Sarus cranes hold a unique place among all the other species of birds found in Nepal, owing to their <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/protecting-lumbini-s-rare-cranes" target="_blank">legendary connection with Lord Buddha</a> in his birthplace of Lumbini. It is believed that Prince Siddhartha was strolling in the palace garden one day when he came across a wounded crane. As he was taking the arrow out, his cousin Devdatta, who had shot the bird, demanded the bird back. Unable to establish who the rightful owner was, the two went to King Suddhodhan who then declared that the bird belonged to the one who saved its life. The bird mentioned in Buddhist scriptures is said to be the Sarus crane found in Lumbini and the wetlands of the Tarai plains of Nepal, and have possibly been living here for millennia.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230822070848_b8f603465496e926a7ba7caef0d03f781e6719702a0d2ce25e4f977d62b97b8c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230822070848_b8f603465496e926a7ba7caef0d03f781e6719702a0d2ce25e4f977d62b97b8c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1146" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Saras NT"> <figcaption>Photos: DEPARTMENT OF NATIONAL PARKS AND WILDLIFE CONSERVATION NEPAL</figcaption> </figure>  The Sarus crane’s <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/cranes-nature-and-godliness" target="_blank">cultural importance</a> has been recognised by the local municipality which regards the bird as its mascot. But rapid urban spread in this part of Nepal has resulted in the destruction of its habitat. A study by Nepal Zoological Society and Tribhuvan University’s Central Department of Biology funded by the <a href="https://savingcranes.org/" target="_blank">International Crane Foundation</a> and the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/protecting-lumbini-s-rare-cranes" target="_blank">World Wildlife Fund</a> puts the population of these monogamous birds at only 690 in Nepal. Lead researcher ornithologist Hem Katuwal warns that cranes and other bird species could disappear from the Nepal Tarai if conservation measures are not urgently undertaken.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230822070848_20650eed8af4be7b9fb7e63fc92c7f4b19c1c737e9ad301b37ca02a6664eedce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230822070848_20650eed8af4be7b9fb7e63fc92c7f4b19c1c737e9ad301b37ca02a6664eedce" data-rendition-name="original" width="831" height="625" loading="lazy" alt="Saras NT"> </figure>  Hari Sharma at the Central Department of Biology, however, is not so discouraged. He says, “The survey was conducted in the dry season, and even then we counted more cranes than expected. This number will definitely increase in the monsoon.”&nbsp; The study looked at the population and status of cranes in the greater Lumbini area and other districts with 14 teams fanning out across 93 blocks with roosting sites, including ten in Lumbini, two in Kapilvastu, seven in Rupandehi, and one each in Jagdishpur Lake, Bajaha Lake, and Nawalparasi. Among the 15 species of cranes found globally, Nepal is home to four, the Sarus (Antigone antigone), Karyangkurung (Demoiselle Crane), Laxman (Common Crane), and Kalikantha (Black-necked Crane). <div class="embed-block"><div><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%;"><iframe src="//cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fembed%2Ftn9sYLe_lZY&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> The Demoiselle, Common Crane, and Black-necked Crane are migratory birds, flying down from the Tibetan Plateau across the Himalayan mountains to the plains of Nepal and India in winter. But the Sarus prefers to stay put, and the study focussed on this group.&nbsp; Like other wildlife, the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/shooting-sarus" target="_blank">survival of the Sarus</a> depends on the availability of water in rivers, lakes and wetlands. But water is drying up due to over-extraction, pollution, invasive species and weather extremes caused by the climate crisis. “As the rivers shrink during summer, the birds migrate further to the south. Last winter, over 100 cranes were found in Bajaha Lake. This time the water had dried up, and only 27 were seen,” says Katuwal.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230822070848_e779ea21a4900a2d6a0f25daa519c1bdea88127619dc55679f0d90233e43466a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20230822070848_e779ea21a4900a2d6a0f25daa519c1bdea88127619dc55679f0d90233e43466a" data-rendition-name="original" width="831" height="1045" loading="lazy" alt="Saras NT"> </figure>  A dedicated <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/proposed-change-to-lumbini-masterplan-threat-to-Sarus,4090" target="_blank">Crane Conservation Area</a> has been formed within the &nbsp;Lumbini enclave due to its sacred connection to the Buddha. The study focused on the Lumbini area, which includes Kapilvastu, Rupandehi, and Parasi, and found out that although wetlands are important, cranes tended to breed in open fields and avoided forests. The region has now been declared an Important Bird Area by <a href="https://www.birdlife.org/" target="_blank">BirdLife International</a>. Increasing construction activity, new cement factories in the Lumbini region worried researchers who felt it would lead to further habitat destruction and water scarcity.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230822070848_3f1ede6cf02961058be67cf73af22e21c68af2f866a84778d915d5784436ec3a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20230822070848_3f1ede6cf02961058be67cf73af22e21c68af2f866a84778d915d5784436ec3a" data-rendition-name="original" width="830" height="594" loading="lazy" alt="Saras NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230822070848_f110d5c17b0bd309c85b328fc5847491c588142fc15d01dccb7812cc473c5297.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20230822070848_f110d5c17b0bd309c85b328fc5847491c588142fc15d01dccb7812cc473c5297" data-rendition-name="original" width="328" height="250" loading="lazy" alt="Saras NT"> </figure>  Another threat to cranes and other birds is the changing agriculture practice of burning harvest residue which reduces the availability of insects which are already impacted by pesticide use. Electric transmission lines also pose a threat, and at least 42 cranes have been killed in the past 12 years after colliding with wires. Stray dogs and people stealing eggs also pose additional danger. As the habitat of cranes spans the Nepal-India border, many cranes fly back and forth, which points to a need for a trans-boundary conservation campaign by tagging birds to track their movement.&nbsp; The study also surveyed local perception of cranes, and found them to be largely positive with most residents regarding the presence of the birds in their fields as an auspicious sign. However, the Nepal Tarai is now home to more than half of Nepal’s population and there is increasing migration of people from the mountains who may not share the same veneration for cranes. <h2>Cranes&nbsp;</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230822070848_4780b96b8e37038a2538696df6b2ea80a31a33938c48ef2d61964d8a3b0a32a4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20230822070848_4780b96b8e37038a2538696df6b2ea80a31a33938c48ef2d61964d8a3b0a32a4" data-rendition-name="original" width="831" height="1044" loading="lazy" alt="Saras NT"> </figure>  Cranes are the world’s tallest birds that can fly, and the Sarus stand 2m high and can be 3m wide when they spread their wings. They are light brown in colour and have red patches on the head and neck, with pink legs. Cranes weigh from 6-12kgs and are omnivorous birds that feed on plants, grains, roots, insects, and worms. They breed in the monsoon season and build their nests near wetland areas and in fields with &nbsp;grass, roots, and stems of giant reeds.&nbsp; Usually, they hatch one to two eggs in one nest. Both male and female cranes sit upon the eggs &nbsp;for 30 to 32 days and then hatch the eggs. they live in pairs for life, and have been known to have a lifespan of 40 years in captivity. The arrival of cranes indicates rain, and rice planting time. They are regarded as symbols of love because of their conjugal habit.&nbsp;

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Saving Lumbini’s Sarus

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171148/636bda349c7e80680e080257jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2300" height="1506"/><figcaption>Demoiselle Cranes flying south in autumn along the Kali Gandaki at Kagbeni with Mt Dhaulagiri looming in the background. Photos: RAJENDRA SUWAL</figcaption></figure>It was in Kagbeni in 1980. High above in the deep blue Himalayan sky was a flock of graceful Demoiselle Cranes, flying north riding up-valley winds on their <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/birds-of-passage-Nepal,2921" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/birds-of-passage-Nepal,2921&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1602376683686000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFWYVE7LOY1bjdTHz0_Zi04BIgMPA">annual migration</a> across the Himalaya. It was my lucky day.The Kali Gandaki at this point is the deepest gorge in the world, located between two eight thousander peaks, Dhaulagiri and Annapurna I. It provides a passage for migratory birds from the Tibetan Plateau and Siberia to the Subcontinent and back.Kagbeni is a vantage point to spot migratory birds, and I had visited it multiple times to provide expertise for filming by NHK and BBC. Till then, I had never seen the cranes, only watched them on Planet Earth Mountains on Discovery Channel.Demoiselle Cranes are the third most common crane species after the Sandhill Crane in North America and Eurasian Crane in Europe and Asia. They number over 200,000, and demonstrate spectacular migratory flights.They breed in the vast expanses of the steppe grasslands of Mongolia and Russia, and fly south across the Tibetan Plateau and the Himalaya to winter in western India.Unlike other cranes that dwell on wetlands, these cranes prefer relatively dry habitats for survival. Their nests can be found on dry ground around 500m apart from each other.Prior to migration, the birds flock with their fledglings. Birds from Mongolia and Russia overflying Nepal and Pakistan covering nearly 3,000km one way, and finally converge in western India, where they live in large flocks in their wintering grounds.They can fly over extreme habitats of the world including the scorching Gobi Desert, the high and dry Tibetan Plateau, the Himalaya with its jet stream, the lush Gangetic Plains and the farms of Western India.Satellite telemetry studies have recorded a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-great-trans-himalayan-bird-migration/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-great-trans-himalayan-bird-migration/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1602376683686000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEVeULiv_aGZnCsiDtV0Vo6KU3L0Q">cyclic migration pattern</a> of Demoiselle Cranes, flying over Nepal during autumn and returning via Mongolia in spring. During their autumn migration, birders can see magnificent flocks of Demoiselle over Nepal’s high mountain passes, gorges and along the Tarai. Farmers in Nepal often witness flocks flying in V formation like a swaying garland pattern in the sky, and call it ‘karyang kurung’ for the sound the make.In 1972, a flock of Demoiselle even alighted on Tundikhel at the centre of Kathmandu. More recently, I have observed them flying over my office in Baluwatar in 2015, and from my house in Chetrapati in 2016.But for these migrating cranes, Kagbeni remains the flight path of choice since the Kali Gandaki serves as a funnel that cuts through the Himalaya. My highest count of the Demoiselle has ranged from 50,000 in 2004 to only 5,000 in 2009.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171148/636bda389c7e80680e080258jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1510" height="1000"><figcaption>Another flock of Demoiselle Cranes flying north in spring, riding the up-valley thermals of the Kali Gandaki to lift them over the mountains to the Tibetan Plateau.</figcaption></figure>Variance in counting can be tied to weather, wind and visibility. When the wind in the Himalaya picks up, the flocks descend to lower altitudes. When they have the jet stream on their tails, they ride it over the mountains.For these expert fliers, the flight path is determined by head or tail winds, thermals, katabatic winds, and other weather phenomena. Thermals in the wind shadow of the mountains helps them gain altitude.In Nepal, the southerly daily thermals of the Kali Gandaki valley helps the birds soar up and over the mountains, whereas, riverbanks, wetlands and farms along the flight path are convenient night stops.These wetlands connect the dots along the birds’ migration routes, and Nepal lies in the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/decline-in-birds-of-migration-nepal" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/decline-in-birds-of-migration-nepal&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1602376683686000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEMCt4MH3fr9o9Mfzu3EpqT-WJdNw">Central Asian Flyway</a>. During bad weather events, the birds use the windswept flood plains of the Kali Gandaki river in Kagbeni and Larjung of Annapurna Conservation Area as a safe stopover, while the buckwheat terraces provide food for their long journeys.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109171148/636bda3c9c7e80680e080259jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="900" height="774"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>While large in number, these birds still need protection from threats along their migratory routes and stopovers. These include poisoning from pesticide laden seeds, and from epidemics of water borne or airborne diseases.In <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2018/02/16/mongolian-raptor-in-nepal/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2018/02/16/mongolian-raptor-in-nepal/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1602376683686000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGTIQbTCpl1pNTbc7ArUuZ-RCPdvw">Mongolia</a>, the application of the rodenticide Bromadiolone is known to have killed hundreds of Demoiselle Cranes, Steppe Eagles, Saker Falcons and other species. In November last year, 37 Demoiselle were found dead in Jodhpur in India, probably after eating poisoned seeds.In North-West Frontier Province of Pakistan, crane hunters are the biggest threat during migration. Metal weights tied to strings are hurled to lasso the cranes as they fly low to clear mountain passes. Traditional hunters in Pakistan often use live cranes as decoys to attract other birds, and keep them as pets.Ensuring safe and protected wetlands and farms along their migratory routes from Russia, Mongolia, China, Tibet, Pakistan, Nepal to India along the Central Asian Flyway is crucial to ensure the long term survival of these birds.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/himalayan-ecosystem-is-important-for-sarus/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/himalayan-ecosystem-is-important-for-sarus/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1602376683686000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFyWKHCBDGHmYeapMRHQOiOThrblw">Legend has it</a> that Lord Buddha’s cousin killed a crane, and he was very moved when its mate mourned its death. The scene changed his life by inspiring him to seek a path of non-violence and compassion.One of the approaches undertaken by WWF, known as the <a href="https://wwf.panda.org/our_work/our_focus/freshwater_practice/freshwater_inititiaves/asian_flyways_initiative/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://wwf.panda.org/our_work/our_focus/freshwater_practice/freshwater_inititiaves/asian_flyways_initiative/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1602376683686000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGmKkjAdwHAjLK7clvuQxaYvOGEcA">Asian Flyway Initiative</a>, aims to provide safe passage between the breeding and wintering sites of cranes. Similarly, creating awareness about safe farming practices and promoting bird watching tourism are some of the viable options to help protect Demoiselle Cranes.The designation of 10 Ramsar Sites, identification of wetlands of international importance for biodiversity in Nepal provides <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/birds-of-passage-Nepal,2921" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/birds-of-passage-Nepal,2921&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1602376683686000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFWYVE7LOY1bjdTHz0_Zi04BIgMPA">stopover sites</a> for many ducks geese and waders during migration.Demoiselle Cranes, however, require wide riverbeds and farmlands as stopover sites and wintering habitats. World Migratory Bird Day on 10 October aims to generate awareness and seek support for the conservation of these legendary migratory species so that they survive into the future.Rajendra N. Suwal is the Head of Partnerships Development at WWF Nepal.

Saving Nepal’s flyway for migrating cranes

Shantanu Dhakal wakes up to a cold misty dawn, dons his college uniform and fastens his tie, tightening it carefully so as not to dislodge the tracheostomy tube protruding from his throat.
Gingerly, he brushes his teeth, mindful not to hurt the wound on his left cheek, where a bullet tore through during the GenZ protests on 8 September in the highway town of Itahari in eastern Nepal.&nbsp;
Dhakal, 18, came home from college that day three months ago and then took the bus to Itahari to join some friends who were protesting in front of the sub-metropolitan city office. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowd was chanting anti-corruption slogans and holding up placards.
Like most young Nepalis, Dhakal and his friends had been angered by videos on social media of the offspring of Nepal’s rich and powerful flaunting their lavish lifestyles.&nbsp;
"That was the trigger for me to join the protest, it opened my eyes to just how widespread nepotism and corruption was," Dhakal told Nepali Times.&nbsp;
The police arrested a few students, angering the crowd even more. They massed at the gate of a nearby police station to demand their friends be released. &nbsp;
Dhakal was standing across the street from the police station when the first shots rang out. The crowd scattered. As he ran for cover, there was a searing pain in his left jaw. Blood was streaming and it took some time for him to realise he had been shot.&nbsp;
“I was bleeding profusely and couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, there was a ringing in my ears,” Dhakal recalls. “I collected myself and continued to run, fearing that I would be shot a second time.”
Dhakal collapsed some distance away, and a fellow protestor took him to a nearby hospital, where doctors bandaged his jaw. He was referred to Birat Medical Teaching Hospital, where surgeons immediately performed an emergency operation. &nbsp;
The bullet had torn through his left jaw, shattering the bone, teeth, and soft tissue. Blood had rushed into his throat, obstructing the airway so doctors first performed a tracheostomy, installing a tube in his throat to help him keep breathing. A week later, the doctors reconstructed his jaw with metallic plates, grafting skin from his chest and transplanting it to the lower left side of his face.&nbsp;
Dhakal spent three weeks in hospital before being discharged. But the relief of being home was marred by disturbing thoughts. He says, “Just sitting there doing nothing began to take a toll on my mental health.” &nbsp;
Since he was always interested in content creation and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@docsbyshantanu">producing short documentaries</a>, he decided to document online his near-death experience and post-protest life.&nbsp;
Shantanu Dhakal’s Instagram and TikTok <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shantanu__dhakal/">posts are simple, short videos</a> every other day about his treatment process, dressing his wound and cleaning his tracheostomy tube, attending events with others injured during the protests, and scenes from everyday life in his family farm.&nbsp;
The comment section has Nepalis and people from around the world reaching out to ask how he is doing and keeping his spirits up. Dhakal now has a caring social media community, and he uses the platforms to keep in touch with other injured protestors across the country.&nbsp;
Life is returning to a new normal. This week, he returned to college to resume classes after more than two months and is making up for lost time. He has adjusted to speaking and eating with the tube, although the pain never quite goes away.&nbsp;
“I can eat mostly fine, but it is still difficult to speak,” he says. Soon, he will go to hospital for his fortnightly follow-up, and doctors will determine when his tracheostomy tube can be removed.
Like other young Nepalis, Dhakal is now even more politically engaged and actively reads the news of the interim government installed after the GenZ protests.&nbsp;
With the 5 March elections only three months away, young Nepalis like Dhakal hope that the elections will throw out the old and bring in the new. He is among the more than 800,000 new voters who have registered.&nbsp;
“The most important thing is that we have stable government,” he says. “As far as candidates go, an ideal one for me would be a person who prioritises health and education. But if the candidates in my constituency are not up to mark, I may not vote.”
Dhakal along with other injured protesters and relatives of those killed met &nbsp;Energy Minister Kulman Ghising, who has launched his own Ujyalo Nepal Party, and he is cautiously optimistic about the work of the current leadership. &nbsp;
It is a different story in Kathmandu, where Prime Minister Sushila Karki is struggling to manage the expectations of various youth collectives while trying to convince the old parties to participate in elections.&nbsp;
While the UML and NC are actively trying to delegitimise Karki’s government as they prepare to hold their respective general conventions, they are also preparing to give out tickets for elections.&nbsp;
Self-proclaimed GenZ leaders who used Discord to elect Karki prime minister are putting up their own conditions for the polls, even demanding her resignation for failing to meet their demands. This is in sharp contrast to the feelings of many of those injured during the protests who want elections so the nation can heal, and move on.

A new normal

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

Looking at Nepal from Venice

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

Things eventually work out

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

cranes

Saving Lumbini’s Sarus

Saving Nepal’s flyway for migrating cranes

A new normal

Looking at Nepal from Venice

Things eventually work out

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal