSW implementation.On the Japan side, the government played a more hands-off role and allowed the private sector to participate including employers, recruiters and support organisations. “This mixed modality is creating widespread confusion as there is a misconception that this is a government-to-government modality, while it isn’t,” says Yuzo Yoshioka, Charge d'Affaires, Embassy of Japan in Nepal.This government-to-business model envisioned a proactive government that would take on added responsibilities in lieu of the recruiters via the Japan Unit. It was an attempt to ensure that the flawed technical implementation experiences related to the past programs would not be further exacerbated in this model, forcing workers to pay hefty amounts to land in the destination job market. Especially, noting that the Japanese Government did not want to be involved in the cost issue but trusted the involved employer-worker to mutually agree on such details. This was viewed as risky for Nepal, given the trend of rampant malpractices that worsen with the attractiveness of destination countries.The success of this hybrid model, however, rested on a proactive Japan Unit that imitated the private sector’s strengths in marketing, matching, information sharing and employer engagement. Most recruiters are very good at following up on these details, but these comparative advantages are obscured by the malpractices in the industry, often at the cost of the most vulnerable workers.To be fair, the overall SSW program itself has had a rough start. The number of countries that Japan has signed agreements with has increased over the last two years with the addition of Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, and most recently, India. But deployment has been poor across the board.Started in April 2019, SSW1 visas have only been issued to 8,769 workers (see figure) as of September 2020, which is less than a tenth of the target. Over 60% are from Vietnam, followed by Indonesia and the Philippines. Many of them were already based in Japan under other statuses, who simply changed their residence status to SSW1. For a program that has had a bumpy start, the onset of Covid-19 further derailed progress. <figure><img width="1150" height="784" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd37d9c7e80680e08f96ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Tests have been ongoing for a while now, in various countries including Nepal. While the SSW program covers 14 sectors facing worker shortages, so far, tests have been arranged only for the caregiving sector in Nepal. <a href="http://ac.prometric-jp.com/testlist/ssw/index.html" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://ac.prometric-jp.com/testlist/ssw/index.html&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1611462015510000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEEt1pnPBFBFCtd7JTrgi40Yzql3g">Tests</a> in other sectors like the food industry and agriculture are scheduled for February and March. Japan-based Nepalis have also been taking advantage of the tests administered in Japan to enable them to switch to SSW1status.Hari Sangroula from Universal Training Center shares, “The performance of Nepali students in the exams has improved over time. Initially, there was confusion about the content and exam modality so the learning curve was steep. Performance in care worker skills exams has significantly increased, but students are still struggling with the language exams in which pass rates are relatively lower.”  Unlike in the language exam for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/dead-end-of-the-korean-dream/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">South Korea</a>'s Employment Permit Scheme program where all eligible candidates are allowed to appear for the language exams, the number of test-takers in Japan is limited and conducted multiple times a year. “Earlier, the selection of test-takers was based on a lottery system. Now students are selected on a first-come-first-serve basis online, and it takes just a minute or two for all the available seats to fill-up which can be stressful for aspiring test-takers,” says Sangroula.According to Yoshioka from the Japan Embassy, in the last two fiscal years, 234 Nepalis have passed the technical examination for care workers whereas 207 have passed the language exam. “So, over 200 aspirants are eligible to work as caregivers in Japan and they will have to make the effort to find suitable employment opportunities,” he says.  <figure><img width="1458" height="758" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd3809c7e80680e08f96fjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>And therein lies the confusion, as the Japan Unit at Department of Foreign Employment (DOFE) is still not functional, whereas private sector intermediaries are barred from participating. Both employers and migrants are unfamiliar with the recruitment and employment system in the other country.“There is a Japan Unit at DOFE, but it is not fully functional yet. The directive that will detail the mandate of the Japan Unit, including information dissemination to aspirants, coordination with employers, selection and visa processing support is being finalised at the Labor Ministry,” explains Tika Neupane, Spokesperson at DOFE.There are students who have reached out to DOFE after completing the exams successfully, questioning what to do next and DOFE allowed them to take individual labour approvals. “However, the full implementation of the SSW as per the agreement with Japan Unit taking on a large, more hands-on role has yet to begin. The directive that is being finalised will clarify the implementation details,” Neupane adds.“Only 69 Nepalis are currently under the SSW residential status so far in Japan. But a good majority of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/nepalis-from-chitwan-to-chidoya,4110" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepalis who were already in Japan</a>, simply switched to the SSW1 residence status from other statuses like technical intern. They are mostly involved in the food industry,” Yoshioko says.In 2019, the Nepal Embassy issued 7 visas for SSW although it is not clear how many among them passed the exams in Nepal versus Japan. More visas have been issued in 2020, but the data has not been made public yet. <figure><img width="1768" height="996" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd3849c7e80680e08f970jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>While individual labour approvals are being issued by DOFE, which means a migrant can independently arrange his contract with the employer and would be provided the labor approval by DOFE, it is easier said than done. The employment system is complex to navigate: from job search to obtaining the visa related paperwork, confusion related to language differences, distance and unfamiliarity of contexts and practices prevail.Sujit Shrestha, General Secretary of the Nepal Association of Foreign Employment Agencies (NAFEA), attributes the ongoing delay to finalise the directive to heavy political interference and vested interests. A leaked version of the Directive includes a provision of a ‘third party’ that is registered in Japan and recommended by the Nepal Embassy to facilitate the recruitment of SSW workers, including the evaluation of employers in Japan and demand collection from employers. This has been heavily contested by recruiters in Nepal who are excluded from the agreement and want part of this lucrative corridor.“The leaked directive contradicts the original spirit of the agreement that barred the private sector from participating in the implementation of the SSW program. The Government barred the involvement of recruiters while the Japan Unit hasn’t been able to deliver and even if it is functional, it won’t be able to mobilise at scale. They should have let us do it under defined criteria and monitor our activities closely like other countries. The government should be dealing with the government counterparts of destination countries, and not the private sector,” he says.However, Neupane from DOFE insists that the SSW directive will be as envisaged in the original agreement with a fully functional Japan unit.Pre-pandemic, a survey in 2019 showed that over 61 percent Japanese companies reported not receiving applications to jobs offered (see figure). The Nepal Government dragged its feet in the initial two years after the signing of the agreement. As employers in Japan figure out the nuts and bolts of recruiting under the SSW status and further intensify their cross-border efforts to address their human resource challenges, making the process unnecessarily confusing will work against Nepali aspirants, especially as there are other 12 countries to choose from. Nepalis are already investing time, effort and money to prepare for the exams, with many, as seen in the case of over 200 successful test-takers, who are looking for guidance on being matched with employers in the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/nepali-caregivers-in-israel,3809" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">caregiving sector</a>. <figure><img width="1768" height="996" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd3879c7e80680e08f971jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Amid the confusions and delays, a few language institutes like Universal and Reiwa have stepped in to intermediate and garnered recognition among aspirants for helping them connect to employers. They explain that they have facilitated the interviews with care centers in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/why-nepalis-are-flocking-to-okinawa/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Japan</a> free of cost to the migrants because but are being compensated by their Japan-based partners. Four SSW workers at various stages of the recruitment and deployment process have confirmed this to Nepali Times. This is encouraging, with the caveat that workers seldom reveal details of service fees paid, in fear of retribution. Data obtained by Universal Training Center from the Japan Foundation shows that, of the couple hundred that have passed both exams, around 96 have gone further with the process and passed interviews, completed paperwork, and received their Certificate of Eligibility (COE), the last step required before they can apply for visas. But there are delays and uncertainty in obtaining visas due to the pandemic. Santosh Neupane who is part of the management of Reiwa Nepal, a language institute that cooperates with Japan based recruiter Dogwood Group, emphasises on a strong partnership between the private sector and the Nepal Government to ensure the SSW implementation. “It is far-fetched to expect employers to carry out all recruitment activities on their own by coordinating with Japan Unit that will not be as involved as the private intermediaries are for nitty-gritty details even if it were to be functional. The added burden may dissuade employers, who will source workers from Philippines or Vietnam, instead,” says Neupane. <figure><img width="720" height="960" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd38a9c7e80680e08f972jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>While confusion abounds and there is a pressing need for a functional Japan Unit or another alternate to the woeful inaction, the lucky few Nepalis who manage to overcome the odds are thankful for the opportunity.  Binu Gurung, was one of the first and few SSW workers from Nepal who arrived in Japan in November 2020. “I am now in my training period but am getting paid my regular wages. Most of the Japanese I take care of are in their 80s and 90s,” she said over the phone.A pioneer SSW Nepali, she has become a mentor for other Nepalis who want to work in Japan. She is pleased with the support she has been receiving as a financially secure future looms in the horizon. Her husband, too, has taken Japanese language classes and is waiting for his opportunity to take the exam so he can join her.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111132/636cd38d9c7e80680e08f973jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="694" height="960">Binu Gurung working in Japan as a caregiver. PHOTO: BINU GURUNG Things do not always fall into place for everyone, like it did for Binu. Despite successfully completing his language and skills exams, Phanindra Sedai, has failed the interviews with prospective employers. “I have taken the interview three times already. I won’t stop reapplying because I have already invested an enormous amount of time and effort and passed the tests,” says Sedai, who worked in Malaysia for eight years as a security guard now runs a small shop in Nepal, brushing up on Japanese vocabulary when he has time.Sangroula from Universal says employers are looking for more than communication skills. “The way they conduct themselves, their demeanor—all matter during online video interviews. To help frail, aging patients with everyday tasks and be their sole companion in their twilight years is a demanding job requiring an enormous amount of compassion and patience.”

Upasana Khadka

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Nepal-Japan jobs deal still stuck

<figure><img width="1440" height="1080" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89d69c7e80680e06b20bjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: ALISHA SIJAPATI</figcaption></figure>Even before the two-week lockdown, more and more Nepali families with elderly relatives hired nursing care at home. Several companies had started up as demand from the Nepali diaspora added to the need for home caregivers. The COVID-19 lockdown had accelerated this trend.  Srijana Paudel (pictured above), 21, a certified nurse has been looking after a bed-ridden elderly woman in Lalitpur for more than six months. But on 23 March, when Prime Minister K P Oli went on television to announce a nationwide lockdown from 6 AM the next morning, she was in a fix.While hospital workers and ambulances are allowed on the roads, many nurses taking care of elderly or sick family members could not commute to and from their own homes anymore. So, Paudel has been forced to stay over at her patient’s home for the past ten days, without being able to take care of her own family.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/protecting-nepals-elderly-from-covid-19/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Protecting Nepal's elderly from COVID-19</a>, Alisha Sijapati<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/protecting-those-who-protect-us-from-the-epidemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Protecting those who protect us from the epidemic</a>, Ramu Sapkota“I feel bad not being able to return to my home and be with my family, but looking after someone more vulnerable is my duty as a nurse and I will make my best effort to protect them,” Poudel says. “It would make me feel more guilty if I stayed home. I have become close with my patient’s family, so that helps.” There are over 200 nurses and caregivers like Srijana Paudel from various home care services in Kathmandu working in private residences of elderly patients. Seniors and patients with pre-existing medical conditions such as asthma, diabetes, or heart disease are more vulnerable to becoming severely ill with the novel coronavirus, making the need for the home caregivers even more critical.  <figure><img width="1000" height="662" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89d99c7e80680e06b20cjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Rupa Joshi of Bag Bazar has two elderly relatives to look after in her household: a 105-year-old grandmother-in-law and a mother-in-law who is 90. Both require special assistance. “We had been on self-quarantine even before the lockdown to protect elderly family-members and reduce the risk of contamination,” says Joshi who has asked her mother-in-law’s caregiver to stay with her own family until the lockdown is lifted to avoid contamination. Another caregiver has been asked to live-in so she does not catch the virus during her commute. “Our caregivers are like family members now, and in this difficult situation we have to help them, and accommodate their needs too,” Joshi adds.  While some <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/business/caring-for-those-who-cared/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">home care services</a> had drawn up a contingency plan two weeks before the lockdown, other health providers have had to change their schedules overnight to cater to patients since the shutdown.  <a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/8-ways-to-keep-well-during-a-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">8 ways to keep well during a lockdown</a>, Marcia ChenAt Patan based health care service Medilink, Sushmita Khanal has been working non-stop from her home to cater to her clients and also address the needs of her caregivers who look after older patients. “We knew COVID-19 and the lockdown was inevitable, but I wish we had more time to buy equipment and medicines and plan effectively,” Khanal said over the phone. <a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/need-to-prepare-for-ageing-society,3624" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Home care</a> had already become a trend in Nepal even before the pandemic scare as family members worked fulltime, and there was no one to take care of elderly relatives. The job has become even more challenging and necessary during the lockdown.  <a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/home-work-during-the-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Work from home during the lockdown</a>, Saniaa ShahBishal Dhakal was a resident surgeon in Pakistan, and returned to Kathmandu in 2009 to start a health service provider, Health at Home. Although his clients need services now more than ever, he says the economic downturn may affect the ability of families to hire services like his.  “We have clients from all backgrounds, but since most of them work on monthly salaries we can foresee many clients cancelling their contracts in the next couple of months,” says Dhakal. Fearing a slump, Dhakal’s Health at Home, Sushmita Khanal’s Medilink have put off expansion plans in their businesses. However, their central focus continues to be in giving best possible service to existing patients during the lockdown, and communicating virtually with caregivers and nurses on preventing the virus from infecting the elderly. While most caregivers and nurses are trapped in the homes where they work, the service providers have managed to get limited transport permits to pick and drop some staff who have families to take care in their own homes. Like Rupa Rai, 22, a nurse at Medilink Health Care who finally got back to her own family after being trapped in her patient’s house for nine days. She says: “I didn’t bring spare clothes, but now I am more prepared mentally for an extended lockdown.”

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Home health care during a lockdown

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

We often see ourselves reflected in the other. For someone who grew up in Kathmandu Valley in the eighties and nineties, this maxim comes alive with an even greater force. Nepal’s media ecosystem was dismal, the school curriculum was narrow and did not provide opportunities for creative expression. Perhaps that is why I became obsessed with MTV videos and Bollywood films. I saw my developing self reflected in these story-lines and razzmatazz. When the media and education system do not engage the public and reflect myriad interests, aspirations and lifestyles of the population, citizens get detached and disconnected from their roots. I left for America for further studies, and was somewhat determined to never return to Nepal. It was a country full of potholes and black-outs. But foreigners have been fascinated with our country for decades. In the early 19th century, Francis Buchanan-Hamilton led a pioneering expedition and documented more than a thousand species of plants native to the region. Almost a century later, in 1905, Frenchman Sylvan Levi published ‘the first attempt to produce a comprehensive study of Nepal’, drawing on not just indigenous but available Chinese and European sources as well. After Nepal opened up in the 1950s, different kinds of foreigners have traveled here -- most notably, cold-war era spies disguised as diplomats, and later came the hippies. I returned to Nepal in 2013 and was primarily struck by two major demographics - the artists and the expats. Energised by the recent revolution, the creatives were making vibrant, powerful works. The expats, on the other hand, demonstrated a different way to navigate life in Kathmandu Valley. These two groups of people re-introduced Nepal to me and I began seeing my country and my hometown with a renewed perspective. Which is why one particular image from Giovanna Caruso’s ongoing show at the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank">Kalā</a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank"> Salon</a> curated by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/facades-and-flowers-from-nepal-to-italy" target="_blank">Sophia L Pandé</a> instantly caught my attention -- rather, it called out to me, as if it was composed for me, framing a key moment from my own life. Its title is, coincidentally, 2013. Like most of her other works, the pen-and-ink drawing is punctuated by an explosion of watercolour: a woman standing confidently in front of a Newa-style house, a leg arched up, as if she is fixing a strap around an ankle before stepping out on an adventure. The watercolour depicts a rainbow streaming out of a pot through a second-floor window. The rest of the details are rendered in realism – clusters of garlic and onion hanging to dry from the rafters, and further down a stack of corn. There are towels drying, even an old water pump.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="art review Kala Salon"> </figure>  When I walked over to this artwork with Caruso, she chuckled, “Ah, this work is a celebration of my 30 years in Nepal.” It was while trying to calm a restless group of students during her teaching days in Italy that Caruso first came across an iconic image of Kathmandu Darbar Square. She had found an old box of slides and while projecting images from the Himalaya to engage her students, the artist was determined to travel to Nepal. The first flat she rented was close to the square and the view from her rooftop was the same as the one she had encountered inside her classroom. She has been traveling to Nepal every year since. Some of her favourite drawings depict Khokana in morning fog. From 1993-2006, she drew murals at Ram Mandir and Pashupatinath, asking sadhus to guide her and correct her depictions. Caruso received a classical education, which means she was trained to focus on perspective and geometry while capturing mainly portraits and still lives. She is influenced by M C Escher and his explorations of mathematics and symmetry. No wonder she finds the Darbar Square architecture so compelling. She also names as inspiration Gustave Dore, whose style is different from Escher’s and I can see how she has fused these influences in her body of work: Escher’s austerity complimented and slightly dislodged by Dore’s comics and caricatures. “Before starting, the painting needs to be complete in my mind,” she explains as we pass a series of portraits titled Saraswati, Lakshmi, Kali Dancing, and Durga dominated by a roaring tiger. “These are all real people, I ask my friends and family members to sit for me.” The Kali in the drawing has the artist’s fiery copper red hair and she is dancing, surrounded by various men with flowing hair. The artist seems to have experimented here, drawing the revelers from above, and indulging in playful abandon. Depictions of Nepal are often in danger of being exoticised. But Caruso is familiar with her subjects, knows our alleys and temples intimately. Her colours and compositions are passionate and dense. In an essay, Anirudh S Chari writes the artist’s work is splashed with rapturous energy and most drawings have a carnivalesque element. ‘Kali Dancing’ illustrates this idea perfectly in that she has turned Kali’s usual fearsome portrayal on its head by depicting and embracing another feminine principle - the capacity to celebrate and create joy. Apart from drawing inspiration from Hindu goddesses and Nepal’s multi-colored rituals, Caruso has also drawn the Sumerian Ianna and Lillith and the Egyptian Nut. She enjoys drawing Nataraja, and says it is because “Shiva is a good husband”. We stand another painting titled 100 Days a Lion. “There is a saying in Italian, Better one day as a lion than a hundred days as a sheep, but I thought why not 100 Days a Lion?” This sentiment captures this nomadic artist’s spirit spanning four decades, in which she has captured urban energy as well as the sacred imagery of ‘life diaries on canvas’. From Venezia to Kathmandu and Journeys In Between Giovanna Caruso The Kalā Salon Chhaya Centre Mall, Thamel Till 12 December 10am- 8pm

Looking at Nepal from Venice

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

It is quite a feat for just two actors on a darkened stage to hold an audience spellbound for more than one hour. Yet, ‘के? Us.’ at Kausi Theatre does just that. It is a thought-provoking but baffling work that leaves the audience questioning reality, the recurring metaphors in this intriguing and powerful dark comedy haunting us for days afterwards.&nbsp; The unsettling sound of deep breathing mingles with percussive drumming and a driving guitar that pulsates amidst a red glow, dimly illuminating shadowy structures charred by fire. A door leads to what is later revealed to be the ancestral home of two brothers which is ‘under renovation’. One of the brothers Ashim (Bijaya Tamrakar) lives in Nepal caring for a supposedly comatose mother who is only depicted by a tree draped with red LED lights that circulate arterial blood corpuscles. Visiting him is a long-lost brother Aaryan (Eelum Dixit) who has returned (deported?) from America.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The stage is littered with scattered paper trash, a run-down motorcycle chassis, a tattered sofa, and beat-up table and chairs. The stage is set for a sinister plot. Are the characters to be punished in perdition?&nbsp; It does not take long for the audience to grasp that this is an apocalyptic Nepal that, following absurdist traditions, could exist at any time in the future or the present day <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/election-vs-escalation">post-GenZ protest state</a>. Ashim and Aaryan Adhikari have reunited after 15 years. Ashim, the younger brother, has been burdened with the responsibility of taking care of their brain-dead mother. Aaryan, returns after having migrated to the US, where he married, had children, divorced, and lost everything. He has been at “minus 20 and is now back to zero”.&nbsp; The brothers have intense back-and-forths that expose their cynicism, the conversation tangentially alluding to Nepal’s unstable political landscape, migration, an economy in shambles, aging population, alcoholism and other mental health issues. Even the sibling argument about the relative merits of momos and burgers seems metaphorical. The stagecraft uses lighting and sound effects brilliantly, transporting the audience to a surreal world in which Tamrakar and Dixit improvise their lines — no two shows are exactly the same, although the overall plotline has continuity.&nbsp; In the first scene, Aaryan approaches the house tentatively, creeping rodent-like, and carrying a briefcase and an old-fashioned lantern. And at the end, Ashim screams, “I am chaos.” Is this the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Choas play review"> </figure>  At one point Aaryan seems perturbed by the sound of protest outside (the Gen Z movement?) and the taut atmosphere grips the audience with fear, shock, and apprehension of the recent death and destruction.&nbsp; Throughout the play there is the sound of breathing, as if through a ventilator, a thumping heartbeat, the morbid buzzing of flies and the glowing red LED veins -- signifying the presence of the comatose Aama. She is featured in a prologue-esque home video at the start of the play in which she reminisces about her two sons and rues her failing memory.&nbsp; The sound of breathing gets accentuated each time a brother gets closer to the tree, and it seems to fuel Ashim’s belief that Aama may be brain-dead but she is still among them. This play can go as deep as each individual in the audience wants it to go.&nbsp; The silenced, comatose mother could be Nepali Aama muted by an entrenched patriarchy. Or, she could be the symbol of a helpless country while her children fight over the ruins of what is left. The cake cutting is a delightfully Shakespearean subplot where we wonder if one of the brothers is going to poison, or knife, the other. The message is clear: how can we move forward if it is brother against brother? The stairs signify political transition (elections, constitutional change, new coalitions) promising upward movement, but eventually lead to falls, leaving the nation exactly where it started, or worse. The mother’s terminal illness evokes an ailing state apparatus, hollowed out by corruption and deep-seated social decay. Yet the brothers cling to an irrational hope — instead of confronting the harsh truth and pursuing radical solutions, suggesting a blind faith in the mother.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The brothers are lost. Aaryan climbs up stairs that lead nowhere, Ashim holds on to unrealistic hope that somehow Aama will get better. Tamrakar and Dixit deliver powerful performances, even more remarkable for the fact that they are improvising their lines as they go along. When Aaryan breaks a wall and directly addresses the audience, spectators turn from being passive observers to active participants (‘the society’). The audience then become oglers in this drama, suddenly made self-aware of our role as the scrutinising, cavilling voyeurs that society represents. There is some discomfort of being watched and judged.&nbsp; By asking his brother what he is afraid of while pointing at the audience, Aaryan suggests that the brother's (and perhaps the character's core) fear is not just of the house, or the mother's illness, but of external judgment and societal censure. After the stage goes dark, the applause takes some time. Audience members shuffle out in silence, minds reeling from the collective soul-searching they have just participated in.&nbsp; After ‘के? Us.’ the din at Teku intersection outside sounds different as we wait for our Pathao ride below the खरी tree where <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Shukra+Raj+Shastri&amp;client=safari&amp;sca_esv=75e8315709cd5118&amp;rls=en&amp;sxsrf=AE3TifMJhwukjdBBT0n4QcQWe8IYSaEVsw%3A1764648053799&amp;ei=dWQuaYbIMOy94-EPn4ygyAE&amp;ved=2ahUKEwiU1ciogp6RAxXq3TQHHeo9LBIQgK4QegQIARAB&amp;uact=5&amp;oq=nepal+tree+where+martyrs+were+hanged&amp;gs_lp=Egxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAiJG5lcGFsIHRyZWUgd2hlcmUgbWFydHlycyB3ZXJlIGhhbmdlZDIIECEYoAEYwwRIug5QAFiNC3AAeAGQAQCYAc4BoAHrCKoBBTAuNS4xuAEDyAEA-AEBmAIDoALlBMICBRAAGO8FmAMA4gMFEgExIECSBwUwLjEuMqAHzw-yBwUwLjEuMrgH5QTCBwcwLjIuMC4xyAcM&amp;sclient=gws-wiz-serp&amp;mstk=AUtExfCLIneLVW3SFBzxBc964wFcTJ936tcAPSDcvNKljck0PIqDJddMZ_t8Pg610M98MCx14aNdnyLHs9QM0jWLhI7JYmkPhugX1ZHfSQvdCHZE9E5m2_ZQY5Jr893UcGjQfpabtA_C48NfB9Pg56uYMOmTtEBEcGuvz3d96Qaifyb86sI8mAkrRNo_367cv_xmFjLZ55iQkfHtORuOvZSUkIdMvAdpweuf4jPjjI4anbv9lc-uCImdP0JSvtvEGL8ePxwsWWOzYpIbjNP1zofjcWXK&amp;csui=3" target="_blank">Shukra Raj Shastri</a> was hanged in 1941 by the Rana regime. Language and Literature Students, 2026.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="1350" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  ‘के? Us.’ Kausi Theatre, Teku Till 7 December (except 2 December) Bookings: +977 9842156109, 9842574607

caretakers

Nepal-Japan jobs deal still stuck

Home health care during a lockdown

A new normal

Looking at Nepal from Venice

Things eventually work out

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal