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Race against time

<figure><img width="934" height="442" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914114/636ba5a59c7e80680e0736d6jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Kalpana Nagari and Kalawati Auji from Godavari Municipality who face double discrimination from society for being Dalit and because their relatives tested positive for COVID-19 after returning from India. Photo: UNNATI CHAUDHARY</figcaption></figure>Across Nepal, it is the already under-served and vulnerable who have been affected by the prolonged lockdowns. But it is the Dalit returnees from India who have tested positive and their families who face double discrimination.The Ministry of Health issues a daily tally of COVID-19 cases, but no one is counting the poorest of the poor who are dying of hunger or pre-existing diseases, or have been have been driven deeper into destitution.Kalpana Nagari, 30, works as a day labourer by the roadside in Godavari Municipality to earn enough to feed her two children. This time of year there are plenty of jobs planting or weeding paddy fields, but she is unemployed because of social stigma after her husband, Tika Narayan, tested positive for COVID-19 last month.Tika Narayan Nagari had returned from India after he lost his job there on 15 May. He tested positive was quarantined altogether for 50 days first at the border, and later because of delays in getting his test result. But even after he got out, the Dalit family has been shunned by neighbours and society.   <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-long-journey-to-nepal/">The long journey to Nepal</a>, Upasana KhadkaHer family used to face discrimination even before because they were Dalit, but COVID-19 has added another layer of prejudice. Even that is not what worries Kalpana the most – it is not earning enough to feed her family.“Without work, how are we going to feed our children that is what I am most anxious about,” says Kalpana, who does not have a house of her own and lives with her sister-in-law. Her husband had to go to India to find work to repay a loan he took for his mother’s funeral.“During every meal, I worry about where the next one will come from, and I feel faint,” says Kalpana. “The landlords did not give me any work in the rice fields because they said ‘your husband has corona, you might also be infected’.’” Kalawati Auji, 40, is also from Godavari and raised her three sons all by herself after her husband died nine years ago. Her eldest son died last year, and her youngest has heart disease. Her middle child, Dipak is 22 and worked in Bareilly in India. It was the money Dipak sent home that allowed Kalawati to pay for food and medicines for her daughter-in-law, son and grandson.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/caste-aside/">Caste aside</a>, Shusma BaraliBut Dipak lost his job and returned to Nepal on 30 June. He tested positive for COVID-19 and was confined in a quarantine for 34 days where he was ostracised both for being infected, and for being a Dalit. After coming home, he quarantined himself in a cowshed for a week.But even after he recovered, the family has been harassed and humiliated by neighbours. Neither Dipak not Kalwati can find a job, and they owe a neighbourhood provision store Rs50,000.Says Kalawati: “This pandemic has come to kill the poor like us.”  Fifty-year-old Harish B K also returned from Bareilly in the first week of May. Among the 234 people whose swab samples were taken, Harish was among 70 who tested positive – only two of them were non-Dalits.“The non-Dalits in the quarantine used to get hot water, lunch, and more food than us. If we asked for more food, they would ignore us,” he recalls. Now out of quarantine, but jobless, deep in debt, and facing double discrimination and humiliation, Harish says he often has suicidal thoughts.  <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/workers-return-to-jobless-nepal/">Workers return to jobless Nepal</a>, Ramu SapkotaGodavari Municipality says it has plans to provide farm subsidies to the most vulnerable during the pandemic and lockdown. Deputy Mayor Ratna Kadayat says the plan will give priority to Dalits, women, and marginalised communities under the 'Prime Minister's Employment Program'.But these future plans are a mirage for most Dalit families like the Nagaris, Aujis and BKs here. Their needs are urgent and immediate, and they have heard these promises before.Rights activist Savitra Ghimire at the Dalit Women's Rights Forum (DWRF) says the relief may be too little too late for most Dalit families. Godavari and the Attaria highway intersection are hotspots for a surge in coronavirus cases. In the past month alone, the area got 4,000 returnees from India, and of them 349 tested positive and 294 have recovered and gone home.  However, being virus-free is just the beginning of the struggle for Dalit families here in western Nepal. As more and more districts re-impose lockdown, business is not expected to pick up soon, and this means fewer options for employment. And even if jobs open up, Dalit returnees and their families here will be the last to get them.­­­Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-killed-our-son-and-now-they-are-killing-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">“They killed our son, now they are killing justice”</a>, Shusma Barali<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/black-lives-matter-but-dalit-lives-dont/">Black lives matter but Dalit lives don't?</a>, Pratistha Rijal

COVID-19 sharpens caste discrimination in Nepal

<figure><img width="1500" height="998" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac639c7e80680e077f2cjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Sunita Sunar is a widow at 20 after her husband, Tikaram was killed in the murders of six young men in Rukum on 24 May. </figcaption></figure>Much of the attention after the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-caste-attack-turns-deadly/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-caste-attack-turns-deadly/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594038858969000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFwO6-tK61fVzHKtMb6tZixmolFHQ">murder</a> of six young men in Jajarkot on 24 May centred on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-killed-our-son-and-now-they-are-killing-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-killed-our-son-and-now-they-are-killing-justice/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594038858969000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFuVIALVGPnKs6ZS0QA9TiVy-bQiA">Nabaraj BK</a> and his relationship with a teenage girl from a ‘higher’ caste. Nearly forgotten in the aftermath of this tragic crime are Tikaram Sunar, 20, and Sanju Bika, 21, two of Nabaraj’s friends who accompanied him to help him elope with the girl, and who were among the six lynched and thrown into the Bheri River that evening in Rukum.  What is even less well known is that Tikaram and Sanju were married and left behind widows and young children. The bodies of both young men were found a few days later downstream from the crime scene.  Sunita Sunar is Tikaram’s wife, and wears a shite shawl on top of a white mourning dhoti. Her face is swollen with constant weeping. The 18-year-old holds her two-year-old daughter in her lap and she says she has no more tears left to shed. Her daughter keeps asking, “Where is baba?” Sunita has no answer, and sobs quietly. She eloped with Tikaram when she was 14, and says her life has now fallen apart. When they brought her husband’s body home two days after the murders, Sunita fainted. His body was pale and wrinkled from being so long in the water, and it had cuts and bruises all over.   Sunita heard that night that there had been a fight in Chaujhari of Rukum involving Nabaraj BK’s group, but at first she did not think it was that serious. Still, she was afraid, and was shocked as news came later that night that Nabaraj had been killed and his body was found in the Bheri.  “I took my daughter and went to ask the police,” Sunita recalls in a soft voice. “They said they had found Nabaraj’s body and one other body that they could not identify. For some reason, I had a premonition that my husband did not survive either.” Sunita remembers the sight of her husband’s body with deep cuts made by sickles. There was blood oozing from his mouth, nose and ears. “That image just keeps coming back to me over and over again,” she says. Sunita Sunar got married as a child, and has always wanted to complete her studies. She and her husband agreed that as soon as her daughter grew up, she would go back to school. She does not know what to do now, whether to return to her parents or stay in her husband’s house. He in-laws are day labourers and earn just enough to feed the family from day to day. Their only hope was Tikaram who wanted to open a mobile repair shop to augment the family income. “My in-laws love me, but the situation here is miserable, everyone had pinned their hopes on my husband to take care of the family, now he is gone,” she says. “I never imagined that I would be alone this early on in life.”  Sanju BK’s wife, Sabina, is just 20 and has a four-year-old son to support. She was married off at 14 by her parents to Sanju even though she had never seen him. At 15 she got pregnant, dropped out of school in Grade 8, and soon gave birth to her son.  <figure><img width="1500" height="964" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac669c7e80680e077f2djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Sunita Sunar’s two-year-old daughter and mother Gita BK.</figcaption></figure>Just like his friend Nabaraj BK, Sanju wanted to join the security forces and was already training for it. “I may not get leave after I join the forces, so we should celebrate our son’s birthday before I go, he used to say,” Sabina recalls. “I still cannot believe he is gone. I feel he will just walk in the door at any moment,” she says, breaking into silent sobs. Sanju’s father needed hospital treatment for three years, and while taking care of him he was determined that their son should grow up to be a doctor. He had taken out a loan so their son could go to a good school. Sanju BK was missing, and it was mental torture for Sabina as she heard of one body after another being retrieved from the Bheri. His body was found five days later from 30km downstream.  <figure><img width="1042" height="692" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac6a9c7e80680e077f2ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>The banks of Bheri River between Rukum and Jajrkot district where the bodies of the victims were found.</figcaption></figure>Sanju BK’s father is still ill and cannot work. His elder sister takes care of the family business and does household chores. Sabina wanted to get a government job to help support her family, but now there is no certainty. Six weeks after the murders, Sabina is still waiting for justice for the murder of her husband and five of his friends. There is uncertainty about what will happen to the accused. So far, 23 of the 27 charged with the lynchings have been sent into custody pending trial by the Rukum West District Court. The girl Nabaraj BK wanted to elope with and her minor brother have been sent into a correctional facility. One of the accused has been named as a mastermind, while the others have been accused to abetting a caste-based murder.Says Sabina BK: “For now, we need justice. After that, I do not know what will happen.”

“I never thought I would be alone this early in life”

<figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a67049c7e80680e0599b7jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Lavkant Chaudhary</figcaption></figure>As they enter Lavkant Chaudhary’s Masinya Dastoor exhibition at the Siddhartha Art Gallery, the visitors are strongly drawn to one particular work on display.  They are three canvases titled DDT depicting circles within circles in the first one. Chakra, the circle of life, but it is also a bullseye, and the tiny figures of animals and people are rendered in the style of a traditional Tharu folk art. The figures are the size of an adult mosquito, and a greyscale exterminator points directly at the centre of the target, ready to spray dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane.The other painting are lifelike paintings of three DDT cans amidst a backdrop of insects, and the third is of a colourful cloud of butterfly silhouettes. <figure><img width="1500" height="1476" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a67089c7e80680e0599b8jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Chaudhary says the American-supported <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-mosquito-that-changed-nepals-history/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">eradication of malaria</a> from Chitwan and the Tharu homeland in the Tarai destroyed not just mosquitoes but but also the Tharu people. The paintings, he says are the “silenced histories of the Tharu community.”The Tharu were genetically immune to malaria, but once the disease was eradicated by killing mosquitos, settlers came in to clear the forests, land was bought at a pittance from Tharus unable to read the land deeds.The Masinya Dastoor is expression through art of an aboriginal people the rulers in Kathmandu treated as expendable. The works are housed in two floors with earthy acrylic on canvas paintings (pictured below), land title copies with ink superimposed, wood carvings, an art installation and video. Each artwork across these various medium connect back to the historical persecution of the Tharu people. <img width="1500" height="1573" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a670b9c7e80680e0599b9jpeg.jpg" alt="">Chaudhary says he used to be as ignorant about Tharu history as the rest of Nepalis, but was inspired when he began researching his community during a six-month art project initiated by Artree Nepal in Bhaktapur after the 2015 Earthquake.“All I came across were recurring stereotypical ideas about the Tharu. We were just <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/tharu-escargots/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">water snail eaters</a>  jungle dwellers, alcohol drinkers, and an honest tribe. That was our identity,” he recalls.Sangeeta Thapa of the Siddhartha Art Gallery says some indigenous groups in Nepal were taken as bonded labourers since Lichhavi times 1,400 years ago. Later on, under the Shah and Rana dynasties when the caste hierarchy was codified into the first Mulki Ain of 1854, indigenous groups were placed under the category of paani chalne masinya matawali (touchable but enslavable alcohol drinkers) which made them expendable by the state. <figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a670e9c7e80680e0599bajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Despite slavery being abolished in 1926, the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Modern-day-domestic-slaves-domestic-workers,3785" target="_blank" rel="noopener">kamaiya bonded labourer system</a> persisted until it was outlawed as late as 2004. But by then the Tharu had lost most of their land.One of Chaudhary’s art installations is of small wooden boxes hung from the ceiling, each filled with grain and a single brass bullet. Next to it, the Diary series recreates pages carved into wood from the diary of Jokhan Ratgainya, a Tharu journalist and revolutionary who was killed in June 2001. <figure><img width="1500" height="2078" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a67119c7e80680e0599bbjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In one corner, the Tamasuk series, with pen and ink drawings on Nepali paper, leads into the Dastoor series, stippling drawings of day to day activities on archival paper prints of the dastoor (legal orders).The second floor hosts large striking oil paintings that detail day to day scenes alongside violence: from the conflict years, and the Tikapur massacre of 2015. Another installation is of ghaila pots hanging inside a darkroom which projects light on the walls. On one wall, a video replays a barmasiya folk song and then shows a burning miniature village as eyewitness accounts of violence. <img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108151124/636a67149c7e80680e0599bcjpeg.jpg" alt="">Chaudhary writes in a description that he has used art to fill the gaps left by Nepal’s mainstream media to communicate the atrocities: “I found strength in unearthing what has remained silent and kept silent by the Nepali media, the state, and civil society.”His art speaks volumes about displacement and resistance, easily comparable to the struggles of indigenous peoples in the subcontinent and beyond. The mix of mediums, attention to detail and the historical narrative woven into each work makes for an exhibition that is an experience, one that sheds light on Nepali history and the indigenous peoples who have been silenced.Masinya Dastoorby Lavant ChaudharySiddhartha Art GalleryUntil January 9 2020

Atrocities against Tharu expressed in art

Muna Gurung

Pancha Kumari Pariyar: Still She Rises

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3V1x6nUgo9g&amp;feature=youtu.beEver since Nepal’s founding king <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6592#.XVUiCuMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Prithvi Narayan Shah</a> described the nation state he forged as a garden of 4 castes and 36 ethnicities, besides considering themselves ‘Nepali’ most people have also kept a distinct sense of sub-national identity.The Muluki Ain of 1854 defined this social hierarchy, and the 2011 <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=8616#.XVUpheMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">census</a> lists all 125 castes and ethnic groups, forming the basis on which the new <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/09/20/peoples-constitution/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Constitution</a> defines Nepal’s <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15798#.XVUpPuMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">reservation policies</a> for the civil service, government and Parliament. But with an increase in inter-ethnic marriages producing an even more multicultural society, there may be a need to redefine ethnicity as the country becomes even more diverse.“Growing up, my most cherished memories are visiting my grandparents from both sides of my family and being exposed to diverse beliefs, traditions and food,” recalls Rubeena Mahato, who has a Maithili father and Newar mother. “The two ethnic backgrounds merged seamlessly without one undermining the other.”But despite embracing her dual heritage and being raised in a household with no concept of caste hierarchy or religious superiority, and taught to respect people regardless of their ethnicity, Mahato says society kept her in a box as she grew up. (See box story below)Mahato recalls that the first question she was asked at school was about her caste and ethnicity. As children who didn’t know better, her classmates made assumptions based on what they had seen their parents do. Mahato was seen only as a Madhesi, leading her to feel self-doubt over her Newar identity. While she embraced her duality, her peers and teachers did not.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53aa9c7e80680e052362jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>INTERETHNIC LOVE: Prime Minister KP Oli presents rhododendron blossoms to his wife Radhika Shakya on 21 February during Kalu Pande Diwas in Dahachok. Pic: Krishna Paudel</figcaption></figure>The caste and ethnic categorisation in the Muluki Ain and a rigid perception of identity pose obstacles for Nepalis who want to adopt their hybrid identities. <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16478#.XVUm4uMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Seira Tamang</a> is a political scientist whose research focuses on social exclusion. She says, “Regardless of how people might choose their ethnic and other identities, society at large will see and treat them according to the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7872#.XVUqB-MzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">singular homogenised identity and strata of the Muluki Ain.”</a>Historian <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11936#.XVUmpeMzbIV" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Pratyoush Onta</a> of Martin Chautari says Nepalis have three types of responses to multiethnic identities: embracing their hybrid ethnic identity, reasserting one ethnic identity while rejecting the other, or identifying themselves only as Nepali. Keeping a single ethnic identity as long as it abides by the ongoing patrilineal system aligns with the current perception of ethnic identity, but there is social and political confusion for many like Mahato who want to preserve their hybrid ethnic identity.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13361#.XVUnpOMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mahendra Lawoti</a>, professor of political science at Western Michigan University, who has written extensively on Nepal’s reservation policies, says, “Ethnic identity is not just shaped by the individual’s perception of themselves, but also society’s recognition of them. Ethnic identity, to some extent, is a social construct.”Indeed, the ethnicity of a person in Nepal is still largely determined by the father’s lineage. But this can lead to even more confusion over the freedom of women to change their ethnic identity and surname with marriage and the matter of reservation policies.Besides a mandatory quota for women in government and civil service, there is also <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4140#.XVUosOMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">affirmative action</a> for indigenous people, Dalits and other ethnicities. But as marriages create more <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12561#.XVUoO-MzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">multiethnic identities</a> and a weaker attachment to a single ethnicity, the future of the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15753#.XVUn0OMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">reservation policy</a> comes into question.“The reservation policy should be reflective of society and should respond to changes in the social dynamic,” says Lawoti. “The state does not recognise multiethnic individuals, but it should respond to this new reality.”However, whether offspring of inter-ethnic marriages will seek to assert their hybrid identity, or take up one or other of their parental identity is also uncertain. Some may prefer to assume the identity of their Dalit or indigenous parent rather than their 'higher caste' parent in order to benefit from reservation.Lawoti and Onta both agree that policies should be more flexible to accommodate multiethnic individuals. different caste or ethnicity. Women should be allowed to either keep their birth surname or change it to their husband’s, but if they are allowed to change when it fits their immediate purpose, the system perpetuates unfairness.“Women should be allowed to change their ethnic identity when they get married but not to simply abuse the system,’’ says Lawoti. In Nepal’s patriarchal society, even with inter-ethnic marriages there is a tendency for wives to adopt the customs, traditions and culture of her husband’s ethnicity, forgoing her own. Children are raised with the culture of their father’s ethnicity. When doing so, the ethnic background of women erodes and hybrid identities are less likely to be formed.However, with greater geographical mobility, the spread of education, and people moving out of historical ethnic enclaves, there are more possibilities of mixed ethnicities. Politician Tripple P Gurung and journalist Ramyata Limbu raise their children with a fusion of ethnic customs and practices. Both Gurung and Limbu traditions are preserved flexibly within the home – a trend that many families with inter-ethnic marriages now practice.Basantapur of Sunsari district in eastern Nepal is perhaps one of the most multicultural, multilingual and multiethnic villages in Nepal. Anthropologist Chudamani Basnet researched inter-marriage in the town and found that although <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19885#.XVUo3eMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Janjatis</a> have been intermarrying people from higher caste groups, there were none of the expected cultural conflicts.A Limbu woman married to a Giri man found that as they had migrated away from their families and were more economically independent, they faced very little inter-ethnic conflicts.However, not all such marriages are accepted. 'Higher caste' people who have married Dalits, for instance, are <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15947#.XVUuxuMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">routinely ostracised</a> by their own community. Sometimes couples who have crossed caste or ethnic lines to elope have been publicly taunted, beaten, or driven out of their villages.Basnet attributes much of the opposition to the loss of cultural heritage and language. “Inter-marriage was made possible by a common language, Nepali, which has facilitated interaction between people of different ethnic groups, but at the cost of their mother tongues,” he adds.As offspring of inter-ethnic marriages create and practice their own fusion customs, some of the distinct cultural and linguistic attributes of the original ethnic groups tend to erode. The future of hybrid identities with the current social and political state of Nepal is therefore uncertain, even though Prime Minister KP Oli and his wife Radhika Shakya, and other senior politicians, themselves have married across ethnicities.Inter-ethnic marriages in Nepal came in waves. During the Panchayat, many underground Communist leaders, like KP Oli, developed relationships with young women in the households where they rented rooms, or in the neighbourhoods of inner city Patan and Kathmandu. During the National Development Service, college graduates were mandatorily required to serve a year in rural areas, and got married to locals. The third wave was during the conflict, when Maoist guerrillas could get married with the party's consent. Today, education, mobility and connectivity have unleashed a new wave of inter ethnic marriages.Uncertainty is also perpetuated by the lack of data regarding inter-ethnic marriages. The Department of National ID and Civil Registration refused this paper’s repeated requests to release data of inter-ethnic marriages or to comment on the trend, citing issues of privacy and discrimination.Regardless, Nepal is celebrated as a multicultural, multilingual and multiethnic nation, characteristics that have been embedded in the Constitution. But while the country as a whole may have a rich ethnic diversity, it is also becoming a new melting pot.Read Also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11202#.XVUid-MzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Happily ever after,</a> Shraddha Basnya<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15581#.XVUideMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Caste no bar,</a> Kong Yen Lin<a href="Nepal,%20an%20emerging%20rainbow%20nation" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal, an emerging rainbow nation,</a> Rubeena Mahato<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15775#.XVUjneMzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's mutli-ethnic future,</a> Shyam Shrestha<h2>Tharu-Tamang</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53ad9c7e80680e052363jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Suksari Chaudhary was in her early 20s and working in a garment factory in Kathmandu Valley when she met Chhewan Lama. Amidst the hum of sewing machines and heaps of fabric scraps, the two fell in love.They went their separate ways, but five years later they both found jobs in a school in Lalitpur and got married soon after. Although she is Tharu and he is Tamang, the wedding ceremony reflected neither culture but was performed using Brahmin rituals.“I think it was easier for us to have an inter-ethnic marriage because both our parents were no longer with us and our other relatives also had inter-ethnic marriages,” says Chaudhary. Lama’s parents and Chaudhary’s father had passed away years before they met.The only time they faced any difficulty over their mixed marriage was when they returned to Lama’s home in Kavre for the first time after getting married. She recalls, “At first, his extended families didn’t really understand why he had married a Tharu.” But when Chaudhary was asked to sit in a traditional Tamang puja by Lama’s family, she felt welcomed and accepted. It was rare for a conservative family to allow a person from another ethnic background to worship with them.A year after their marriage, Lama and Chaudhary had a daughter, who grew up in a multiethnic household. She is now 22, and Chaudhary regrets not teaching her daughter Tharu customs, just as she herself never had the chance to learn about her heritage. As the only Tharu family in a predominantly Brahmin/Chhetri area, as a girl she was only familiar with the customs and practices of the ‘higher caste’ community.Today, the family has added other rituals to their celebrations. For example, during Dasain, they put white tika on each other in the evening as per Tamang custom. Lama says, “When we were raising our daughter, we neither raised her strictly as a Tharu nor a Tamang. She is a combination of both and a product of an interlaced family.”<h2>Maithil-Newar</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53b09c7e80680e052364jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="843">Growing up in a Maithil-Newar household, Rubeena Mahato embraced her colourful and multicultural heritage, celebrating both Rakshya bandhan and Bhaitika with Newari mandaps and eating Mithila dishes like thekuwa, khajuriya and daal puri during Chath and delicious yomaris during Newar Lapte bhoye bhoj. “My dual heritage merged seamlessly and they always have,” says Mahato.From a young age, Mahato was taught to respect everyone regardless of their ethnic or caste background. But she did not always receive the same treatment from others, and witnessed others get harassed because of their heritage.“Because of my upbringing, it was inconceivable for me to engage in ‘othering’ and exclusion, or to suffer it. I remember arguing with my friends over it and refusing to participate. Over the years, there have been multiple occasions where I have had to lecture perfectly educated young people for using caste slurs. Most are embarrassed, some are quite taken aback and some refuse to introspect. But I know that we cannot let such behaviour go unchallenged.”Now living in the US with her husband, Mahato remembers: “Our home is a riot of colours, tastes and flavours from our various heritages. What could be more Nepali than that?”

Nepal is turning into a nation of hybrid identities

One smoggy winter morning in February 2019, Ekta regretted coming to her sculpture class. It was the first day of her period, and the 19-year-old wished she was home, curled up in bed with a hot water bag to soothe her cramps.
Her class was at Kalapremi Ceramic Studio, a dark room on the ground floor of a house in Maharajganj, and Ekta’s teacher was the artist Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’, a noted sculptor.
Two other students were already there, using all their muscle strength to knead the sculpting clay. Ekta, now 24, recalls how Kalapremi asked her if she was feeling all right. She avoided him, as she did not want everyone to know she was menstruating.
Kalapremi repeatedly asked Ekta what was wrong. She finally muttered that she was having her period, after which he grabbed her hand and led her to a partitioned corner of the studio and sat her on a chair. Before she could stop him, he slid his hand under her dress, and started massaging her abdomen.
“I was horrified,” Ekta recalls. “I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen, asking me not to be shy, saying he knew how to relieve my pain. He stopped only after I protested furiously.”&nbsp;
The art tutor then said, “You’re like my daughter. I’m doing it out of love to make you feel better, but you’re so stubborn.”&nbsp;
“Instead of saying sorry he acted like I was the one having crazy thoughts,” remembers Ekta, adding that from April 2016 to August 2020 beginning the time she was 16, the artist sexually abused and harassed her on several occasions. &nbsp;
Now, Ekta and the artist’s other former students are finally sharing their experiences and some are pressing legal charges against him, hoping that others do not have to endure what they did.&nbsp;
Award-winning artist and teacher Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’ (the name means ‘Art Lover’) is known for his ceramic art, sculpture, and contemporary pottery. He was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-house-of-kalapremi">profiled in Nepali Times after a collaborative exhibition</a>, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ at the Siddhartha Art Gallery three years ago.&nbsp;
His pieces, titled Gaalis, featured sculpted female figures with the heads of dogs, sheep, and donkeys (pictured) to depict derogatory terms for women. Some critics said the collection was a satire on feminists.
Kalapremi started his artistic and teaching career in 1983 and over the years taught at Bhanubhakta School, Kathmandu University School of Arts, Lalitkala Campus and at his private Kalapremi Ceramic Studio. He has also lectured at Jeonju University in South Korea and recently at Tabor Academy in the United States.
Seven of Kalapremi’s former students were interviewed for this story. Five female students said he touched them inappropriately in his studio or at Kathmandu University. Two male students said they witnessed him abuse and harass the women. In all cases, the students struggled to recognise the abuse when it occurred, and the lack of reporting systems left them to cope on their own for years.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, students shared a social media post hinting at Kalapremi’s history of abusive behaviour following which more students of the artist reached out sharing similar experiences. Some students spoke of abuse that happened as long as 20 years ago.
Kalapremi, 60, has denied the allegations. He told Nepali Times: “Some years ago, there was a movement encouraging people to hug and kiss. I used to do it purely out of friendship and love. But after seeing posts on social media last year calling out my behaviour, I realised my actions may have hurt some people. I understand now that I should have been more mindful.”
He added: “I am also an auxiliary health worker, so I know the exact points to massage to relieve menstrual pain. It’s not just menstruation, I take anyone who is ill to the hospital.”
Sexual abuse is much more rampant than reported given how difficult it is to prove it in court. The law defines sexual abuse as occuring when someone touches another’s private parts, coerces them into touching theirs, uses vulgar language, shows degrading images, or behaves indecently towards them without consent.&nbsp;
Ekta and her fellow students are consulting lawyer Suneeta Regmi Pokhrel, who says they know that even if the court decides in their favour, it is difficult to survive after speaking up, and influential men defend themselves saying they are being framed.&nbsp;
“They are in a lot of pain and weep when recalling how he abused them,” Regmi Pokhrel told us. “They are angry and have filed a case against him, but they are also terrified. They know he is a powerful man and they have seen how our society treats women who speak up against abusers. Unless people speak up, perpetrators will be emboldened.”
Art and academia in Nepal simply reflect the power imbalances in society where people with intersecting identities experience worse forms of abuse. Theatre actors Raj Kumar Pudasaini, Rajan Khatiwada, and Sunil Pokhrel were called out during the #MeToo movement in the Nepali theatre scene in 2019. Even after the allegations Pokhrel went on to receive national awards, while others continued to work without repercussions.
“If you speak up against abusers, you gradually get sidelined from projects,” explained a theatre artist who wished anonymity fearing professional setbacks. “The theatre scene in Nepal is quite small, you just have to make peace with the perpetrators and work with them if you want to sustain yourself.”&nbsp;
In academia there is a history of faculty members sexually harassing students and getting away with it. After Tribhuvan University (TU) lecturer Krishna Bhattachan was accused of harassing women students, the university said it would follow Nepal’s sexual harassment law and set up a reporting mechanism. But nothing happened to the professor, who had already retired. Instead, he counter-accused the students of 'attacking the indigenous people’s movement with baseless allegations' as <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/letters/2019/01/29/bhattachan-responds">he told the Kathmandu Post in 2019</a>. He continues to be featured as a prominent speaker including at TU.
Other faculty members previously accused of sexual harassment include Jagadish Murti Koirala from TU, Bishnu Prasad Acharya from Ratna Rajya Campus, and Bodha Raj Tripathee from Lalitpur Madhyamik Vidhyalaya. A woman staff member from TU also filed a sexual abuse complaint against Dambar Chemjong from TU.
Prominent figures like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">mountaineer Nims Purja</a> have been <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/sports/mountaineering-sexual-harassment-abuse-nims-purja.html">accused of sexual assault</a>, and cricketer Sandeep Lamichhane, actor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/celebrity-rape-case-spotlights-nepal-laws">Paul Shah</a>, and former speaker of Parliament <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mahara-arrested">Krishna Bahadur Mahara</a> have been accused of rape, but society-at-large has let off the alleged perpetrators amdist a larger debate about justice for survivors and punishment of perpetrators.&nbsp;
‘Gaushala-26’ is the court name given to the 18-year-old who accused Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of Nepal’s national cricket team and skipper of Biratnagar Kings in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/here-comes-the-nepal-premier-league">ongoing Nepal Premier League</a>, of rape. She left the country citing society questioning her character affecting her mental health while Lamichhane got an outpouring of support. In May, the Patan High Court overturned a prior verdict that found Lamichhane guilty of rape and had sentenced him to eight years in prison. During the 23-month legal battle to pursue justice, Gaushala-26 faced threats of gang rape and acid attacks.&nbsp;
Exhausted by the struggle, Gaushala-26 sought to “move to a new world” where she could live free without hiding her identity.
Actress Samragyee Rajya Laxmi Shah in an Instagram video now deleted detailed the harassment she faced from a filmmaker during a movie shoot. She did not name any name but veteran actor Bhuwan KC filed a defamation case against Rana, but the court ruled that the charge lacked sufficient evidence.&nbsp;
Former Kathmandu mayor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo">Keshav Sthapit also mocked the #MeToo movement</a>, calling accusations against him by journalists Rashmila Prajapati and Ujjwala Maharjan “a rape of men’s rights”.
Serial Abuse
Back at the Kalapremi Ceramics studio, another former student, 24-year-old Rajiv, says he felt the need to speak out after seeing his female classmates being abused.&nbsp;
“He frequently kissed them on their cheeks,” he told Nepali Times. “Whenever they walked into the studio he flailed his arms like a child asking for a hug. They awkwardly hugged him from the side, but he pulled them closer, held their chin, and kissed their cheeks.”&nbsp;
Rajiv says he also saw Kalapremi pull the women’s bra straps, touch their breasts, and slap their buttocks. The young students would freeze, not knowing how to react, and if they protested, he would say it was “normal in art”. Rajiv, 19 at the time like his classmates, remembers thinking perhaps the well-respected artist was right after all.
Another student, Luna, who took lessons at Kalapremi’s studio from 2020 to 2022 did try to confront the tutor after he made an obscene proposal to her. She recalls: “One day when the other students had left the studio and it was just the two of us, he told me that God had given him special artistic talent and he could transfer those powers to me. But to do that both of us will have to be naked, inside a dark room, and have sex.”
Luna, who was 18 then, was livid and told him she did not want any of his powers, but she says he laughed at her as if he was joking. She did not tell her family about the incident because she thought no one would believe her.&nbsp;
“They were all in awe of this famous artist and felt I should be grateful that to be learning sculpting from him,” she says. “I was scared to be alone with him in case he talked about sex again. My coping mechanism was to be rude so he wouldn’t try to come close to me.”
Seeing how some classmates were standing up to Kalapremi, Ekta too tried to push back against his advances, but she said he found ways to coerce her. Since Ekta, Rajiv, and Luna could not afford Kalapremi’s Rs30,000 monthly fee for lessons, he had offered them all a stipend to assist him in the studio.
“He had spondylosis and took me to his therapy sessions to learn massage techniques, then he often made me and other students massage him,” says Ekta. Whenever she refused, he would feign pain to make her feel sorry for him. “He would insist that I put my hands under his shirt so that I could massage him better,” she adds.
The art tutor often tried to “seduce sympathy” from Ekta by sharing how he had never been loved as a child and was “sexually frustrated” as an adult.&nbsp;
“At 7PM, he would pour himself Signature whiskey and immediately go off again about how he was sex-starved. I didn’t know how to respond. It took me time to realise alcohol was just an excuse to talk about sex,” Ekta says.
If convicted, Kalapremi could face financial penalty and/or a prison sentence of up to three years according to Section 224 of National Penal (Code) Act 2017.&nbsp;
Data suggests that victims of child sexual abuse on average take nearly 24 years to tell someone about their trauma, and some may never disclose it at all.&nbsp;
“In our culture, children are rarely taught about boundaries. They often react, show anger when adults pinch their cheeks. But adults insist they did it out of love, and force the children to accept it,” says Sita Lama, a psychotherapist at Manka Kura. “And even when someone touches them inappropriately they struggle to identify and verbalise it.”
When perpetrators claim to be “acting out of love”, Lama says survivors are likely to perceive it as something safe, rather than recognising it as abuse.&nbsp;
“It may take years for them to realise they were abused,” she explains. "And even when they become aware, the power imbalance with the abuser and the associated shame often prevents survivors from speaking up."
Other former students from the School of Art at Kathmandu University have also come forward years later, saying Kalapremi sexually abused them. As young adults, they felt his behaviour was off but were uncertain if it was inappropriate, illegal, or they did not know how to respond. After having understood that it was indeed abuse, they say they are speaking out now to protect others.&nbsp;
Amina Singh, a visiting faculty member at Kathmandu University, says there is no clause against sexual abuse in contracts of teachers, and there is no formal grievance handling mechanism for the students.&nbsp;
“So the only way students can to deal with sexual abuse is approach someone they trust,” she says.
Eight other former art students of Lalit Kala Campus and Srijana College of Fine Arts of Tribhuvan University and other private art studios in Kathmandu say they were also sexually abused by their art teachers. Three faculty members interviewed from these institutions said they saw the abuse, but felt it was futile to report it given how powerful the teachers were.
In the absence of a formal system, some longtime women artists warned each other about “problematic” artists. They shared &nbsp;a “heads-up” to be more cautious when collaborating with them, and avoided responding to their calls and texts after work hours.
To ensure art institutions are safe for all, galleries, museums, artist studios, and smaller art spaces need to develop policies on sexual harassment. This would include a code of conduct or studio policies that hold the leadership accountable and outline the principles of professional ethics.&nbsp;
Students and employees should inquire about accountability mechanisms for raising concerns, both formally and informally, advocates say.
Three years after Ekta left the ceramics studio, she learnt that Kalapremi had harassed many other women. Still trying to get a footing in the art industry, she attended a workshop in Kathmandu where women artists discussed ways to stay safe in the art sector.&nbsp;
Since it was a close-knit group Ekta opened up about how she felt violated and realised she was not alone, he had been abusing underprivileged students for years, and this was common knowledge among artists in Nepal.
Ekta says that even after she quit, Kalapremi continued sending her text messages like ‘I am thinking of you’, ‘Why have you stopped speaking with me’, or ‘I am waiting for your call’.&nbsp;
But what really forced her to act was when Ekta found out that he was sending similar texts to her younger sister.&nbsp;
“I’ve had enough,” she told us. “He abused me all these years but I won’t let him abuse my sister.” &nbsp;
Ekta, Rajiv and Luna are not the real names of the students.&nbsp;

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

It was 8:15 in the evening of 25 March 1968 when everyone in the village of Batulechaur near Pokhara heard a deafening sound like thunder as a bright flashing object hurtled down to land in a field.&nbsp; That field belonged to Kul Timilsina, and the next morning he retrieved a sheet of metal about 2m by 1m and carried it home with the help of a few others, thinking it would be useful for his buffalo shed.&nbsp; Before he died at age 83 three years ago, Timilsina had told photo archivist Sunil Ulak that the black metal sheet was not rectangular and had rounded corners. There are a few witnesses still alive who have a clear recollection of the object that fell from the sky that night.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="601" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>The field in Batulechaur belonging to Kul Timilsina where fragments of a flying object fell from the sky in 1968.</figcaption> </figure>  One of them is Timilsina’s wife Gyanu, who was 22 at the time. She had been at home, and remembers hearing the big bang and the sky becoming very bright. “We saw the thing in the field in the morning,” she told us. “It looked like a lid, a covering of some sort. The way it was stuck in the ground, it must have fallen from the sky. We thought we could use it to dry clothes on, and took it home.”&nbsp; Another witness is Kul Narayan Paudel. “I was only eight then. We ran to the field to see what had fallen. It was a four-sided metal sheet. The elders took it away, and I don't know what happened to it.” &nbsp; Ram Bahadur Baniya, a teacher at the local school, says he had heard the sheet had been brought to the school, and later handed over to the Zonal Commissioner at the time, Nanda Prasad Malla. “But that is all hearsay,” he says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="610" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Gyanu Timilsina, wife of Kul Timilsina.</figcaption> </figure>  There are two versions of what happened to Kul Timilsina’s metal sheet. One is that an American Peace Corp Volunteer teaching at the nearby Bindyabasini School took it, and another is that it was handed over to the government. Recently declassified Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and US State Department documents from the time say that the US Embassy in Kathmandu tracked down the object two years later and had it shipped back to the US. A telegram from the Department of State and Department of Defense tagged as ‘MOON DUST / Space Fragments’ dated 1 March 1972 stated: ‘1. Restored space fragment will be on board Embassy support flight 115 arriving Kathmandu on or about March 10. Fragment is packed in shipping crate (cargo no. 72-33365) marked in care of DAO.&nbsp; 2. State and Defense representatives examined fragments prior to shipment finding restoration acceptable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df" data-rendition-name="original" width="856" height="568" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Declassified CIA documents about the investigation into the object sighted in Pokhara. </figcaption> </figure>  The documents show that the US government, military and intelligence agencies investigated this incident thoroughly when it occurred, and have continued to revisit it ever since, as recently as five years ago. What is even more intriguing is that the object that fell in Pokhara was not the only unidentified space object that fell to earth that year. There were similar sightings of objects falling from the sky in Ladakh, Sikkim and Bhutan between 19 February and 25 March 1968.&nbsp; These mysteries were the subject of a CIA investigation in 1968 titled ‘<a href="https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP81R00560R000100070007-8.pdf">Sighting of Unidentified Flying Objects in Ladakh, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan</a>’, and the report is part of the recent online declassification of 800,000 top-secret documents from the period.&nbsp; &nbsp;Although unidentified flying objects (UFOs) have a connotation now of being alien craft, it could be pieces of satellite, missile, rocket or even aircraft. The CIA report documents six sightings in 1968 and quotes local sources as describing all of them having similar characteristics: bright blue or red streaks in the sky accompanied by loud sounds like lightning and thunder and objects falling to the ground. Aside from the metallic object that was found in Batlechaur, there were other items also found nearby in Tallakot, Tureypasal, Armalakot and Maidan. Whatever the object was, it seems to have disintegrated even before it hit the ground.&nbsp; The CIA report records the first sighting on 19 February 1968 in various parts of Sikkim and Olangchung Gola and Ghunsa in eastern Nepal. The light was said to be ‘long and thin’ and giving out ‘green and red light’. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb" data-rendition-name="original" width="892" height="596" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara "> </figure>  Two days later on 21 February, a soundless blue object was seen traveling fast across the sky above Thimphu in Bhutan. Then on 4 March there were multiple daytime sightings or white streaks in the sky at Chang La Pass, Fukche and Koyul in Ladakh. There were more sightings in Ladakh on the very day fragments fell near Pokhara on 25 March 1968.&nbsp; After the sightings in Pokhara, rumours started flying in Kathmandu that these were aliens trying to land on Earth, it could be Russian or Chinese spy planes or satellites, and some even say it as a sign from heaven that the end of the world was near. This was at the height of the Cold War. The Russians and Americans were testing their thermonuclear devices as well as intercontinental ballistic missile delivery systems. The Washington-Beijing rapprochement had not yet happened, and China was making quick progress testing atomic bombs. Within two years after its first atomic test, in 1966 China exploded its first hydrogen bomb at the Lop Nur site in Xinjiang, 3,000km to the north from Nepal. After neary six decades, what is still intriguing is that all the sightings within a few months of each other in 1968 were along the Himalayan arc bordering Tibet: from Bhutan, Sikkim Nepal, to Ladakh. The US military intelligence seems to have concluded that this was not a coincidence and there were frequent research trips to the site in Pokhara by American officials in the months after the incident. With the help of the Royal Nepal Army, the region north of Pokhara was thoroughly searched.&nbsp; A confidential memo dated 25 June 1968 by Jerry C Trippy to a ‘Mr Farley’ mentions that the US Air Force’s Foreign Technology Division had decided that the debris could be important because it may be related to a Chinese missile test or a Soviet ‘Vehicle Venik’ rocket.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  On 28 August 1968 the US Embassy in Kathmandu sent a letter to Washington DC saying that the object could be of Soviet origin, possibly from when the rocket carrying the ‘Kosmos 208’ satellite re-entered the atmosphere. But why were the fragments falling to earth several weeks apart, and in the same region? No one knows where the metal sheet that Kul Timilsina recovered is now. It was definitely packed in a crate and taken to the US, and although it is rumoured that it was returned that is not very likely. Archivist Sunil Ulak heard from the Timilsina family that CIA officials had returned to the site five years ago. &nbsp; Interest in UFOs peaked in the US in the 1950s, with the Cold War space race and tests of atomic weapons and delivery rockets. CIA and scientists were being sent to investigate sightings, both publicly and privately. Could the Pokhara fragments as well as the sightings in Ladakh and Bhutan actually be alien craft falling to earth? The renewal in interest in space travel in large part due to Elon Musk’s SpaceX, UFOs and sightings are again subjects of public interest.&nbsp; Even 57 years later, even if there was definitive proof about whether the Batlechaur fragment was from a Chinese missile or a soviet rocket, it has not been made public in documents declassified so far. We may never know.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598" data-rendition-name="original" width="642" height="320" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  Sunil Ulak speculates if the debris actually came from an American aircraft, perhaps on an intel mission upon China. “Which could explain why they were so thorough in collecting the fragments in Pokhara,” he says. But that still does not explain the multiple sightings weeks apart in 1968.&nbsp; Indeed, US military aircraft were at that time flying frequent night-time missions from air force bases in India to supply weapons to Khampa guerrilla camps in Nepal located north of Pokhara in Mustang. It could very well be that the Chinese shot down one such aircraft. The other sightings could have been contrails of US spy planes, or Chinese anti-aircraft missiles.&nbsp; There were quite a few developments regarding UFOs in 2024. In a US congressional hearing in July, former intelligence officer David Grusch claimed that the government had long been involved in a program to investigate and retrieve non-human craft crashes, and then try to reverse engineer them. However Grusch did not show any evidence.&nbsp; The UAP Disclosure Act of 2024 was signed into law by Joe Biden in December 2023. It plans to oversee the public disclosure of UFO information. However, there is a clause in it that prevents disclosure if it would cause threats to military defense, intelligence operations or foreign relations.&nbsp; It is unlikely that the declassified documents about sightings in the Himalayan will cause any real surprise about definite evidence of alien life even if it was found. It seems humanity will continue, at least for now, to wonder about curious lights in the sky and whether there is anybody out there.&nbsp;

UFO over Pokhara

Four international names in architecture, Shigeru Ban, Rem Koolhaas, Tadao Ando and Louis Isadore Kahn, all left their mark in Nepal. But despite their best intentions, the ambitious designs fizzled out. Ban, Koolhaas and Ando won Pritzkers, the best known international award for architecture, and Kahn could have won it had the prize been given in his lifetime. But their designs fell short of transforming Nepali architecture and did not help inspire local architects.&nbsp; Why were these four ‘starchitects’ unable to pull off their Nepal projects and enrich the country with exemplary contemporary designs? The failure, especially the violation of Kahn’s design, also raises larger questions about how much contemporary architecture is valued in Nepal.&nbsp; Whereas Sri Lanka had Geoffrey Bawa and Bangladesh had Mazharul Islam, the pioneers of contemporary architecture in Nepal have had far less public appreciation. One wonders if Nepali architecture only refers to the monuments and heritage of the past. Nepal does have examples of outstanding modern architecture such as the &nbsp;पाङ्रे घर ‘Wheel House’ and खुट्टे घर &nbsp;‘House on Legs’ by Shankar Nath Rimal in the 1960s. These are the best examples of how some Nepali designers successfully tailored modern architecture to the Nepali context.&nbsp; Ten years ago, Nepal had three architecture magazines, SPACES, praXis and Business Architecture, but none of these survived. This newspaper has prominently covered contemporary architecture, and the built environment, but these are exceptions in Nepal’s media. There have been a few encouraging signs. The 2024 exhibition Modern Encounters in Architecture in Kathmandu Valley (1945-1985) at the Taragaon Museum had many visitors and its accompanying book is a seminal document.&nbsp; In 2023, the Mountain Architecture Dialogue (MAD) that focused on examples of good-practice sustainable contemporary architecture for the mountainous terrains of Nepal was a packed event with over 300 young architects, engineers, environmentalists and architecture students. <h2>Shigeru Ban</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_8bb8dde080c5698c2585966bef27ce4c08e4ee488d3432b2caac98b9de762dfe.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024122003128_8bb8dde080c5698c2585966bef27ce4c08e4ee488d3432b2caac98b9de762dfe" data-rendition-name="original" width="990" height="1074" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  Shigeru Ban had already built a name for himself in post-disaster construction when he came to Nepal following the 2015 earthquakes in which 500,000 people lost their homes. The basic design and its 3D-rendered images were reviewed in upbeat articles on DOMUS, Architectural Review, Dezeen, and Arch Daily.&nbsp; But his signature cardboard tubes could not handle the monsoon and the roof structure had to be re-designed with timber. Only two shelters were completed in Sindupalchok, and only one of them still stands at the Hyatt Regency grounds today, as Ban’s souvenir to Nepal.&nbsp; <h2>Rem Koolhaas</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_58afec9b57accfa38327af0936648c6eb2f2e11ff18f1af8ca27383dc57dc222.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024122003128_58afec9b57accfa38327af0936648c6eb2f2e11ff18f1af8ca27383dc57dc222" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="722" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  The designs of Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas have a specific signature: bold shapes and an intriguing architectural typology that challenges standard building blocks. Some designs even seem to defy gravity, like the CCTV headquarters in Beijing: an angular, continuous geometry of glass and steel.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_a18dc8a8d6b97bc6fa9d590036cf374f9dc3709c699fe5c5787304bbd05cb17d.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241220031216_a18dc8a8d6b97bc6fa9d590036cf374f9dc3709c699fe5c5787304bbd05cb17d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1812" height="1168" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Rem Koolhaas' design for Ullen's School in Khumaltar.</figcaption> </figure>  Koolhaas was commissioned by Belgian billionaire Guy Ullens to design a new building for Ullens School in Khumaltar. The most prominent feature is its vertical glass block staircase. Some interior spaces have lowered windowsills, which provide ample views and daylight. But the school building has gone unremarked in Nepal. <h2>Tadao Ando</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031212_cc16bd6feb8be07a7198285b847a45d2126dc3a479e0cc7370331861fc544675.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241220031212_cc16bd6feb8be07a7198285b847a45d2126dc3a479e0cc7370331861fc544675" data-rendition-name="original" width="626" height="628" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> </figure>  Doctors providing aid to victims of the Great Hanshin earthquake in 1995 in Japan requested Tadao Ando, who had donated his Pritzker money to the victims, to also make a design for a hospital in Butwal.&nbsp; Ando’s contribution would be pro-bono and the construction was funded by the Hanshin Earthquake victims and by the popular Japanese newspaper Mainichi, as a tribute to Nepali doctors. The first block that Ando designed for the Siddhartha Children and Women’s Hospital (SCWH) was the out-patient department. He quickly realised that he would not be able to pull off structures with his typical style of smooth-finished, high-quality concrete.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_73ec0950d52320277ccc81d4a66fa6aa6acb38141e7b7633683e4cf8179dc579.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241220031216_73ec0950d52320277ccc81d4a66fa6aa6acb38141e7b7633683e4cf8179dc579" data-rendition-name="original" width="1594" height="958" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Tadao Ando's Siddhartha Children and Women Hospital in Butwal.</figcaption> </figure>  Ando wrote in the online architectural catalog Architectuul, that the two main problems with the project were costs and the availability of local technology. ‘It became a facility that has a slightly different expression from the buildings I have completed so far,’ he wrote. He designed a colonnade for the west façade that would provide shelter from harsh sunlight, and the exposed brick walls were locally manufactured bricks.&nbsp; The hospital is characterised by modernist cuboidal massing, but the outer brick façades now appear unintentionally badly weathered by monsoons. The interiors lack both sufficient natural light and natural ventilation. <h2>Louis I Kahn</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_612e199d62fb3e72b6b8f6a936b0fa0451d8c0aa3d831c071320bf423ee3d67f.png" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2024122003128_612e199d62fb3e72b6b8f6a936b0fa0451d8c0aa3d831c071320bf423ee3d67f" data-rendition-name="original" width="694" height="926" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  American architect Louis I Kahn had experience of projects in South Asia, and several were under construction when he died suddenly in 1974. Amongst these were the National Assembly complex in Dhaka, the Indian Institute of Management in Ahmedabad and the Family Planning and Maternal Child Welfare Centre in Kathmandu.&nbsp; Kahn had started the USAID funded project in Nepal by developing a master plan for the government institutional zone in Kathmandu, which included a building for the Health Ministry. The building’s façade in exposed brick has deeply recessed vertical windows for shading.&nbsp; The balancing of accentuated horizontal lines in the brickwork with the verticality of the larger composition is the work of a master. The brick walls rise up into punctured parapet walls at the roof level. These square apertures ‘frame the sky’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_69c2e4972dbe38773e0a3a3f1129485c9c87033ee84cd454e24ae0dc772d05cf.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241220031216_69c2e4972dbe38773e0a3a3f1129485c9c87033ee84cd454e24ae0dc772d05cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1924" height="1242" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Louis Kahn's plan for the Ministry of Health.</figcaption> </figure>  When Kahn died, only the eastern half of the building was finished. The Western part was never built and Nepal’s bureaucrats decided that without paint, the exposed brick façade was not finished. Then in 1995, citing roof leakage and a space crunch, the Health Ministry added a floor.&nbsp; The frames-to-the-sky in the roof parapet were converted into windows and topped off with a sloping roof of corrugated steel sheets, whose only virtue was that it was cost-effective.&nbsp; Kahn’s orthogonal composition, which clean horizontal and vertical lines, was desecrated despite a public outcry and legal challenges from architects and cultural organisations. A version of this article was first published in HIMAL Southasian. Illustrations by Varun S Bapu.

Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal

If you were raised in Nepal, you must have picked up its unique set of vocabulary: आन्दोलन, चक्का जाम, बन्द, राँके जुलुस, आफ्नो मान्छे, हाम्रो दल, कर्फु and many more words connoting political protest.
We became familiar with the acrid smell of burning tyres, and eyes smarting from tear gas. And yet, everyone speaks of another revolution in the making. Not by desire, but by suffocation.
We heard speeches about नयाँ नेपाल, but the New Nepal never arrived. The governance system changed, but it did not reflect on people’s lives — except for those close to centres of power. The state is still unreachable and is not bothered about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/matter-of-life-and-debt">victims of loan sharks</a>, cooperative scams and other injustices.
Politicians continue to speak in sound bites, but fail to deliver. They have mastered the game of pointing fingers towards an external enemy and convincing people that they are never at fault. The political narrative is so disconnected from the actual analysis of the problem that suffocation doesn’t go away after every revolution.
No genuine effort has been made to deliver at all, which is why there is a palpable sense of disillusionment in the air forcing us to seek another revolution, even if Nepal may not be able to afford it.
How has the current system successfully held power, even if the public is deeply frustrated? How is it that for three decades we continue to be led by the same faces, who have time and again, proved to us that they may be great politicians but not national leaders?
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/improving-internet-governance-in-nepal">My experience at the epicentre of politics</a> has led me to identify three cultures that have enabled political parties to keep a tight hold on power: acceptance, silence and dependency.
We accept things the way they are. We use fatalistic phrases like “नेपालमा यस्तै हो” or “नेपालको कानुन दैब जानुन”. While this resilience enables us to rise back up from devastating calamities, it is also a reason for our compliance with the status quo.
Despite so many ‘revolutions’ that have led to significant reforms, these phrases keep getting reinforced, to the point that the upcoming generations have made it their lingo.&nbsp;
This acceptance is not a symbol of law-abiding citizens, but citizens living in fear of those in power, unable to ask the whys and why-nots.
Innovation suffocates in this culture of acceptance of the status quo. This is manifested in remarks like “but we don’t have any laws for this,” or “we don’t have the capacity to implement this”. An innovator or entrepreneur therefore has to spend that energy to become a political lobbyist, often educating and convincing the bureaucracy.&nbsp;
Remember when locally assembled <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/designed-and-made-in-nepal">Yatri motorbikes</a>, despite having willing customers, had to suffer to secure license numbers because of a lack of regulations? Instead of creating new laws, the government kept chanting the “We will promote Nepal-made goods” mantra, leaving entrepreneurs in a labyrinth of bureaucracy. The weight of acceptance of the law lies heavily on innovators. Fatalism is a tactic used by those in power to generate mass fear in society.
When we accept, we become silent. This is a pervasive phenomenon. We are trained to keep quiet, lest we ruffle feathers, burn bridges, or not get the help we need in future. We know, yet we don’t speak.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bureaucratic-hurdles-in-researching-nepals-bureaucracy">Bureaucratic hurdles in researching Nepal's bureaucracy</a>, Daniel W Edwards
Here is one example: the 2021 census shows that the number of baby boys born for every 100 baby girls is 112. This is a clear indication of female foeticide because of boy preference in society.
Despite such horrifying realities, there is finger-pointing within the government between the Ministry of Health and Population with the Ministry of Home Affairs. At the citizen level, we know those who are involved in killing girls. Yet, we don’t speak up. The Nepal Medical Council reports state that despite this gender imbalance at birth, there is no indication of any action.
But why would anyone speak against one's own fraternity, no matter how vile the act is?
When we accept and keep quiet, we become dependent on those who yield power. From getting our government procedure completed on time to getting transfers, to accessing any of our legally protected rights as well, we are forced to depend on our networks of चिनेको मान्छे people we know by blood, village, relations, political affiliation.
The culture of dependency has been the established way in Nepal. If you drive a two-wheeler or four-wheeler, and you get into a small accident, you will be asked to sort it yourself, dialing up the most powerful person you know. It becomes a competition of who knows who.
Recently I was told that there were calls from the Ministry of Health and Population and another from the Prime Minister's Office for just one medical position in a private hospital. Each was pushing its own candidate. Guess which candidate got the position.&nbsp;
The dependency of people is not on the laws or the state, it is with people in power, a reliance on the network of somebody who knows somebody, including those not officially in power.
These cultures are deeply ingrained in our heads, and in society. Collectively they form a vicious circle that helps those in power to retain power. This is not the society we want to live in.
Then, what do we do as a collective to break away from this? How do we break away from the cultures of acceptance and silence that have created this dependency? What can we do to ensure that our children do not have to learn the jargon of आन्दोलन before they learn about the state?
These are the cultures political parties need to shed rather than use them to perpetuate their power. This is what <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/an-alternative-to-alternative-politics-in-nepal">alternative politics</a> needs to be about.
Sumana Shrestha is a member of Parliament’s Education, Health and Information Technology parliamentary committee and represents the Rastriya Swatantara Party.

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