<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bada79c7e80680e077fa8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>A glimpse of enough Is Enough campaign in Kathmandu. Photo: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>Civil society around the world faces serious restrictions on its freedom to express and engage in activism to defend human rights following the COVID-19 pandemic, a report by Forus International and the Asia Development Alliance (ADA) has concluded.Titled ‘Realising the Potential of Goal 16 of the 2030 Agenda’ was published last week with 18 civic space cases studies from countries, including Nepal. It highlights how the pandemic has exacerbated and deepened existing problems faced by civil society organisations (CSOs) by constricting their work environment.“Civic space was already under pressure before the pandemic,” said Sarah Strack of Forus. “A vibrant and independent civil society is vital to fulfil its role in the implementation of SDGs. Progress will be correlated to the extent to which meaningful civic space will be secured at local, national, regional and international levels.”The report says the SDGs (the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals for 2030) will be severely affected by state responses to the coronavirus crisis, and the pressure on non-governmental actors.A key trend in almost all of the case studies included in the report is unwarranted state restriction on civic space -- on the freedom of expression, assembly and association of civil society in many countries around the world.Says Philip Alston, former UN Special Rapporteur on Extreme Poverty and Human Rights: “The responses to COVID-19 in many countries has only made the situation worse as governments have opportunistically used the pandemic as a justification to further clamp down on civil society.”<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/media-muzzle/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Targeting free speech can take various forms</a>. In Cambodia, several journalists have been arrested or threatened because of their reporting on the COVID-19 pandemic. A blogger on the Pacific island of Samoa was jailed for seven weeks for allegedly defaming the Prime Minister. CSOs and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/lockdown-crackdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">independent media groups have been ‘muted'</a> in many countries from Nepal to Colombia.The International Federation of Journalists (IFJ) in its 18th annual report released earlier this year on the World Press Freedom day also said that the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/south-asia-tightening-press-controls-amidst-covid-19/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">pandemic has worsened the lack of safety for journalists in South Asia</a> as controls on media freedom were tightened across the region.The Internet and social media has been especially targeted by authorities to curtail dissent, but civil society organisations around the world have used virtual spaces to become more vocal and exchange information to efficiently defend offline space. One example of this is <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/social-movement-through-social-media/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s Enough Is Enough campaign that first started on social media</a>.Thousands of youth took to streets demanding better response to the pandemic with some of them participating in a hunger strike that lasted 12 days before <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/12-point-deal-after-12-days-of-hunger-strike/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">an agreement was reached earlier this month</a>  However, some activists resumed their hunger strike in Kathmandu on Sunday.A global campaign involving Forus International and concerned stakeholders will call for new civic space indicators to be developed that will measure the efforts of UN Member States to protect fundamental freedoms in accordance with international human rights standards and national human rights laws.Nepal’s treatment of civil society and their advocacy will be crucial as the country <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/will-nepal-get-2nd-term-at-unhrc/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">prepares for a second term</a> at the UN Human Rights Council (UNHRC) amidst poor record on transitional justice at home.For the social recovery from the COVID-19 crisis to be sustainable and resilient, a return to business as usual must be avoided, stated the report. It further explains that the building back better narrative and plans must be comprehensive, covering all policy areas and creating more space for civil society in the development, implementation and monitoring.Says Forus International: “We believe progressive governments, international and regional institutions, philanthropic organisations and civil society now need to take bold steps to counter the shrinking of civic space and to develop global partnerships to tackle the issue.”

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COVID-19 shrinks civic space

<figure><img width="1500" height="996" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110815110/636a60fa9c7e80680e056ea9jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photos: SEWA BHATTARAI</figcaption></figure>Children sit in a circle experimenting with different colours on palettes at a shelter in Godavari one morning this week. Some design flowers in bright colours, others draw homes nestled below mountains.Many of the children are survivors of rape or domestic violence, from rural parts of Nepal. The one thing they have in common is mental trauma.For Colombian painter Dairo Vargas (pictured with students of Kitini College) who is coaching these and other Nepali children, the situation is very familiar to that of his own country. Vargas himself suffered depression as a teenager, and believes art can be a great healer in a country wracked by war.“When I was depressed, I could not focus on anything. But when I start painting, I am able to concentrate on what I am creating. That gives me a sense of calm, and slowly helped me overcome depression,” says Vargas, who now helps others like him around the world.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/365-is-not-just-a-number/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">365 is not just a number</a>, Sewa BhattaraiNepal and Colombia share the common <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/its-all-in-the-mind/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">burden of war trauma</a> — people in both countries today struggle with the violence of their past, and seek closure. Nepal signed a peace accord with the Maoists in 2006, and Colombia made peace with the FARC rebel group 10 years later, ending a conflict that killed over 220,000 people and displaced 7 million.While many victims and their families have received compensation for physical wounds or loss in Nepal, mental trauma has been largely ignored. Likewise, various studies indicate that up to 40% of the population in Colombia suffer from mental illness at some point, and lifetime prevalence may be up to 20%. There too, the Ministry of Health has recognised that the issue is under-reported and inadequately addressed.Vargas works with former FARC guerrillas and others in Colombia who suffer post-traumatic stress, but finds it hard.“Of course the guerrillas have many mental health issues, but they are not happy to do anything about it at the moment. Also, they have made so many enemies in society that reintegrating them is very difficult,” he says.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/stigma-and-silence-mental-health-nepal,3486" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Stigma and Silence</a>, Ketan Dulal <img width="750" height="563" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110815110/636a60fd9c7e80680e056eaajpeg.jpg" alt="">Vargas is attempting to bring his own experience in Colombia to fill this gap in Nepal. His mission is to spread awareness about mental illness, and make painting more accessible to traumatised people through his movement #TheArtListens. He is using the technique with children at a shelter for rescued children in Godavari, where they paint, sketch and draw.As in Colombia, mental health is <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/stigma-and-silence-mental-health-nepal,3486" target="_blank" rel="noopener">still a stigma in Nepal</a>, especially for families of the disappeared, children who witnessed violence and victims of war rape.These survivors rarely seek help, even though a 2012 study showed 80% of conflict-affected people suffer anxiety and depression, 50% have <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/psychological-scars-of-maoist-conflict-on-young-survivors-take-longer-to-heal,1519" target="_blank" rel="noopener">PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder</a>), and former child soldiers are far more likely (45-50%) to suffer from these symptoms than children never conscripted (20-37%). Social reintegration continues to be a challenge, and many former combatants and relatives suffer stigma.Suraj Koirala of TPO (Transcultural Psychosocial Organisation) has surveyed and counselled many <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16930#.Xa_KL-Yza70" target="_blank" rel="noopener">conflict-affected Nepalis</a>, and says the most common problems are depression, anxiety and PTSD.“Children and women have suffered the most, and it is prolonged for victims of sexual abuse and family members of the disappeared,” says Koirala.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Neglect-of-the-neglected,3157" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Neglect of the neglected</a>, Bibhav Acharya And Soniya HirachanOne of them is Bhagiram Chaudhary of the Conflict Victims’ Common Platform, whose brother and sister-in-law were disappeared during the conflict but who has never sought counselling or therapy.“If I see anyone who looks like my brother, I still take a second look, wondering if it is him,” he says. “We are unable to perform his last rites, because we don’t know if he is still out there. Not having closure means that we are still undecided about how to take our life forward.”Gita Rasaili of the Conflict Victims’ National Network was 13 when she saw soldiers taking away her sister. Her family later found the decomposed remains of her body. After that, Rasaili’s mother used to faint often and was unable to perform household chores. After years of therapy, she did get better.“There are many war victims like me who suffer from mental health crises, but we do not recognise it and never seek help,” says Rasaili. “If you go to a mental hospital people think you are mad. A lot more needs to be done for the nation to heal.”Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/psychological-scars-of-maoist-conflict-on-young-survivors-take-longer-to-heal,1519" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Post-conflict stress syndrome</a>, Taylor CaldwellLike Rasaili, other war survivors suffer from symptoms like lack of sleep and concentration, inability to focus, disruptive memories and depression. The bigger concern is that these problems could transcend generations.“If parents are unable to deal with trauma and express their mental state in unhealthy ways, their children could be impacted as well,” says Koirala of TPO. “Social reintegration is already difficult for combatants, and this could create another generation of outcasts.”As in Colombia, some victims of the conflict and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/its-all-in-the-mind/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">the 2015 earthquake in Nepal</a> have found ways to express themselves through art. Rasaili keeps a journal, saying it helps her find relief from stress, and she knows others who paint and sketch. But they all found these outlets through personal effort — there is no systematic approach to artistic therapy in Nepal. <img width="750" height="563" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110815110/636a61009c7e80680e056eabjpeg.jpg" alt="">Says Vargas: “Traumatised people often cannot express their suffering to other people, and art is a space where they can free themselves. Completing a piece of art also helps the brain make connections, and gives a sense of achievement and confidence.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/ashna-comes-out-of-the-black/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Ashna comes out of the black</a>, Sewa Bhattarai

The mental scars of violence

Nepal’s month-long cricket carnival ended on a sunny Saturday in Kathmandu with a final game in which the Lumbini Lions dominated the Sudurpaschim Royals with both bat and ball.&nbsp; The Royals were bowled out for an embarrassing 85, thanks to Namibian Ruben Trumplemann’s three wickets for three runs, and captain Rohit Paudel’s hat-trick in the eleventh over. Only opener Ishan Pandey’s 33 run-innings was of any note.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="909" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1345" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  The Lions came out with virtually no pressure on them, and Dinesh Adhikari’s 42 off 13 including 27 off the first over bowled by Dipendra Singh Airee won the match. Rohit Paudel came in to finish the match calmly, with 11 overs to spare, scoring two stylish fours and a six before holing out with the Lions on 83.&nbsp; The Lions took comically long to get the final two runs to win the game, losing one more wicket. But it was merely a matter of time, and a single ended the Royal’s misery.&nbsp; As dusk fell, the big fluffy lion mascot was on the field dapping up the Lions as red fireworks went off and Lumbini fans leaped from their seats in the packed stands.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  This capped off an incredible run from the Lions who had finished dead last in NPL Season 1, and had only one win and three losses after four games. They won the remaining three, finishing fourth, barely qualifying.&nbsp; This meant that they had to play an eliminator last week against the Kathmandu Gorkhas and then a qualifier against the popular Biratnagar Kings, whose squad included Sandeep Lamichhane, Faf du Plessis, and Martin Guptill. They won both in style. For the Royals, however, this was the second disappointing final in a row after being the best team in the group stage in both seasons of the NPL. National team batsman Binod Bhandari had had an excellent tournament for the Royals, but was in tears at having come this far again and fallen short.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  Despite the final being disappointingly less action-packed for the neutral viewer, the final marked the second successful execution of the NPL. The addition of seats and floodlights at the TU Cricket Stadium overlooking Kathmandu made evening games possible and improved the experience for fans.&nbsp; The floodlights also made for some gorgeous photography as the sun set behind Chandragiri, illuminating the Himalaya to the north in gradually fading shades of orange.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Adam Rossington’s 323 runs, including a century, and Sandeep Lamichhane’s 17 wickets were the standout individual performances across the tournament in the past month.&nbsp; The tournament brought out characters much loved by the vociferous crowd, including ‘Taklu’ Irish commentator Andrew Leonard who worked in a Dhaka Topi, British presenter Jess Crowe who donned a Sari for the final, and Chitwan Rhinos’ charismatic mascot Mr Gaida who entertained the crowd with enthusiastic nonstop dancing.&nbsp; The tournament was such a draw that the university grounds looked like a carnival with food and merchandise stalls. The capacity 10,000 stadium drew such a crowd that Kathmandu streets were relatively quiet on Saturday with people also watching the game live on tv at home.&nbsp; Kathmandu’s residents were genuinely delighted at being able to talk about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cricket-carnival">a Nepali cricket tournament</a>, and not about the Indian or English Premier Leagues. And while everyone appreciated the cricket no matter who was playing, fans showed up for their provinces in loud numbers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  The organisers having proven themselves, future NPLs may need more stadiums in other provinces, even better overseas players.&nbsp; Sambhav Sirohiya of the Kathmandu Media Group ambitiously tweeted that he believes that the league could already become the second most valuable franchise cricket league NEXT SEASON, especially if the government would loosen up its regulations of advertising, especially that of alcohol. Nepali cricketers and fans are now better prepared for the T20 World Cup in India and Sri Lanka in February, with the experience of playing in the NPL and with the access to world-class cricket talent and seeing how they go about excelling at the sport.&nbsp;

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

The Kangchenjunga Trek in far-eastern Nepal is a remote and less-crowded adventure that offers raw wilderness, diverse cultures, and breathtaking terrain below the world’s third highest mountain. Kangchenjunga (8,586m) grabbed the world’s attention before Mt Everest ever did because its imposing rampart dominated the northern horizon from Darjeeling, the summer refuge for the British in India. The Kangchenjunga massif is more a mountain range rather than a peak, its high ridge stretching 25km from Nepal to Sikkim.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251211111236_1f51f10becbb6bd01248f5845c6055479201365b1357fbbc6479b6724ea2185c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251211111236_1f51f10becbb6bd01248f5845c6055479201365b1357fbbc6479b6724ea2185c" data-rendition-name="original" width="938" height="726" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga trail map"></figure>  Sikkim considers the mountain sacred, and has banned mountaineering expeditions. But the various prominences of Kangchenjunga are increasingly popular for climbers via the north face in Nepal. For non-mountaineers, even the Kangchenjunga trek can be arduous, especially in winter. It is one of the last pure wilderness areas in Nepal, traversing sparsely populated valleys that are rich in biodiversity because of the high annual rainfall. Even when Nepal was a forbidden land, among the first foreign visitors was British botanist J D Hooker who explored the Nepal side of Kangchenjunga in 1850 to collect plant samples. The peak was first climbed in 1955, two years after the first ascent of Mt Everest.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251215071228_7dd4ddc943554012654df0a2f5065ed364b8349c31888ac8cbe175b4540d1dfd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251215071228_7dd4ddc943554012654df0a2f5065ed364b8349c31888ac8cbe175b4540d1dfd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_a857e5e9cfc7fea2f5f0b060b8f6e9f6582abc1ac1fd1a60abad90a9d55adbff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025121509128_a857e5e9cfc7fea2f5f0b060b8f6e9f6582abc1ac1fd1a60abad90a9d55adbff" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  The establishment of Kangchenjunga Conservation Area in September 2006 was accompanied by tragedy when 24 people, including Nepal’s nature preservation pioneers were killed in a helicopter crash. The Conservation Area is now the only one managed completely by the local indigenous people. It has 70 varieties of orchids, 30 rhododendron types, and 15 out of 28 endemic plants of Nepal. Kangchenjunga still gets very few of the 200,000 foreign trekkers who visit Nepal every year, but improved road access in recent years is making it more popular. Trekkers have a choice of exploring the North Base Camp (Pangpema) or the South Base Camp (Yalung Glacier), or combine both for the full Kangchenjunga Circuit (map). This trek is considered strenuous, with long walking days, high altitude, and tea house accommodation that is much more basic than the Everest or Annapurna regions. Trekkers have to be fit and with prior hiking experience. Most teams take tents and camp, and carry most of their food.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_895ccc1d918f88c255dbeccea19c990bcaa792f384750559cb7257b99f177be7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025121509128_895ccc1d918f88c255dbeccea19c990bcaa792f384750559cb7257b99f177be7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  FULL CIRCUIT Because the region is restricted, trekkers must obtain a permit and be accompanied by a licensed guide. A full circuit can take three weeks, while doing only the North or South Base Camps will take two weeks, including flying from Kathmandu to Bhadrapur and jeep to Taplejung or a rough trail to Hellok. The lower forested stretches are teeming with wildlife, and this is red panda and snow leopard country. The streams and ponds have amphibians and reptiles, some of which have not yet even been classified. The route also passes the homelands of the Limbu, Rai and Tibetan communities with the local culture and architecture more intact than in most other mountain areas of Nepal.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_90c129a639376621ece0aa067a601573f8b06d934c089a0fa929a7ce9c12018b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025121509128_90c129a639376621ece0aa067a601573f8b06d934c089a0fa929a7ce9c12018b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_f51e595e5a18d573365cc611dbf1a49cfb19b2b8ee40164ed500179e2a2b04f8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025121509128_f51e595e5a18d573365cc611dbf1a49cfb19b2b8ee40164ed500179e2a2b04f8" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  The best seasons to trek are spring (March–May) and autumn (September–November). There are fewer trekkers and climbers in winter, and many of the birds and wildlife have migrated down to warmer climes. Despite its beauty, trekkers should be prepared for challenges like long distances between villages, unpredictable weather, and limited emergency rescue options due to the remoteness of the area — all even more challenging in winter. Norbu Lama is an international hiking guide with www.dolpocaravantreks.com and just returned after leading a trek to Kangchenjunga Base Camps.

Kangchenjunga in winter

People like myself were too young during the decade of the Maoist War to remember its horrors. We often wonder what life was truly like back then. Perhaps the closest we have come to experiencing a national crisis of that scale – with the protests, violence, curfews, and political maneuvering – was the GenZ movement in September. How did people cope? What did they fear? What was it like in the cities and &nbsp;villages? How was it that the king still held so much power? What motivated the guerrillas? And, how did &nbsp;ordinary people adjust and endure the war? My curiosity about the war that ended 20 years ago &nbsp;was met with a rollercoaster of emotions with Monica Rana’s debut novel, The Paths We Choose. The novel is not a retelling of events from the vantage of leaders, rebels. It is not about the violence, but a carefully curated perspective of ordinary people caught up in it. It is a glimpse into how the war altered or defined their paths. This is the 'People’s War' from the people’s own perspective. Readers are immediately invested into the lives of two central characters, the sister duo, Sumnima and Rita. The elder radiating from the beginning with her brave and cunning aura, and the latter, more timid and obedient, much of her time absorbed in awe of her sister. The writer’s language flows as effortlessly as the sisters’ strides up the hills to steal mangoes from Dhire Dai’s trees, only to race back down to Rato Mato, carrying us through their journey into adolescence. Amidst the rolling hills, mango trees, life is filled with laughter, adventures, and everyday banter, scenes so serene that they carry an unsettling calm that hints at what lies ahead. Village life is not all painted in romantic hues. The stark reality of poverty, subsistence, and contrast with the comfort of city living are never far away. Amidst these reminders, there runs a humbling truth: happiness once rested on small things, not on the material excess that define urban life. As the pages turn, the title begins to resonate: two sisters, once bound by the same bloodline, shared dreams, and the same roof, are caught in the crosshairs of war and forced onto separate paths. One by choice, and the other by necessity. The story unfolds with the seasons: the relentless monsoon rains, the scorching heat of summer, and a liberating winter that carries bittersweet truths. The year is 2001, as the insurgency intensifies. Against this backdrop, the cousins’ lives diverge. Sumnima is drawn into the rebels’ ranks to 'fight for equality and freedom', while Rita is uprooted, carried across distances, and placed in Seto Bangala as a helping hand among the higher-ups, in her family’s desperate attempt to secure her a better life after their village is reduced to a 'ghost city' by violent attacks. There are betrayals and beginnings, high palaces and humble hills, royals and rurals, identity and ideology, loss and lament, distance and discovery. Through upheavals, tears, and struggles, one thing remains constant: both sisters wonder about the other. They care. They long to reconnect. They hold fast to the dream they once shared to open a guesthouse in their village someday. A dream to simply live with no fear. To be free. To be happy. And, to be together. The writing illuminates vital themes: innocent people caught up in strife, the vast chasm of class from royals dining on silver plates to villagers back home hiding their last grain to save it from looters. And discrimination so stark it was as if people carried labels on their foreheads, marked by caste, skin colour, and gender. The sisters eventually reunite, but their journey is not an easy one, and what lies ahead is far from the future either of them once imagined. One might romanticise it as fate, or might recoil at the harsh reality Monica Rana lays bare: it is often the innocent who bear the heaviest burdens of war. Civilians are trapped between warring sides, enduring hunger, displacement, and violence through no fault of their own. Wars continue to rage across the world. Though the novel does not particularly focus on exposing the horrifying depths of war crimes, it remains a timeless reminder of what the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish once said: “The war will end, and leaders will shake hands. The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son. And those children will keep waiting for their hero father. I don’t know who sold our homeland, but I saw who paid the price.” &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The paths we choose book review"> </figure>

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