The Golden Gate in Bhaktapur Darbar Square is dedicated to Taleju, the ancestral goddess of the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/nation-bhaktapur,597">Malla kings</a>. The temple was built 271 years ago during the reign of Ranjit Malla, and serves as the entryway to the inner courtyard of the palace. The frame of the gilded copper pagoda-style gateway carries intricately carved deities that glint in the sunlight as thousands of visitors run their hands through the structure on their way into the World Heritage Site.&nbsp; Among them are the much-revered statues of goddess Bhagwati on the right and Bhairab on the left of the gate. But where their foreheads should be are two gaping holes, corroded by abrasion and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/un-holi-colours">chemical dyes</a> devotees have smeared on the statues over the centuries.&nbsp; Whereas previously, most offerings were vegetable-based dyes, these are being replaced with brightly coloured chemicals that corrode the stone and bronze of the idols.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250729130716_e2fe90b1cc6e7d056fcb8ace2b52d7e011952eb9fcd853984c782137d772b571.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250729130716_e2fe90b1cc6e7d056fcb8ace2b52d7e011952eb9fcd853984c782137d772b571" data-rendition-name="original" width="1400" height="782" loading="lazy" alt="Offerings corrode Kathmandu’s gods"> </figure>  Chemical dyes have also eroded idols in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/painted-walls-and-pieces-of-history?%2F=">Bhaktapur Darbar,</a> and damaged stone inscriptions at their pedestals. Historian Purushottam Lochan Shrestha says: “It is interesting that idols and statues that are not worshipped as much have remained intact.”&nbsp; Examples are the Hanuman Bhairav and Narasimha stone idols that flank the entrance to Bhaktapur’s National Art Museum. The inscriptions at their base say both statues were commissioned by King Bhupatindra Malla in 1689 and placed at the entry in the belief that they would ward off disease and disaster, and grant victory in battles with enemy states.&nbsp; Today, the inscription on the lesser-worshipped Hanuman Bhairav retains much of its original form. But the etchings on the Narasimha — revered as the god who protects people from calamity and epidemics — have crumbled because of continuous contact over the decades.&nbsp; “The idols we have are sacred and rare, we will never create statues like these again. So, it is crucial that we stop touching and using chemical offerings in ways that damage them,” adds Shrestha. “We need to change our behaviour and express our faith with our hearts, not with our hands. What good does it do to light lamps that burn the faces of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-diaspora-helps-return-stolen-gods?trk=public_post_comment-text">our gods</a>?” While much of the focus in Nepal has rightly been on the repatriation of<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bringing-our-gods-home"> stolen artefacts, &nbsp;images and idols</a> being worshipped at home face rapid deterioration in other ways. It is not just idols, historians are also finding it difficult to decipher inscriptions on stones which contain vital cultural, socio-economic and linguistic documentation because they have been smeared with offerings for so long. &nbsp; An 11th century stone engraving in Bhaktapur Darbar Square that dates back to the Nirbhaya Dev has worn away because it was used as a stepping stone to draw water from a nearby well. The historically significant inscription documents the king gifting Aradhya Dev some land, and identifies Bhaktapur as श्री खोप्पु.&nbsp; In <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/a-thousand-sadhus-and-a-hanuman">Pashupati</a>, one of the four holiest sites in Hinduism, near the temple’s western gate is a Shivalinga of Bishwamitreswor holding a rudraksha necklace in one hand and a kamandalu on the other which have been completely eroded by daily worship, while more inaccessible idols are intact. &nbsp; Sushil Kumar Gautam, archaeological officer at the Pashupati Area Development Trust, told us that the statue’s features were clearly distinguishable until 50 years ago, but the accoutrements in Bishwamitreshwar’s hands are now just bare stumps.&nbsp; “The deterioration of the shivalinga is quite recent, perhaps due to the increasing use of chemical-laden dyes and incense lamps,” Gautam told us.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250729130724_7bd719ce070efc1137c1819bfa08b7ab06dfbdecfe0659e5ccc20dc1bd74ca81.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20250729130724_7bd719ce070efc1137c1819bfa08b7ab06dfbdecfe0659e5ccc20dc1bd74ca81" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Offerings corrode Kathmandu’s gods"> </figure>  Another sixth-century statue of a bull located in the courtyard of Pashupati remains intact because the public has been prohibited from touching the antiquity for the past 20 years. The nearby Bankali temple houses a Lichchhavi-era statue of the goddess, armed with a sword and dancing over the prone form of the deity Betal. The stone idol is painted in hues of yellows and purples, and the inscription on the base of the idol has faded, rendering the words unreadable. Luckily, the original text and translation of the valuable inscription was recorded in 1973 by historian Dhana Bajra Bajracharya in his book Licchavi Kaal ka Abhilekh. Other religious artefacts around the Chabahil and Jayabageshwari area are similarly buried underneath the weight of daily religious offerings of vermilion, flowers, fruits, sweets.&nbsp; “We have been called anti-religion when we pointed out that the dyes and offerings have damaged our idols,” says Gautam. &nbsp;“Devotees should be made more aware of the damage they inflict on the gods and goddesses they worship.”&nbsp; Many artefacts have been damaged so badly that they have had to be replaced multiple times, like the 16th century copper idol of a prone Betal on the main gate of the Maitidevi temple. The idol was replaced with a new one six months ago after constant contact with offerings corroded its mouth, forehead, and feet, says temple priest Tirtha Jyoti Bajracharya.&nbsp; Burning of incense inside the temple was banned as the statues were coated in thick layers of corrosive soot. He says: “We cannot tell people not to worship, but we have to do what we can to preserve our gods. Some devotees understand us, others do not.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250729130720_f27539197496569ec143be8c758abffe9263c9f5a0deaafe5c1591319cd7e587.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250729130720_f27539197496569ec143be8c758abffe9263c9f5a0deaafe5c1591319cd7e587" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="750" loading="lazy" alt="Offerings corrode Kathmandu’s gods"> </figure>  Chemist Rajesh Prasad Singh of the Department of Archaeology confirms that offerings are the primary reason for the deterioration of religious artefacts. Vermilion is made from a mineral called cinnabar (mercury sulphide) and synthetic saffron corrodes stone and metal. Chemicals in processed milk and sweets offered to deities also damage the faces of idols, while oil from lamps contributes to discolouration.&nbsp; “There is also natural weathering at work, but most of the damage is from touching or materials used for worship,” adds Singh.&nbsp; Cultural expert Govinda Tandon agrees that deterioration of Nepal’s religious artefacts has accelerated in recent years because traditional organic dyes have been replaced with chemicals. Vermilion used to be made by mixing dried red sandalwood with pomegranate, rose, and rhododendron flowers, while henna, pine leaves or spinach were combined to make green dyes. Yellow was extracted from dried turmeric, and purple from beetroot. Coloured powders available in the market, which are used for festivals like Tihar and Holi, are also toxic to humans because they contain compounds of lead (Pb), chromium (Cr), cadmium (Cd) and even mercury (Hg). The Nepal government in 2015 set the maximum amount of lead allowed in colours and paints at 90 ppm (parts per million). But a 2021 study into 62 enamel paints currently sold in Nepal found that at least 30 contained more than the prescribed amount of lead.&nbsp; Distance Worship Meanwhile, the application of chemical-based paints and enamels on centuries-old woodcarvings across the city’s temples have also caused many to splinter.&nbsp; “Most wood carvings are so damaged that we can no longer restore them,” says Singh. In India authorities have designated alternative places of worship, only allowing visitors to observe the world heritage sites from a distance.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250729130724_f2b20062f421ced307323f0f08a4739ede71ce98f3116adfbd66a10d99c47c30.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250729130724_f2b20062f421ced307323f0f08a4739ede71ce98f3116adfbd66a10d99c47c30" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="750" loading="lazy" alt="Offerings corrode Kathmandu’s gods"> </figure>  Saubhagya Pradhananga, Director General of the Department of Archaeology, worships regularly at the feet of the reclining Vishnu at Budhanilkantha. Vermilion powder is no longer allowed on the main statue, and devotees have to worship from afar. &nbsp; “What we can do is ban chemical-based worship material, and create separate spaces for religious offerings,” she says. “For this we need extensive public awareness efforts. Besides temples and idols we also have the intangible heritage of ritual worship linked to our faith, so completely stopping this practice is neither possible, nor the appropriate solution.” &nbsp;

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Offerings corrode Kathmandu’s gods

Israel’s ongoing war of annihilation in Gaza has wiped out hospitals, schools, homes, water, and food, reducing the Palestinian territory to a wasteland and leaving a death toll of more than 53,000 people. But an equally lethal campaign has been unleashed against the foundations of Palestinian society and identity.
The Israeli Defense Force (IDF) has targeted libraries, repositories, and institutions of Palestinian culture and heritage in a mission to eradicate the history, literary accomplishments, and political and social existence of Palestine as a place and people.
“The losses in Gaza are vast, incalculable, as we are still in the throes of a genocidal war that has already destroyed 70% of the Gaza Strip and killed or maimed 10% of its embattled population,” says Raja Khalidi, Co-Administrator of the Khalidi Library, an Arab public library founded by the Khalidi family in East Jerusalem more than a century ago. “So has the Israeli war machine in Gaza and the West Bank wrought indiscriminate destruction that threatens erasure of Palestinian written, architectural, and archaeological cultural heritage.”
In a recent report on the destruction of libraries, archives, and museums in Gaza since the conflict erupted in 2023, the solidarity organisation <a href="https://librarianswithpalestine.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/LAP-Gaza-Report-2024.pdf">Librarians and Archivists with Palestine</a> (LAP) stated that “the destruction of cultural heritage in Gaza impoverishes the collective identity of the Palestinian people, irrevocably denies them their history, and violates their sovereignty.”
“The greatest loss remains the normalisation of the daily massacres of Gazans, including children. Every Palestinian life is a record, a history. The Zionist war machine realises this and the targeting of children, in particular, is an attempt at destroying the future narrative of Palestine,” says Ahmad Almallah, a Palestinian poet who grew up in Bethlehem and now lives in Philadelphia in the United States.
Bordered by Israel to the east and the Mediterranean Sea to the west, Gaza comprises 365 square kilometers of land that is home to about 2.1 million Muslim and Christian Palestinians who have lived under siege for more than half a century. Many Palestinians fled to Gaza following Israeli dispossession of their villages and homes during the Al-Nakba, or the ‘Catastrophe,’ in 1948. Then the territory was part of Egypt. Israel subsequently seized Gaza during the Six-Day War of 1967 until 1993, when the Oslo Accords made way for it to be administered by the Palestinian Authority.
The Islamic resistance organisation, Hamas, then took power in 2005. Its launching of a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepalis-confirmed-killed-in-hamas-attack">raid and attack within Israel in October 2023</a>, which resulted in the death of 1,200 Israelis with 251 taken hostage, triggered the current Gaza war. Since then, the IDF has sustained a relentless military onslaught leading to the obliteration of every facility for human habitation in Gaza and the escalation of a <a href="https://apnews.com/article/hamas-israel-gaza-crisis-hunger-palestinians-war-9caf8f6eb19efe038c1fd50aa1d2d8ec">humanitarian crisis</a> due to lack of food, water, shelter, and medical services.
While a ceasefire began on 19 January, disputes between Israel and Hamas about progress in hostage and prisoner exchanges led to the <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cq6yp5d5v9jo">ceasefire fracturing on 18 March</a>. The IDF resumed its offensive with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu further threatening to <a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/israel-gaza-hamas-katz-annex-idf-palestinian-witkoff-rcna197434">annex parts of Gaza</a>.
This month <a href="https://www.unesco.org/en/gaza/assessment">UNESCO</a> reported that Israel had destroyed 107 important cultural sites in the Palestinian enclave, including historic buildings, mosques, churches, and museums. And last year, LAP detailed the damage and destruction of <a href="https://librarianswithpalestine.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/LAP-Gaza-Report-2024.pdf">22 libraries and archives</a>, including Gaza’s Central Archives, which contained valuable documentation of the enclave’s 150-year history. 
The Diana Tamari Sabbagh Library, which held tens of thousands of books, was also destroyed, as was the Omari Mosque and Library, which was built in the 7th century and held a major collection of rare books dating to the 14th century. Four university libraries in Gaza also suffered damage, including the Al-Quds Open University Library and the Jawaharlal Nehru Library of Gaza’s Al-Azhar University. Historical records destroyed in Gaza include those that proved Palestinian land and property ownership.‘
Several years ago, the occupation destroyed the National Library in Gaza, razing its towering structure to the ground. With its destruction, the dream of creating a repository for both ancient and modern Palestinian works was obliterated. The site that once promised to preserve a rich cultural heritage became little more than a platform for displaying political party flags and leaders’ portraits,’ Palestinian novelist <a href="https://internationaleonline.org/contributions/the-library-and-the-massacre-a-novelists-testimony-on-the-destruction-of-libraries-in-the-gaza-strip/">Yousri al-Ghoul</a> wrote in January.
The current conflict continues attempts to erase Palestinian history and identity that began during the <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-nakba-how-the-palestinians-were-expelled-from-israel-205151">Al-Nakba</a> when Palestinian homes and their contents were looted and destroyed.
“As a child of the first intifada in Palestine, even words, the raw material for books, were very dangerous toys to play with. The Israeli occupation banned using the word ‘Palestine,’ and children and teenagers caught inscribing the word on a wall were either shot dead or arrested and subjected to torture. But that didn’t stop Palestinians from writing the word and piling on it poems, literature, and personal and natural history,” adds Almallah.
Together with this loss, Palestinian writers, intellectuals, artists, and journalists have been killed, putting in jeopardy the continuity of knowledge and culture within society and its transmission to the next generation. Those who have lost their lives since 2023 include the writer <a href="https://www.all4palestine.org/ModelDetails.aspx?gid=7&amp;mid=121099&amp;lang=en">Abdul Karim Hashash</a>, who has written many books on Palestinian poetry and culture, and <a href="https://madisonrafah.org/meca-colleague-and-friend-doaa-al-masri-killed-in-gaza/">Doaa Al-Masri</a>, Librarian at Gaza’s Edward Said Library.
In 2016 the International Criminal Court identified the desecration of a people’s cultural heritage as a <a href="https://news.un.org/en/story/2016/09/541172">war crime</a> in a case about Islamist attacks on UNESCO-protected monuments in Timbuktu in Mali. Subsequently, in 1954, <a href="https://www.unesco.org/en/heritage-armed-conflicts/1954-convention">the Hague Convention</a>, an international treaty stipulating the protection of cultural property in armed conflicts, was established and has now been signed by 136 countries.
More recently, <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-67922346">South Africa</a> included allegations of cultural dispossession in the case it launched in 2023 of genocide by Israel in Gaza in the International Court of Justice (ICJ). It will likely take the court years to reach a ruling. But in January last year, it issued initial orders to Israel to prevent and punish acts and public incitement to commit genocide by its military, an order that Israel continues to ignore.
“The international community has failed Palestinians, it has failed Gaza now. It has not done anything to stop the genocide and the massacring of children. I don’t expect they will do anything to save our books. But despite all Zionist attempts to silence them, we are witnessing Palestine becoming part of world heritage; Palestine is now everywhere,” says Almallah.
In the meantime, there are important institutions in the region taking action to ensure the tactics of erasure will not succeed. In Jerusalem, the <a href="https://www.khalidilibrary.org/en">Khalidi Library</a>, which is home to a rich collection of thousands of books and Islamic manuscripts representing an Arab literary heritage over many centuries, is a testament to cultural resilience. It also conducts extensive manuscript conservation, restoration, and digitization work and has been a pillar of vibrant Palestinian scholarship, thought, and writing since the early 20th century.
Khalidi emphasised that, looking ahead, in any reconstruction plan for post-war Gaza, “the first task will be for competent organisations, such as UNESCO, to launch a proper survey of the destruction of cultural heritage in Gaza… then ensure the future preservation and restoration or digitisation of salvaged collections.”
<a href="https://www.ipsnews.net/2025/05/palestinians-call-out-israels-mission-to-destroy-their-history-and-cultural-heritage-in-gaza/">Republished</a> under an arrangement with Inter Press Service (IPS).

The loss of an identity

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7699c7e80680e092dd9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1955" height="1304"/><figcaption>The US Ambassador to Nepal, Randy Berry. Photo: US EMBASSY IN NEPAL</figcaption></figure>T<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/us-museum-returns-stolen-nepal-god/">he figure of Laxmi-Narayan</a>, stolen from a shrine in Patan’s Patko Tole in 1984 and recently traced to the Dallas Museum of Art, US, is to be returned to Nepal. The US Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) has taken possession of the 70kg figure and will deliver it to the Nepal Embassy in Washington on 5 March. The holy androgynous composite of the two deities had been worshipped for 800 years before it disappeared, and the local people had replaced it with a replica. The image of the 15th-century deity was first published in Indian historian Krishna Deva’s book, Images of Nepal in 1984, followed by Nepal’s art historian <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/lain-singh-bangdels-legacy-lives-on/">Lain Singh Bangdel</a>’s book, Stolen Images of Nepal.  On the sidelines of the handover of the Lakshmi-Narayan statue Nepali Times spoke to the US Ambassador to Nepal, Randy Berry about the US government’s role in supporting Nepal to protect its cultural heritage and art. Excerpts:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJNecZPPyVUNepali Times: What is the role of US Embassy in repatriating stolen arts?In this case, our Regional Security Office – staffed with special agents from the Bureau of Diplomatic Security – played a critical liaison role between the Nepal Police and the US Federal Bureau of Investigation, which was conducting the investigation in Texas. Being able to bridge the communication gap between Nepal and American law enforcement agencies and ensuring harmony in the efforts of all involved in the recovery of the Lakshmi-Narayan statue are key strengths of our Regional Security Officers.Overall, helping to protect cultural heritage is an important and unique aspect of our foreign policy. For more than 50 years, the US Department of State has had a Bureau dedicated to education and cultural affairs. Its mission is to foster mutual understanding between Americans and the people of other countries through people-to people exchanges, such as the Fulbright and IVLP programs, and through sports, arts, and cultural programs.One of the programs which I am most proud of is our Ambassador’s Fund for Cultural Preservation (AFCP). This is a US government program that provides direct grants for preserving cultural heritage by enlisting community members and local and federal governments in partner countries. Since 2003, there have been 25 AFCP projects just in Nepal, including Kathmandu’s Gaddi Baithak, investing more than $3.8 million. That’s incredible. Even more so, as part of our AFCP projects, our grantees also ensure artisan training to transfer knowledge and job skills to younger generations. So it is not just a program that ends when the work on a particular project is complete.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd76c9c7e80680e092ddajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1002"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd76e9c7e80680e092ddbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="428"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd76f9c7e80680e092ddcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="428">How important of a precedent is the homecoming of Lakshmi-Narayan statue? It has huge importance. First, this is an idol that dates back to between the 12th and 15th  centuries, and it speaks to Nepal’s rich cultural heritage. The homecoming also reflects the unique friendship between Nepal and the United States. It is a collective effort of the Dallas Museum of Art, the Embassy of Nepal in the United States, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m thrilled the Laxmi-Narayana will finally be back where it belongs – in the hands of Nepalis.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-gods-return-from-exile/">Nepal's gods return from exile</a>, Alisha SijapatiThere are thousands of Nepali artifacts in the United States, will the Embassy help in identifying them and cooperate with the Nepal government in the future?Whenever possible, we intend to collaborate with the concerned stakeholders to identify the artifacts and facilitate their return. I hope that this is the beginning of these pieces coming back to Nepal. They are not only in the United States, but in many places around the world.  I hope other governments and museums follow suit.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7719c7e80680e092dddjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1554" height="954"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>What are America’s policies on restoration of antiquities of Greece, Italy, Egypt, and Cambodia?I can’t speak to a broad policy for those pieces from those countries. However, the Department of State has incredible programs that demonstrate the United States’ commitment to art and cultural preservation as I discussed above.To my knowledge, we are one of the few foreign affairs ministries that has an entire bureau that is in part dedicated to the art and culture of our diplomatic partners. That is because we consider cultural heritage vitally important – not only as a matter of foreign policy, but because we recognise the commonality in wanting to preserve cultural and historical pieces, art, and property for future generations.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/replicating-nepals-stolen-gods/">Replicating Nepal's stolen gods</a>, Alisha Sijapati<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7739c7e80680e092ddejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4096" height="2663"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>How can the US Embassy help Nepal in restoring it cultural heritage and idols?The US Embassy in Nepal has been promoting the conservation of cultural heritage for a long time. A recent example is the restoration of Gaddi Baithak of Basantapur, which was damaged by the 2015 earthquake. We feel honoured that we were able to help restore it to its original grandeur. We also support preservation of Nepal’s temples and monasteries through the Ambassadors Fund for Cultural Preservation, as I’ve just mentioned.Could you tell us something about your personal interest in preserving art?I’ve had an enduring interest in art as a means of communication, art history, and art preservation throughout my life, and my Masters’ level studies focused on Art History. I also had the opportunity as a young man to live and work in North Africa, and study the ancient architecture, statuary, and hieroglyphs from Cairo (in Egypt) to Meroe (in Sudan) and all points in-between. Art has been a vital form of human communication since prehistoric times. It is a reflection of who we were, what we believed, and how we lived. When we preserve historic art, we embrace and conserve history, and honor those ancient storytellers who used form and texture, rather than words, to express cultural value.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/bringing-our-gods-home/">Bringing our gods home</a>, Sahina Shrestha

US support to restore stolen Nepal gods

Earthquakes wreck lives, and destroy towns. And when they are rebuilt, nothing is the same again.Five years after the ancient Newa towns of Khokana and Bungamati were nearly razed to the ground in the 2015 earthquake, amidst new concrete pillars are still piles of bricks of collapsed buildings.Because most of the temples and homes collapsed and reinforced concrete buildings survived, there is a belief in Kathmandu Valley that cement is stronger and will withstand the next quake. Khokana and Bungamati wards tried to protect the urban ambience of the town by issuing guidelines about how even homes rebuilt with concrete beams should have brick facades, tile roofs and reflect traditional design elements.Alas, these guidelines have rarely been followed. The gradual destruction of the traditional silhouettes of Kathmandu Valley began long before the earthquake, but the disaster hastened the process. Pressure of urbanisation, the demand for rental rooms, and a quest for safety have forced families to build box-like concrete high rises.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8daf9c7e80680e06b35fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="252" height="128"/><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8db09c7e80680e06b360jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2592" height="1456"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Ironically, the town that protested the alignment of the Kathmandu-Tarai expressway construction because it destroyed the town’s heritage, has not been able to preserve the traditional architecture that gave Bungamati its uniqueness.“The rebuilding guidelines say houses should be made in traditional style with sloped tile roof and should not be more than 10 metres high,” explained Krishna Gopal Maharjan, junior engineer at Bungmati’s ward office. “If a house is made without following the guidelines we do not issue the construction completion certificate. But the rule has been flouted.”There is pressure from local families to rebuild damaged or destroyed homes in any way they see fit, since it is their property. “People have ignored the ward’s guideline because they think it is impractical, they believe a three-story house cannot accommodate the whole family hence they tend to build a four-story or even a five-story house,” explains Jay Krishna Maharjan, 35.The most contentious issue seems to be the height limitation. In both Khokana and Bungamati, a majority of the homes that have been rebuilt has traditional brick facades, but they say limiting homes to two floors is unrealistic.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8db39c7e80680e06b361jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8db69c7e80680e06b362jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2592" height="1728"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“At first they were even unwilling to use bricks in outside walls, but at least they agreed to that,” says Chandra Shobha Dangol, social mobiliser at Khokana’s ward office who admits that the height limit has been difficult to enforce.To be sure, a house with traditional design is costlier to build than a cement house, and this is why many of the families have not even started rebuilding even five years after the earthquake.The house of 77-year-old Asta Maya Maharjan was completely destroyed by the earthquake, and she has been living in her relative’s house for the past five years. She says: “Those who have money build houses, we do not have enough money to build a house, let alone a house in the traditional style.”The government’s Rs300,000 grant does not pay for even a room, and this is why rubble from the earthquake five years ago still lies strewn across both towns. Those who can afford it, have built gleaming 5-6 storey buildings that dwarf nearby shrines. “People who have money are building homes, people without money cannot build them. It is just the way it is,” says Gyan Bahadur Maharjan, 81, in a tone of resignation as he basked in the sun in front of his family’s new house.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8dba9c7e80680e06b363jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2664" height="2000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Ashakaji Shakya, 64, whose house in Bungmati was damaged in 2015 agrees that the guidelines are too rigid, and although he admits that saving the culture is important, a safe shelter is even more important. Indeed, it seems the older generation of these twin towns have made peace with the fact that the towns of their childhood can never be brought back.Shakya asks: “Say I have a family of five sons, each son would need at least one flat for himself, and on top of that if there is an old mother the house goes up to six floors. How can one accommodate such family in a three-storey house?”Bungamati also lost its most important temple, the shrine of Rato Machindranath from where the god of rain is transported in a chariot every year through the streets of Patan. Once in 12 years the chariot is taken from Bungamati itself, an event that draws devotees from all over the Valley.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8dbd9c7e80680e06b364jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5184" height="2912"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>This year, the chariot festival has been scaled down to just worshipping at the shrine. Restoration of the temple was given to a construction company with the financial support from the Sri Lankan government. But after delays, the contract was dismissed by the National Reconstruction Authority (NRA) which then handed over the project to a local committee.Jit Bahadur Maharjan, 74, of Khokana remembers growing up as a little boy. Things were simpler then, he says, houses had thatch roofs, there was always the smell of mustard from the town famous for its oil presses. He says: “The word ‘culture’ exists, but no one knows what it means anymore. We are trying to save our culture, but if you look around, there is nothing left to save.”Indeed, the transformation of the architectural grammar of a town seems to change everything: its festivals, its traditional trade, craftsmanship, and the lifestyle of the inhabitants.Says Suresh Suras Shrestha at Department of Archaeology: “When the look of the houses along a street changes, a town loses its identity. Khokana no longer remains Khokana,”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8dc19c7e80680e06b365jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5328" height="4000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8dc59c7e80680e06b366jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="6000" height="3368"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><h2 style="font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: 0.15px;">Mixing old with new</h2>Jaa Dangol’s ancestral home was destroyed by the 2015 earthquake, he decided to build back better. He wanted not just a home, but a source of income as well.At a time when his neighbours were moving away from traditional occupations and homes after the earthquake, Dangol saw an opportunity in going back to Newa cuisine, craftsmanship and restore his building into a traditional homestay that would give visitors an authentic experience.Indeed, until the coronavirus lockdown destroyed business, Dangol was providing tourists with local food in a traditional ambience in his restaurant called ‘Laachi’, which means a place for local foods and products. “I reused 70% of the traditional materials from the house that brought down by the earthquake,” says Dangol, who says that if others in Khokana were to follow the same model they would not just augment family income, but also protect the town’s heritage.Indeed, despite the destruction and the changes of the past five years, Khokana still retains its old world charm with a pervasive smell of the mustard oil presses, women spinning cotton and weaving carpets in sidewalk shops.

Khokana and Bungamati strive to save heritage

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

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

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

The <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/DQtSOT6ilFC/?img_index=1">post on Instagram </a>has an image of Sudan Gurung. Over the top is the message: ‘We wont let this year’s election happen if Gen Z’s demands are Ignored’. The account’s bio is ‘Uniting Nepalese Through Independent Investigative Research.’ Post like these have become a template for the information ecosystem in the aftermath of the GenZ revolt in September. Social media feeds are saturated with content that uses multimodality of captions, video, audio, to convey alarm and warnings about how GenZ aspirations are being subverted. Research by MIT showed that on X false news reaches 1,500 people six times faster than the truth. Fake news goes ‘farther, faster, deeper, and more broadly than the truth’, researchers concluded. Narratives compete on platforms, and users gravitate to the shock-value of the news and not to factual precision or nuance.&nbsp; “On social media misinformation easily mutates into disinformation,” says media literacy trainer Deepak Adhikari. “The news we see on social media are often out of context, with little information that misinforms more than inform.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251203121236_6daaeaf8ed255fda4a431d0419d9ae1a0908259af14529835034ce48653064a9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251203121236_6daaeaf8ed255fda4a431d0419d9ae1a0908259af14529835034ce48653064a9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1501" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Doomscrolling democracy NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251203121232_8a7a41b8bd1892137d1dd97fd1c1408d2879ff96fa69a4d6d5acff7239869d4b.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251203121232_8a7a41b8bd1892137d1dd97fd1c1408d2879ff96fa69a4d6d5acff7239869d4b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1601" height="340" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ instagram"> </figure>  Indeed, today’s ‘Post-Truth Society’ is characterised by a media environment where users give more credibility to their pre-existing beliefs and emotion rather than objective facts or subjective nuance. Post-Truth does not refer to what comes after the truth, but rather a cultural or information environment where pre-held personal beliefs shape public opinion, not facts.&nbsp; Rumour, bias and propaganda have always been a part of the informationsphere, but what makes it different today is the velocity at which falsehood spreads. The news cycle is short, and before content can be verified the damage is already done.&nbsp; Adhikari says that pre- and post-publication fact checking can be a potential antidote. However, when a video with misleading content goes viral, and even after fact-checkers catch up to correct it, the fear-mongering, anger or hate has already spread.&nbsp; In Nepal’s social media, apparently everyone is tarred as guilty, or funded by a foreign government. Calls to dismantle federalism, restore the monarchy, or teach political leaders a lesson by supporting authoritarian alternatives are no longer fringe ideas discussed in private. They circulate routinely in the algorithmic streams legitimised not by evidence but sentiment. When misinformation becomes the default, nostalgia for a mythical prosperous past begins to look like a rational response. While these positions are not new, their algorithmic amplification gives them perceived legitimacy that makes it hard to estimate, or far exceed, their actual political support. “We have not highlighted the achievements of our multiparty democratic system, and the new generation has not experienced authoritarianism,” Adhikari explains. “Therefore statements like federalism is expensive and the monarchy was better have taken up space, because the evidence of the counter narrative is underreported.” There is a positive side to social media. The GenZ movement took on momentum, and the protestors organised and supported each other through the very platforms that are now full of content that can potentially derail the democracy they wanted to strengthen. Just like it was trendy to be revolutionary during the protests, it is now trendy to be skeptical and to distrust the very people who were installed in the interim government through online voting. Such is the architecture of social media: it rewards immediate reaction over reflection, and due to its interface design, it not only shows what could be relevant ‘for you’ but also tells you what others are thinking about that. The role of the mainstream press as the traditional gatekeeper of information has been superseded by the digital sphere — both in access and sharing. This poses new challenges because social media content may not be news, and just because a page claims to be a news site that does not mean it is journalism. Social media feeds are not chronological newspapers but an algorithmic marketplace. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, YouTube all rely on recommender systems, now powered by AI to keep users on their platforms for as long as possible. The feeds then collapse the distinction between credible news, speculation, parody, and deliberate disinformation, especially in a politically volatile environment.&nbsp; Everything appears in the same vertical stream, formatted with similar fonts, voiceovers, and music, making a platter of content that they know you are most likely to consume. For Nepali users, this has created personalised and parallel political realities. Two people living in the same household may open TikTok and encounter completely different idea of the problems and solutions of Nepal. One is fed content in favour of elections in March, while another pushes conspiracy theories about anti-GenZ activities aided and abetted by foreign powers. None of these feeds reflect the whole picture. Each reflects what the algorithm has learnt will capture user attention. Academics have long found that social media sites do thousands of A B testing to silently optimise which colors, captions, or video formats users respond to most intensely.&nbsp; Tests help design the most addictive feeds. Interface interference allows platforms to limit discoverability of certain features such as the ‘Logout’ and ‘Privacy’ settings so the system remembers users preference for the next time they are scrolling the platform. When faced with such infocalypse, we have the option to withdraw and not engage with our feeds or our phones. But billions of dollars have been spent by Big Tech to keep us hooked. We need more structural revisions that integrate the need of a safer online environment. Media and digital literacy must be woven into both formal education and public institutions. It cannot be an optional topic or a workshop for a select few.&nbsp; Students must learn how algorithms work, how misinformation spreads, and how to verify information before sharing it. Adults need community-level programs that help them navigate the online world that now shapes politics.&nbsp; Content creators also must be held accountable. Profiles posing as news sites must also be brought under the same scrutiny as the mainstream press. Directives for social media journalism, a section in the Press Council’s Journalism Code of Conduct can be introduced as provisions that foster transparency and ethical journalism practices on social media. Creators should pledge to verify facts, cite sources, and clearly label opinion or commentary. While this will not entirely curb disinformation, it can be the first step towards a digital public sphere that can host democratic dialogue with nuance and facts.&nbsp; Says Adhikari: “Journalism doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and our knowledge space, academia, think tanks, research centres, archives, are scaffolding to support journalism, and we must make them stronger. The role of journalism can be to humanise the news and journalists can be storytellers, but the responsibility of the information ecosystem does not rely on journalists alone.” Ayusha Chalise is a communication and development scholar specialising in how politics is experienced in the digital space.

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