The waning faith of the public in Nepal's courtrooms and (in)justice delivered should invoke a debate in the legislature about what the fundamental philosophy of our legal system should be. When foreigners ask us what legal system Nepal follows, we lawyers stumble a little and repeat what we were all taught in law school: ‘It is mixed with influences from the common legal system, civil legal system and Hindu legal system.’ Since Nepal was never colonised we have not fully embraced either the civil legal system from continental Europe, nor common law from Britain. Until 1990, the legal process resonated more with civil law traditions, then switching abruptly to common law practices. There has not been much legislative discourse on why we had that change of heart.&nbsp; Take a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/i-speak-nothing-but-the-truth-your-honour">criminal trial</a> as example. The basic premise of the adversarial format is that judges sits as neutral umpires in trials. They use the arguments, facts and evidence produced by defense lawyers (representing the suspects) and prosecutors (representing the victim) to reach a decision and ruling. Compare this to a judge in a civil law/inquisitorial tradition. The judge is an active member of the trial process who participates in fact-finding public inquiry by questioning defence lawyers, prosecutors, and witnesses. They can even order certain pieces of evidence to be examined if they find the presentation by the defense or prosecution to be inadequate. In Nepali criminal cases, the judge is neutral so the police and prosecutors are charged with gathering evidence. The law states that the prosecutor should supervise the police as they investigate a case to ensure the police use only legal methods to obtain information. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-editorial/false-equivalence-in-nepal-academia">False equivalence in Nepal academia</a>, Aastha Dahal However, in reality the police and prosecutors are too busy to coordinate with one another. They also tend to dislike each other. In most cases police investigation reports are copied in whole by the prosecutor who adds a few short paragraphs at the end. And that constitutes the charge sheet: the legal document which sets out which crimes a suspect has committed and should be punished for.&nbsp; When Nepal’s legal system was more inquisitorial before 1992, our trial procedure was governed by the 1961 Government Cases Act (Sarkari Mudda Sambandhi Ain 2017). Prosecutors who served under this law speak fondly about their partnership with the police.&nbsp; I have spoken to prosecutors who recall walking together with the police for hours and days across the rural mountains to examine crime scenes. Together they would examine bodies and draw up reports. They never forgot the smell of death. This practice was abruptly brought to a halt when the Government Cases Act 1992 (Sarkari Mudha Sambandhi Ain 2049) repealed the 1961 law. The new law was predicated on adversarial practice. The police did the investigation in the field, prosecutors now sat in their offices and gave directives to the investigation team. The shift in power dynamics did not sit well with the police. The relationship between police and prosecutors became frosty and disrespectful as they undermined each other.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/comparing-maina-sunwar-and-resham-chaudhary-cases">Comparing Maina Sunuwar and Resham Chaudhary cases</a>, Aastha Dahal What this means for a criminal case is that evidence is not verified for its thoroughness during investigation. The disintegration of the process continues into the courts. One of the primary methods of obtaining evidence in a criminal case within courtrooms is through the accounts given by witnesses of the crime. According to Nepali law witness answers must be verified by the opposing lawyers through cross-examination, and through the presiding judge.&nbsp; Alas, procedure is often completely subverted. The law expressly states that all witnesses who testify in court must be examined in front of a judge. The part that judges 'must preside' over these proceedings was written in the 2017 Muluki Criminal Procedure Code. This provision sought to rectify the longstanding practice in Nepali criminal trials whereby the judge is mostly absent from witness examinations unless the case involves the rich and powerful.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240305080344_fed47d470d051e9a554648b1b8a1dd4ed36b39ca2a2e619cb4f71137062619ec.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240305080344_fed47d470d051e9a554648b1b8a1dd4ed36b39ca2a2e619cb4f71137062619ec" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="874" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali legal system"> <figcaption>Illustration: Bhanu Bhattarai/Nepali Times Archive</figcaption> </figure>  In practice, witness examinations are conducted by the administrative staff of the court. We are not taught how to conduct witness exams in law school or any legal professional training. So witness examination which tends to be critical to a criminal trial is just a formality. It feels particularly so when the court administrator snipes at us to finish questioning quickly, prevents us from introducing all witnesses we listed, and summarises what our witnesses say in their own often truncated language as opposed to verbatim. The judges have the power to question and verify statements but this is impossible when they are altogether absent from the proceedings. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/right-to-marry-in-nepal">Right to marry in Nepal</a>, Aastha Dahal In our 'mixed' legal system I've understood judges to have a varied perspective on their roles in the criminal trial. Many perceive themselves as neutral umpires envisioned in the common law adversarial system. Yet, some of their conduct says otherwise. For example, every day after 2PM in the District Courts, suspects arrested by the police are brought before a judge. The purpose of this meeting is to get permission from the judge to keep the suspect in detention as their case is being investigated.&nbsp; Nepal's Constitution mandates that these suspects should have their lawyers accompanying them. The judge has a role to ensure this. However, in most of these proceedings no lawyers are present. The judge curiously asks the suspect whether they committed the crime, how many kilos of drugs they carried. Action unpermitted by the adversarial common law philosophy of practice. &nbsp; If the leaning is towards the inquisitorial system and we argue that judges can be proactive then we do not have a system built for this either. Judges get cases they are to hear about an hour before the proceedings begin. They do not preside over evidence taking events such as witness examinations so they are realistically unable to control any part of the investigation or evidence gathering. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/not-just-16-days-against-gender-based-violence">Not just 16 days against gender-based violence</a>, Aastha Dahal In this context, the legislator's role has to start from drawing out the philosophical basis of our legal system. Lawmakers needs to seriously consider whether it suffices to leave investigations to the police alone, or we need all parties like the prosecutors and judges taking on active roles in the investigative and trial processes. The fundamental consideration should be based on a practice that will increase the likelihood of getting to the truth and contribute to restoring public faith in our judiciary.&nbsp; The legislature of course need not be confined by influences of one colonial legal system or another. Like the International Criminal Court, it can draw lessons from major legal systems across the world, combine it with local experience to formulate a legal system and trial practice uniquely suited to Nepal.&nbsp; Aristotle said ‘the whole is greater than its sub parts’. Likewise, the opportunity to bring technology, critical thought and best practice to reform trials in Nepal is urgently needed.

Aastha Dahal

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Trials and tribulations

The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/losing-our-moral-compass">Bhutanese refugee scam</a> passed the first phase of the trial in court vis-a-vis the bail hearing. All suspects pleaded not guilty to varying charges of cheating, organised crime, forgery and treason.
Sixteen suspects including former Deputy Prime Minister Top Bahadur Rayamajhi and his son Sandeep Rayamajhi, former Home Minister Balkrishna Khand, Ministry of Home Affairs Secretary Tek Narayan Pande, former security adviser to the Home Minister Indrajeet Rai and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-tragedy-of-tek-nath-rizal-2g4dahmr">Bhutanese refugee leader Teknath Rizal</a> took the stand at the Kathmandu District Court. They explained how they are not involved in this crime. Rizal stunned the court with his final accusation that Khand, Rayamajhi and Pande were criminals.
No one was cross-examined.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/rot-at-the-top">Rot at the top</a>, Shristi Karki
Cross-examination is a process of questioning a suspect or witness when they speak in court. The opposing lawyer cross-questions the person on the stand to test the tenacity of their account by exposing weaknesses in their statement. Lawyers might also verify certain facts through it.
Professor John H Wignmore, considered an authority on evidence law, famously wrote that cross-examination is ‘the greatest legal engine ever invented for the discovery of truth’ as it forces people to answer questions they may not wish to. At the hands of skilled trial lawyers, it can expose lies methodically. Remember how American actress Amber Heard’s story unravelled once Johnny Depp’s lawyer cross-examined her.&nbsp;
In the Nepali trial, suspects almost always testify at the court. The Constitution grants them a right to silence but there is no need for most to exercise this right as they are not subject to any cross-examination.&nbsp;
Laws on criminal procedure state that the suspect should be questioned by the court. The legislature has not stipulated whether the authority to question lies with the presiding judge or with another court staff. Principles of fair trial would dictate that as suspects give evidence it should be done in front of a judge.&nbsp;
In our practice of law, suspects are questioned by the administrative staff of the court. The judge is often absent when suspects record their testimony. Except in cases like the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/in-a-federal-kleptocratic-republic-of-nepal">fake Bhutanese refugee case</a> where the rich and powerful are on trial. For this case, Judge Prem Prasad Neupane listened to the testimony of all 16 suspects.
When suspects testify, they answer broad queries put to them by the court. Questioning resonates with how qualitative researchers investigate a participant’s story rather than grilling in a court of law.
One can speculate whether things would be different if the judges asked the questions as they do in many European countries. However, the idea of judges leading the questioning of suspects would be problematic under Nepal’s trial system.
Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/comparing-maina-sunwar-and-resham-chaudhary-cases">Comparing Maina Sunuwar and Resham Chaudhary cases</a>, Astha Dahal
Last year, in a bid to mitigate corruption, cases started being allocated through the lottery to each judge. Each morning around 10:30AM judges are allocated cases they must hear for the day. The case hearings start at around 11AM. Judges have no time to study the case beforehand.
This is a contrast to trials in European countries where judges are actively involved in investigation and truth-seeking. Without serious study of the case, Nepali judges cannot realistically engage in a line of questioning that would help discern the truth from lies. Court administrators who tend to question the suspects are not trained in trial practice or interviewing.
Moreover, what makes the Nepali criminal trial further problematic is the fact that only the suspect evades cross-examination. If a victim of a crime or a witness is put on the stand they are cross-examined.
Nepali evidence law is clear. Only answers that are obtained through cross-examination can be admitted as evidence in a trial. There is no exemption for the suspect in the Evidence Act (1974). However, the Criminal Procedure Code (2017) signals an inconsistency with the Evidence Act by stipulating that the court, as opposed to lawyers, should question the suspect. Suspects’ answers untouched by cross-examination are then admitted as evidence.
There is an argument put forth by some lawyers and judges that the function of the suspect’s testimony in court is to verify what they said when interviewed by the police. As part of police investigations, suspects are interviewed by the police as soon as they are arrested. Laws of criminal procedure stipulate that suspects need to be interviewed by the police in the presence of the prosecutor. It is only after the police investigation is completed that suspects are formally charged for their crimes by prosecutors and presented to testify in court.
The idea is lofty yet far from practice. Suspects in most cases tend to confess to the police. In court they completely change their story, state that the police used coercion to force them to confess and plead innocence.
For example, in the hit-and-run case of Prithvi Bahadur Malla, in the police interview, Malla confessed that as a result of partying and sleep deprivation he briefly dosed off while driving and ended up hitting the pedestrian. At court he stated that the steering wheel of his car locked and the vehicle swung into the wrong lane hitting the pedestrian. Judge Surya Prasad Adhikari admitted his testimony to the court (as opposed to the police) as evidence. When stories change so dramatically there is nothing a suspect will verify off of their own accord.&nbsp;
Prosecutors have the burden to build the case and prove it beyond a reasonable doubt. They are busy people with an immensely high workload. Overseeing police interviewing at the arrest phase to have it thrown out by judges when the suspects change their story in court is a waste of their time.
If the idea is to refrain police from torturing people into confessing by having prosecutors present in interviewing, then we might consider videotaping police interviews. This way judges can verify any reports of torture. After all, there are accounts of prosecutors who have turned a blind eye to police torture.
Police interviews and cross-examination by lawyers require the use of different skills and techniques. Lawyers should be allowed to build cases inside courtrooms. If suspects wish to speak their truth they deserve the audience of a judge.
At the same time, the victim of a crime deserves to have the suspect’s account tested and verified by cross-questioning instead of being treated akin to an account of truth.
Aastha Dahal is a Kathmandu-based lawyer with a PhD in criminology from the University of Cambridge.

"I Speak Nothing but the Truth, Your Honour"

Know your Ministers

‘One early morning, we heard the ambassador’s wife cry out, “Ram, Ram, Ram!” A disaster has befallen Nepal!” She had heard on the radio that a fire had consumed Singha Durbar." This is not about the arson attack on 9 September 2025, but the one on 8 July, 1973. It started in the South Wing of the then single-largest building in all of Nepal. It took two days to bring the blaze under control, requiring the use of explosives to demolish one wing to protect the imposing western facade. As Bhekh Bahadur Thapa recalls in the English translation of his memoir A Life in Public Service: Nepal from Autocracy to Democracy, he was then on leave from the Nepal government serving with the IDRC in Ottawa.&nbsp; He had already served as Nepal’s Finance Secretary at age 25, went on to be Finance Minister and Governor of Nepal Rastra Bank. He was already younger than some of the GenZ ministers in Nepal’s present RSP government. Thapa, now 89, was at the launch of the book in February which was attended by former diplomats and bureaucrats. After speeches by panelists, there was a question from the audience about how Thapa had managed to be the diplomat he was, managing Nepal’s international relations on the world stage.&nbsp; Writer and journalist Akhilesh Upadhyay, who was moderating the panel, responded by going into the section of the book where we see Thapa as an ambassador to the US, playing tennis with White House officials, cultivating a network of contacts to project the identity and welfare of Nepal, and making it possible for a state visit by King Birendra to Ronald Reagan’s America. The book is full of anecdotes that suggest Thapa was a clever and strategic diplomat, always calm and unruffled, easily making friends in high places with his maturity and engaging sense of humour. Thapa’s memoir is heavy on details about Nepal’s administrative history during the years he was active in public service, serving as minister and ambassador under three kings: Mahendra, Birendra and Gyanendra, and alongside five prime ministers.&nbsp; Aside from an insider look on how certain treaties, development deals and research projects in Nepal came into fruition, Thapa goes into great detail about his personal and professional relationships with the kings, ministers, ambassadors, foreign leaders and politicians.&nbsp; As a reader, one is struck by the level of detail around the events that unfolded in Nepal over the years during Thapa’s tenure. Was Thapa recording a journal over the years of the events and the conversations that transpired, or were they committed to his phenomenal memory? Either way, the reader gets a glimpse of Nepal’s recent history from the early days of the Panchayat, through the People’s Movement and the democracy period, the Maoist insurgency, Royal Palace massacre of 2001, and Gyanendra’s coup of 2005.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041204048_125dc8ae300a1e33124f394abe724d42727f83e067b0201d2008b58d60c459a4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026041204048_125dc8ae300a1e33124f394abe724d42727f83e067b0201d2008b58d60c459a4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1584" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="How to win friends and influence nations NT"> </figure>  Not enough is said about the political parties of the time whose presence led to the way Nepal’s multiparty democracy came to be shaped. The book keeps its focus on the administration and the key figures around it, mostly those in the Panchayat era. Towards the second half of the book, we do start to hear about political parties, but not in great depth. Another figure whose presence in the book is conspicuously less prominent is that of his wife, Rita Thapa — the person who seems to have rescued him every time financial quandary or family care became a challenge. Yet, we do not see her as a full person. Perhaps because of the personal tragedies in his life, the children are also barely mentioned.&nbsp; The book is therefore less personal and more technical. Throughout, we learn about Thapa’s thinking as he navigated the world of diplomacy to win him the trust of those who mattered. There are tips here for a new generation of Nepali officials and diplomats about how much commitment and focus is needed to be good at one’s job and serve the national interest. This book adds to tomes that have been written on Nepal’s fragile relationship with India. ‘India has always wished for Nepal to remain dependent on it,’ writes Thapa, who served as Nepal’s ambassador to India and later in the Eminent Persons Group &nbsp;on Indo-Nepal relations that has been allowed to languish. The book has several insights into the Indo-Nepal trysts with diplomacy and agency.&nbsp; China’s role is also recorded, viewed through conversations during a visit to Beijing, but all that was before Nepal’s neighbour to the north emerged as a world economic and military power. The book also has such sudden instances of quirkiness and humour. For instance, we see a young Thapa in America explaining to a government official why he would like to return to Nepal instead of settling down in the US. “Because, Nepal is beautiful,” he said. The text is immaculate and does not read much like a translation, credit for which clearly goes to the team that put the edition together: translator Prawin Adhikari, &nbsp;Anagha Neelakanthan and Bhekh Thapa’s daughter, Manjushree. As Nepal enters a new era of governance and diplomacy, A Life in Public Service: Nepal from Autocracy to Democracy should be essential reading for students of political science, economics and foreign affairs who can gain a fresh perspective on the country’s trajectory.&nbsp; There are dozens of forgotten state secrets recorded in the book, but the reader must also remember this is a story told from one person’s perspective and there may be others.&nbsp; So, what really made Thapa the diplomat he was? I met him in 2004 at the Kantipur TV studio when he was serving as king Gyanendra’s foreign minister. He was there for a studio interview, and I was just done with my English newscast.&nbsp; He surprised me at the door: “Pratibha! I’ve been reading your articles in The Kathmandu Post. You must keep writing.” I thanked him, glad to have been noticed for my work by a stranger. That was perhaps one of the things that set Thapa apart — he excelled at staying close to those in power, while also noticing those who were not.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260412040412_213e706136a038ec9f5e2b8c6d7f7c1e9ceed9479e22fe2884872ad7bd20955f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260412040412_213e706136a038ec9f5e2b8c6d7f7c1e9ceed9479e22fe2884872ad7bd20955f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Book details"> </figure>

How to win friends and influence nations

In a classic arc of political sociology, a revolutionary figure takes several decades to complete their cycle: mobilisation, institutionalisation, and finally governance. 
However, the timeline of this trajectory has been telescoped in the case of Home Minister Sudan Gurung, who in 2025 described himself as a social activist and volunteer, has gone from the barricades of the GenZ protests to the mahogany desk of the Ministry of Home Affairs.
Gurung is a personal pick of Prime Minister Balendra Shah, and played a pivotal role in getting him to join the RSP by mediating with Rabi Lamichhane. His journey serves as a real test bed for the ‘Outsider-to-Insider Transition’, raising a fundamental question about someone who now leads the very apparatus that he once fought against: the police, intelligence service, and the bureaucracy.
Social capital can indeed be built during a crisis exacerbated by state failure, and that is where we first see Sudan Gurung — expediting relief delayed by systemic corruption and red tape. Gurung’s delivery aid through a social-media-driven volunteer network bypassed the government. 
Whether or not he really rushed a dying child to hospital after the 2015 earthquake does not matter, it has become an urban legend. 
His work evolved into the non-profit Hami Nepal in 2020, serving as a ‘parallel state’ mechanism that would later become central to his public identity. Later, his group sprang into action during the Covid crisis, organising oxygen cylinders and beds . He was there after flood disasters in Manang and Sidhupalchok, and even organised Rs15m worth of aid to Turkey after the 2023 earthquake. 
Moral Legitimacy became his primary source of power, and he strategically positioned himself as an alternative emergency response system. But the real rupture happened on 8 September 2025 when years of frustration, corruption scandals, lack of transparency and state accountability culminated in a rally that the next day descended into anarchy. 
There was no single leader. The movement was fully decentralised, but as elsewhere such upheavals produces a recognisable face. Among them was Sudan Gurung. Who despite being a millennial himself, became the most visible interlocutor of the GenZ movement. 
He negotiated with the state’s key actors, including the president and the Chief of Army staff, during the period of uncertainty When the country was on the brink. This led to the dissolution of parliament and the formation of the interim government under Sushila Karki, paving the way for the election on 5 March.
Since then, Sudan Gurung’s role has become contradictory. Within days of touching Prime Minister Karki’s feet after her swearing in, he was at the gates of Baluwatar spearheading midnight demonstrations calling for her resignation. He accused her and Home Minister Om Prakash Aryal of not consulting the youth over Cabinet appointments and not arresting the previous government officials.
This oscillation became a hallmark of Gurung’s own version of the ‘Radical Flank Effect’ — erratic behaviour to force the establishment to make concessions. 
On 18 January Gurung formally joined the RSP, and started campaigning from his home constituency of Gorkha-1. He won decisively and was appointed home minister by Balendra Shah. The transition was complete. 
As minister his role spans core security areas: overseeing internal security through the Nepal Police, Armed Police Force and the intelligence bureau. The man who took part in anti-government rallies is now in charge of the riot police that aresupposed control anti-government protests.
His portfolio also handles state administration matters such as citizenship, immigration, and border security, coordinates with the judicial system on prisons, detention, and policies related to punishment and clemency. For example will be overseeing the fraud case against his own party’s chair, Lamichhane.
In his book Power in Movement, political scientist Sidney Tarrow observes that social movement leaders encounter ‘institutional capture’ upon entering government. In a sociological paradox, the man who previously denounced the police for killing youth protesters is now the person who issues directives to those same forces.
Preventive detention, surveillance, and the control of public festivals are the same instruments that the former old guard employed to stifle his movement. The activist who demanded transparency at the B P Koirala Institute now manages the state’s most secretive security apparatus.
In this arc, Gurung is not alone, there are parallels around the world for leaders emerging from the ashes of revolt. It is not so much a prediction, but for Gurung the challenge is even more acute because youth expectations are so high.
The bar for performance has been raised by citizens demanding change and quicker, more efficient service delivery. He is under constant public scrutiny, which is why he has to take YouTubers every time he goes on inspections of the airport, the BP Highway, police stations, picking trash on the sidewalks or meeting the Swiss ambassador to ask about repatriating the ill-gotten wealth of politicians.
Sudan Gurung is facing intense public glare. There have been calls to reveal the truth behind Hami Nepal’s finances, the alleged links to Free Tibet, and lately not paying five years of rent for an illegal lakefront property in Pokhara. 
As minister, he will find that moral legitimacy alone is no longer sufficient, it must be reinforced by transparent and consistent institutional accountability. Sudan Gurung’s ascent is evidence that the public mostly trusts ‘outsiders’ during times of crisis. However, history also cautions us that the state only permits ‘insiders’ to operate. 
Gurung will have to organise systemic reform to inject the transparency of his volunteer days to the Home Ministry’s traditionally secretive disbursements. If he fails, he runs the risk of validating Michels’ Iron Law of Oligarchy, which would serve as a warning about how revolutionary energy is dissipated by the very structures it was intended to overthrow.
Nepal is watching the man who said he once held a dying child in his arms after an earthquake. The volunteer has become the Warden.
Nischal Raj Gautam is a student of Media Studies and Mass Communication at St. Xavier's College, Maitighar. He is a member of the EU Delegation's Youth Sounding Board (YSB), and a journalist for TheirWorld's The Education Issue 2026.

He said no to politics. Now he runs it.

This is the 91st 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. I have still not come to terms with the reality that my daughter Ruby Thakur is now the Deputy Speaker of Nepal’s Parliament. Sometimes, when I am walking, the thought hits me, and I cannot believe it.&nbsp; Things changed for my daughter in a very short time. I had dreamt that the best my daughter could achieve was a good engineering job. Fate had bigger plans for her. She is no longer just my daughter, she is the nation’s daughter. Nepal’s daughter.&nbsp; My children’s education was always my foremost priority. That is the main reason I went overseas for employment. I realised the value of education while working in Saudi Arabia. In my office, colleagues with good education earn $8,000 per month working on computers. Those with low education toil outdoors in the heat for much lower wages. A good education or skills can change everything. I am in Nepal on vacation and will soon return to my job. Ruby is all set now. But I still have to take care of my other children's education. As the eldest son, I myself never got a chance to prioritise my own education. I dropped out in Grade 7 because I had to take care of my ageing parents and younger siblings. I have done all kinds of jobs. I worked in a landlord’s field for a share of the harvest. Even now my wife and I farm for the land owner and have to give away half of what we grow.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260413120444_051b61e01a5189af538aa1e011acd3e2b38d5f42825116b2afd325d93d0c519b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260413120444_051b61e01a5189af538aa1e011acd3e2b38d5f42825116b2afd325d93d0c519b" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="DD"> <figcaption>Sogarath Thakur during a break in Nepal with wife tending to his farm.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260413120448_8a1c3ac3fd559026bc6f981cc8dc82cb8ad09a3a4f55fb9f6f7fd5f49c3d5571.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260413120448_8a1c3ac3fd559026bc6f981cc8dc82cb8ad09a3a4f55fb9f6f7fd5f49c3d5571" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="DD"> </figure>  Then I worked as a barber, my family’s line of occupation. I went door to door cutting people’s hair and later worked in a relative’s saloon. Hairstyles were simple back then, and I got to keep half the fee. I also worked in a brick factory where I was paid weekly. &nbsp; I married when I was 16, and my wife was a year younger. As my family and responsibilities grew, I had to migrate leaving behind my three children including Ruby who was just three months old.&nbsp; I went to Qatar where I continued working as a barber. It was a large saloon and the standards for cleanliness and professionalism were higher. I had to hand over 70% of my daily earnings to the employer. I had to rely on my colleague to translate what the customer wanted. But I slowly became fluent in Arabic. I used to jot down words in Nepali and Arabic and memorise them. In Qatar, customers even came at night for haircuts, and people stayed up late. I would work till 3AM.&nbsp; Communicating with my family was one-way. I would go to Bismillah and ask someone to type out questions to my family about their whereabouts, how the harvest was that season. I would offer very little information about my life in Qatar because it was not easy. What was the point of getting them all worried? What could they do? I never received a letter in return, so throughout my time in Qatar, I never knew how my family was faring. When I appeared in the village after five years without any advance notice, it was a bittersweet reunion, and I had no gifts. I still remember how unfamiliar my village felt when I came home after so many years. I had to ask for directions. When I came home, Ruby was already in school. I had left her in my wife’s arms five years prior. I missed her growing up, and did not even see her pictures. My wife had to introduce her to me as her father. But it took just 15 minutes for her to warm up to me.&nbsp; The Arabic skills I had picked up in Qatar came in handy when I remigrated two years later to Saudi Arabia. I worked as a labourer in the desert heat, but once my company found out I spoke Arabic, I was hired for an indoor job as an office boy. The struggle in Qatar had paid off. I worked in an air conditioned office serving tea or coffee, doing bank runs or getting documents signed and photocopied. I have worked in the same company for the past 20 years, sending money home.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260413120448_f083fa873a6d77b19c8b0bdde623415c643a151fb550c57ff4e52b3c2431355f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260413120448_f083fa873a6d77b19c8b0bdde623415c643a151fb550c57ff4e52b3c2431355f" data-rendition-name="original" width="5712" height="3213" loading="lazy" alt="DD"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260413120452_5ccd9a01ee05ce26b71381725108215d0f0d3806508b0cb482aabcfea09bbaef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260413120452_5ccd9a01ee05ce26b71381725108215d0f0d3806508b0cb482aabcfea09bbaef" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="DD"> </figure>  My wife is not just my children’s guardian, but also mine throughout the two decades I was away. I trust her with all my earnings, and she manages our household finances well. She makes sure that the children’s school fees and other expenses are paid on time. These days, with video calls, things have become much easier for me to stay in touch with home.&nbsp; When Ruby told me she wanted to do an engineering diploma, I was happy. Later, her friends inspired her to join politics so she started getting involved with Shram Sanskriti Party. I first found out she got the proportional representation nomination through social media while on my work duty in Saudi Arabia. I was so excited, but even more so when she was elected Deputy Speaker. I was back home in Dhanusha on my vacation at the time.&nbsp; We are overjoyed and waiting for her to come back to the village for a visit when she gets a chance so we can celebrate properly with everyone. I plan to go back to Saudi Arabia as originally planned, I have a good job and will work for maybe five more years. Ruby has taken 75% of the load off my back. She can help take care of her siblings.&nbsp; I sleep at 8PM every day and wake up at 5AM to exercise before my day in Saudi Arabia begins – I have stuck to the same routine for the last two decades and it has worked well for me and my health. I have a good rapport with my boss who is an Egyptian. My requests to resign have often been met with counter-offers to stay on. My honesty and hard work have won me the company's trust. I will go back and resume working as I have, despite my daughter’s huge achievements. I am still a farmer’s son, a simple man who has to fulfil his family responsibilities. My colleagues in Saudi Arabia are aware that Ruby is Deputy Speaker in Nepal’s Parliament, they are all happy for me and have congratulated me. This time, when I go back, I have promised them that I will throw a bakhri party to celebrate my daughter’s achievement.

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