This is the 54th edition of Diaspora Diaries, a regular column about migration in Nepali Times. <h2>Kumar BK</h2> I have enjoyed playing the flute since I was a young boy. I used to play it in the forest while tending to my cattle or collecting firewood near my village in Khotang. But I am a self-taught musician, I have never played professionally. I know I am not as good as other professional flute players like those I often watch on YouTube. Reaching that skill level requires professional training. It took me a lot of practice to reach my present level. My learning was interrupted because of going overseas. Growing up, my father was always abroad: first in Malaysia and then Qatar. I stayed with my maternal uncle, and childhood was a constant struggle. I had to help my grandparents with the family business, so I only got to attend school thrice a week. Even then, I somehow passed Grade 12. My father returned for good, and in 2014 it was my turn to go and work in Malaysia. I did not manage to save much because of household expenses. My brother has health problems, and a lot of my savings went for his treatment. After three years in Malaysia, I went to Dubai in 2020. Because of a bad contract and Covid-19, things did not work out as I anticipated. During the lockdown I spent a few months in my room without work or pay. Eventually I did get a good job, but after two years my contract was not renewed because of slow business. I came home last year and am now headed to Qatar. Let’s see how things go this time. When my father was away, he used to write home once every few months. We received news of his well-being with much relief. Times have changed now.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241214021252_bd2e1b0d8050a884a0efe8ae78bd0d95053424b62ebe6d5bb5a086b07b4bcd8c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20241214021252_bd2e1b0d8050a884a0efe8ae78bd0d95053424b62ebe6d5bb5a086b07b4bcd8c" data-rendition-name="original" width="963" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kumar BK DD 54"></figure>  With my father sending money, we were able to afford household expenses. Before my father left, we lived in a bamboo shed with a small room, but now we have a house and land. He lifted us to a state where we no longer have to worry about affording food or a roof on our heads. Other hardships remain. As a son of a migrant, there was always the expectation that he would bring us a mobile phone. It is only later after working overseas that I realised it is not so easy. My overseas experience did not lead to much progress. We had many unanticipated expenses that took precedence: someone falling ill, someone falling down and needing hospital care. Random expenses left few savings. I have now realised that it is difficult to make progress from migration alone if we do not have other ways to supplement our overseas earnings. If households back home can cover basic expenses like food, overseas earnings can be channeled to more productive investment to uplift the family. If remittance from one family member is the sole income source, then we migrate just to survive. Migrant workers like me have just one goal: to earn as much as possible in a limited timeframe. I am headed overseas again with the same thought. Back in my village, I look for a quiet, shaded spot in a nearby forest to play my flute by myself while tending to livestock. I am often away now, but my neighbours in the village say that when they hear the sound of a flute from the forest, they know I am home. I am taking my flute with me to Qatar. I will practice in my room in my free time. Playing it in my room will give me comfort. <h2>Deepak Darji</h2> I was very young when I lost my father. After that my mother also started falling ill. Before that, our family was doing just fine financially. My childhood was not easy because of her poor health and my father’s absence. School was not really a priority. I had to make sure my mother had the medicines keeping her alive. I had household chores like cooking. My mother often reminded me to go to school, but how could I? The responsibilities were on my shoulders from a young age. At least now, she is getting a cash grant from the government that has eased things a bit. Over the years, I have been doing odd jobs. Things are not easy and finding regular work is difficult in the village. As a musician, I am part of a पञ्चे बाजा troupe that plays at weddings and other rituals. If the event is far from where we live, we make about Rs4,000 and if close by, it can be up to Rs3,000. The frequency of events varies. Some months we have four or five, while at other times it is less. Over a decade ago, I went to Dubai but did not get to work or earn as planned despite spending almost Rs200,000 in fees. I had to rely on fellow villagers in Dubai for help, but they told me this was not a sustainable way to live overseas. They were right. I came home before the end of my contract, and was heavily in debt because I could not save enough to pay my recruitment loans. In fact, I had to borrow additional money to sustain myself while in Dubai.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241214021252_9c68e45a42623952ca8be0e97e8f45f10851f90e5ab33b3646ccbca962666f06.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241214021252_9c68e45a42623952ca8be0e97e8f45f10851f90e5ab33b3646ccbca962666f06" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Deepak Darji"></figure>  After returning, I have migrated to various places in India including Shillong, Lucknow, Delhi and Mumbai to work in construction or hotels. I also did short term police duties during the election in Nepal, and the earnings helped while getting to serve the country. I have tried to go overseas again but the first failed experience left a deep scar in my psyche. It was difficult to trust people who said they would find me jobs. I also did not have the Rs300,000 fee they demanded for a job in the Gulf. For Malta they wanted up to Rs800,000. I could not afford such high costs. Now, I have six children to take care of along with my wife and mother. I was finally able to go overseas because the job did not require any recruitment fees. After all, we migrate in the hope that something will work out. Just about everyone is leaving from my village. The well-to-do ones go to Japan and Australia, and people like us to the Gulf. I am taking my shehnai oboe to Qatar to practice during breaks, or when I am bored. Eventually, I will have to come home and resume performing at events, so I cannot afford to get rusty. I had previously taken it to India as well and fellow Nepalis would sometimes ask me to play after a hard day’s work. Our house in the village is known as the ‘radio house’ because the radio is always on. When my grandfather was alive, people would come over to listen to farming programs and radio dramas. He used to encourage fellow villagers to adopt the farming practices that the radio programs talked about. Even today, the radio plays throughout the day, and if it ever stops, people are startled by the silence and say: “कस्तो सुनसान भयो”. Diaspora Diaries is a Nepali Times collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad.

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Migrating with the music of Nepal

&nbsp;This is the 53rdedition of Diaspora Diaries, a regular column about migration in Nepali Times. I was the first migrant to the Gulf from my village of Chagariya of Dhanusha district. We had heard of people who had gone to Saudi Arabia from neighbouring villages and done well for themselves.&nbsp; There were five children to feed and raise, and we did not have much land. Foreign employment seemed like a good choice. After I left in 1992, many others from my village also became migrant workers, including relatives. I have vivid memories of the day I left home. The whole village showed up to drop me off at the bus station. It was like a wedding. My family members wept, they did not know if I would come back alive. There was so much uncertainty. Nowadays migrating has become so common that people come and go without anyone knowing.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024112410118_c15bcbb869d4335ebf5c6bc91ae754982453df2e180299b03eb3f198f8c7c327.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024112410118_c15bcbb869d4335ebf5c6bc91ae754982453df2e180299b03eb3f198f8c7c327" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="DD 53"> <figcaption>Ram Dhani Yadav with his family.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024112113110_19fd8eadc8fe5ea082dc8ad899dd19643daca0bc7638c1db6e7175a56b56e9dd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024112113110_19fd8eadc8fe5ea082dc8ad899dd19643daca0bc7638c1db6e7175a56b56e9dd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1768" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="DD 53"> </figure>  Getting on the plane was scary. I had a window seat and the flight attendant helped us with our seat belts and offered us food. I chose the vegetarian meal, and even though they offered beer, I stuck to Dew. Someone from the company was waiting for us at Dammam airport. And the heat! It burnt all the hair on my head. It was impossible without AC. But even in Nepal the heat is suffocating now, and it is hard working on the farm. Seems like we imported not just money, but also the heat from Saudi Arabia. After a couple of months as a labourer, I lost interest in the work. Luckily, I got a job as a company barber since I had experience. I cut the hair of fellow workers from Nepal, India, Pakistan, Korea and the Philippines.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024112410118_e8c60f57bd767053f067400da4fcf76514662d4bd418a011b72a30356a3633d8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2024112410118_e8c60f57bd767053f067400da4fcf76514662d4bd418a011b72a30356a3633d8" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="DD 53"> <figcaption>Barbers' tools that Yadav used after he got a job as a company barber in Saudi Arabia.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024112410118_ff2a87da06735fa254b9a10e35fa5163527fbe939421b875150dd02b9adde17c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2024112410118_ff2a87da06735fa254b9a10e35fa5163527fbe939421b875150dd02b9adde17c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="DD 53"> <figcaption>Yadav with the mirrior he used for his side-job as a barber.</figcaption> </figure>  &nbsp;The workers did not have to pay, but if they liked it they gave me handsome tips, fruit juice or even a crate of canned Pepsi. I chatted in Hindi with the Indians and Pakistanis. Those working in scaffolding, welding or drivers earned more and tipped better. Low paid workers left less tips, but I did not mind. I worked in the company’s hair salon which had a fancy revolving chair and big mirror. For off hours and holidays, I had my own makeshift barber corner in camp as my side hustle. I bought my own mirror, hung it on a rod and my clients sat on a stool. I would also drop by one of the salons in the market to earn some extra cash on our days off. Times were different back then. There were no mobiles and my wife had to travel a long way to receive calls on a CDMA phone from Ram Dayal’s shop at a pre-arranged date and time. The calls were brief because they were expensive.&nbsp; We had more detailed communications through cassette tapes that we sent each other. Whenever I felt homesick, I listened to the voices of my wife and children over and over again – especially the girls who were always loud and chirpy.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024112113110_d91691006f5ab08532b5a2e76e737c2dfd9edcff175bd5617f9053a4269f17ce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2024112113110_d91691006f5ab08532b5a2e76e737c2dfd9edcff175bd5617f9053a4269f17ce" data-rendition-name="original" width="2056" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="DD 53"> <figcaption>This is the cassette tape case Yadav had sent home from Saudi Arabia over three decades ago. His handwriting reads: Sender: Ram Dhani Yadav, Saudi Arab (Dammam) Receiver: Sita Devi Yadav, Ward No 3, Chagariya, Nepal </figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024112113114_86cc0ffc1a1df040656a31f8876f2d48cc50b6f1f96b4ee8840c2174fce45c98.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2024112113114_86cc0ffc1a1df040656a31f8876f2d48cc50b6f1f96b4ee8840c2174fce45c98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1791" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="DD 53"> </figure>  When I missed my family, I would play the tapes on a Sony that I bought for 60 riyal. When I was alone in my camp dorm, I would record whatever I wanted to tell my family, replay the recording and if it was good enough, I sent it to Nepal with some cash, wrapping it all in layers of cellotape. Every night before going to sleep, I would re-listen to the voices of my family. I kept the player close to my ears at a very low volume as I shared the room with four or five others. Even hearing about mundane everyday things from the village over and over again in the voices of my wife and daughters filled me with joy after work. One day, someone from management said I had a call from Nepal. It was news of my youngest son’s death, and that was a painful moment. He was just 18 months old. In a tape that followed, my family filled in the details: he had died of measles. I responded by recording my own feelings on tape and consoled them.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024112410118_9e698ea6b9c7d9806444eed194df1227249003ba5b8644557ebdcef549e7263e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2024112410118_9e698ea6b9c7d9806444eed194df1227249003ba5b8644557ebdcef549e7263e" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="DD 53"> <figcaption>Yadav now talks to his son, who is also overseas for work, through video calls on his mobile phone.</figcaption> </figure>  My company offered to send me home on mourning break for a month. What was the point? My son was already gone, so I could not bring him back. Instead, I grieved on my own in Saudi Arabia before I resumed work. The company was kind enough to pay me my basic wages. During my time overseas, I came home thrice. When I left for Saudi Arabia after my third vacation home, I wept as my mother was in poor health and paralysed. I just could not stay away, so three weeks later I returned to Nepal on a one-way ticket. I brought back my barbershop mirror, and it still hangs on my wall. <div class="embed-block"><div><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%;"><iframe src="//cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fembed%2FDXX3kPW42oc%3Fsi%3DolveYQBO4UYjBKl&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/50-diaspora-diaries-in-nepali-times">Diaspora Diaries</a> is a regular column in Nepali Times in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad.

"The first migrant worker from my village"

I was born in Mumbai where my father worked as a watchman. When I was just four years old, my parents decided that it would be best if my mother went back to our home district of Achham in Nepal to take care of our house and farm. And off she went with my one-year-old brother. In her absence, we lived close to his workplace. He worked shifts, and was not always home when I returned from school. I learnt to cook for both of us at a young age, even though I do not consider myself a good cook.&nbsp; From childhood, I had this innate sense of responsibility and completed my homework or rote-learned for exams even when I was not under parental watch.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241101221140_2a8ae15dc440b94aff7a6146e7ce457bb21376cbd206d1ff503e9f83ea2a4334.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20241101221140_2a8ae15dc440b94aff7a6146e7ce457bb21376cbd206d1ff503e9f83ea2a4334" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 51 NT"> <figcaption>Bishwokarma was married at 15 to a 13-year-old girl also from Achham who, like him, was also born and raised in Mumbai.</figcaption> </figure>  Growing up around Nepali families in the neighbourhood, I picked up Nepali. Not having a mother figure around, I did not really know what I missed as it had always been that way. My mother and I communicated in letters that were about a paragraph-long without much substance other than basic pleasantries and updates from school. I was more accustomed to my father, with whom I shared a special bond. I married young at 15 to a 13-year old girl who was also born in Mumbai to migrants from Achham. My mother came to my wedding and it was the first time we met after she had left over a decade ago. My mother returned with my wife to Achham where my city grown wife learnt how to do village household chores. Unsurprisingly, she did not like it, but she stayed on for two years. While she was trained by my mother in Achham, I was continuing my school in Mumbai.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241101221140_dbb23b8a76397c7cd7b9b640455a6d0b274d7411e91032a34d118a33d1ac0069.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241101221140_dbb23b8a76397c7cd7b9b640455a6d0b274d7411e91032a34d118a33d1ac0069" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 51 NT"> </figure>  After my wedding, I went to Achham for the first time ever. With no mental image of what it would look like, I did not know what to expect. Life in Nepal took some getting used to but with the visits I grew attached to Nepal and I got familiar with Nepali songs and movies via YouTube. My father eventually moved back to Nepal. My mother needed more help around the house to tend the fields. By then, I had settled down in Mumbai with my wife and four children and worked as a watchman, just like my father. My now-jobless father now depended on me. This put more financial pressure on me. I used to enjoy playing cricket growing up. But when household responsibilities start weighing on you from a young age, there is no space in life for hobbies and passions. By the time I was of age to discover and nurture my interests, I was already worrying about raising my children well.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241101221140_0ccd2cd0e243a5124f13047a2d7caad5df462b2e396745b0381393e385b76301.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241101221140_0ccd2cd0e243a5124f13047a2d7caad5df462b2e396745b0381393e385b76301" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="900" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 51 NT"> </figure>  Life in Mumbai is fast-paced. Everyone is running around. My company closed down, and I lost my job. I then bought an autorickshaw, and my daily income varies between INR 700-1,500. I prefer this more than being a watchman, as there is more freedom. It is self-paced, and there is time to rest. There is no boss to order me around. My three sons work as a vegetable vendor, a real estate agent and a cinematographer, and my daughter is a nurse. They also take care of some of the household expenses. What I earn is just for my pocket money and to keep myself occupied. What would I do sitting around idly? If I had a traditional job, I would be retiring in three years after turning 60. But as an autorickshaw driver, there is no end at sight. I will retire when my body demands it.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241101221140_2f370b6e52af5460cfd7b4a4761a557baef3a3b2158cfdaa5ac3bb0bdcd0065b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241101221140_2f370b6e52af5460cfd7b4a4761a557baef3a3b2158cfdaa5ac3bb0bdcd0065b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 51 NT"> </figure>  I don’t interact much with my customers as I have to keep my eye on the road at all times. Mumbai traffic is bad. Sometimes, customers hail three-wheelers like mine when the cars they have booked online do not arrive on time because of traffic. They have meetings to attend or flights to catch, and they are thankful when I stop to pick them up.&nbsp; Other than that, the interactions are quite limited. Most customers are glued to their phones. Some even bring out their laptops. My job is to ensure they reach their destinations. Three years ago, I received a call from Achham about my father’s heart attack. I was arranging my travel to Nepal, but he passed away that night. I still went to Achham for his last rites, and I cannot describe how difficult it was to make that long journey alone while grieving my father’s loss. As I changed buses and trains across India, all I could think about was my father.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024110203118_3da6e8d233ba52600ae4902d65ba754436340d577e6fce5e3c91f39a507866c3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2024110203118_3da6e8d233ba52600ae4902d65ba754436340d577e6fce5e3c91f39a507866c3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 51"> </figure>  We moved my mother to Gujarat where my brother works as a watchman as we did not want to leave her alone in Achham. Our house there is now empty.&nbsp; Just like I was close to my father who raised me, my brother is close to our mother. My brother and I have never spent more than a few days together because we were separated as children. I visit them in Gujarat once in a while. I have lived a simple and perhaps even a boring life. There have been enough hardships, but nothing that I have not been able to sort out on my own. I have not had to depend on others. God has been restrained in the way he sends me problems. We are all entangled in our own झमेला troubles. Translated from a conversation with the author. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/50-diaspora-diaries-in-nepali-times">Diaspora Diaries</a> is a regular column in Nepali Times in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. The previous 50 columns can be accessed in this <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1uR6pzwfR91KAezRODgDIz2FWI6m2xjPL/view">ebook</a>. Watch video of Harka Lal Bishwokarma <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rusYgB9B3rs">here</a>. <div class="embed-block"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rusYgB9B3rs?si=-E3SnyAv00I3ZUm1" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>

“I have lived a simple, boring life”

This is the 48th instalment of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. Growing up in Lamjung, I had a very humble childhood. I helped my mother with household chores, and in the fields. My father wanted me to follow his path and join the Indian Army, but after two months at the Gorkha Training Centre in Shillong with its huge billboard that said ‘Do or Die’, I was put off and returned to Nepal.&nbsp; I was in awe walking around the streets of &nbsp;Kathmandu. I used to go to Bishal Bazaar just to practice taking the lift. My curiosity about how things worked, and surfing the net helped keep me updated. I tried to run a café while attending college. But Nepalis had not yet developed a taste for brewed coffee, so my café failed. I also could not continue my studies, so like everyone else going abroad, I left for the UAE in 2004 to work. My brother, who worked as a driver in the UAE, got me a job as a rope access worker in charge of cleaning windows on tall buildings. We first practiced in a two storied building in Dubai, and would be drenched in sweat. I got my license but on a job to clean the façade of a skyscraper, my knees shook as I dangled 48-floors above the ground.&nbsp; What I had learnt on the ground did not amount to much hanging on a rope up there on a high rise. It got better with practice, and it helped that my supervisors were Nepalis who got me acclimatised to the height, so I felt safe.&nbsp; I spent over a decade in the UAE but do not remember much from that period. Work-pay-work-pay, it was a cycle. The kindness of strangers has stayed with me. Some residents on the high floors would offer us fruits as we dangled outside their windows. Small gestures, but they are etched in my memory. I have helped set up the fireworks display on Burj Khalifa and cleaned seven-star hotels, but when my company set up a new oil and gas division in 2005, I asked for an internal transfer in the inspection and engineering department. We got trained in non-destructive testing (NDT), which I enjoyed a lot and excelled in. I took courses in visual, ultrasound and magnetic particle inspections, and found a sense of deep fulfilment in learning new things. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/sky-is-the-limit-for-nepali-chef-in-bahrain">Sky is the limit for Nepali chef in Bahrain</a>, Sanjay Lama Tamang  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023120902120_fc8c6c1b2d8dab2c07f75c56d819ae566fbdcee047cf568a52adb95c2ede032f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2023120902120_fc8c6c1b2d8dab2c07f75c56d819ae566fbdcee047cf568a52adb95c2ede032f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1211" height="729" loading="lazy" alt="DD #48 NT"> </figure>  Work offshore used to be round the clock. I missed the sense of freedom one feels on firm ground, even though all amenities were provided on board. I still remember how the most rewarding feeling was seeing my name on the list in the control room near the helipad with home leave dates when the chopper would come to airlift us out every month.&nbsp; It was the best feeling in the world, but for the first few days we would still feel like the floor was moving. We had got so used to being at sea.&nbsp; The paid monthly leave was unique among migrant workers. I made sure not to waste time, and used to go to India to take more courses to upgrade my skills. I could not continue my formal education because of my personal circumstances, but I had no excuse not to invest in learning new things.&nbsp; I had the desire to achieve something, and the training was part of advancing my career. Taking formal classes honed my theoretical understanding of the work right from the fundamentals.&nbsp; Given the absence of Nepalis in the management in the oil and gas sector, there was a preference for other nationalities in promotions. Despite meeting roadblocks every step of the way, I did overcome them and moved up the ranks.&nbsp; I had a starting salary of AED900, but by the time I left the UAE a decade later, I was earning AED20,000 ($5,500) a month. After ten years in the UAE including one year in Qatar with the same company, it was time for a change.&nbsp; I tried resigning three times, but was offered better benefits so decided to stay on. But after the third time, I had made my mind. My resignation letter said, ‘I am leaving for my personal betterment.’ It was not for financial reasons, I just knew it was time for a change. &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-on-my-mind">Nepal on my mind</a>, Ishwar Chaulagain  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023120902120_b259140354429fdda3d4aaf327da94a87300a435d89a29762cbef9ec3dc7e0c7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2023120902120_b259140354429fdda3d4aaf327da94a87300a435d89a29762cbef9ec3dc7e0c7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1141" height="729" loading="lazy" alt="DD #48 NT"> </figure>  I applied for a job in Nigeria in 2012, and was thrilled to be offered $450 per day for a five month contract. My boss then offered me a longer term contract, and I stuck around in Nigeria for three more years. During my last year, I even helped the company start a training wing and worked as a trainer.&nbsp; The oil crisis of 2015 slowed things down. Oil prices fell from $125 to $25 per barrel, and although my employer asked me to stay on with salary, I left. Nepal was calling.&nbsp; I started my own Industrial Rope Access Trade Association (IRATA) certified training company, Asset Integrity Group, in Kathmandu in 2016. We provide training in rope access, spray painting, welding, rigging and non-destructive testing.&nbsp; I had no guidance in my career choices, I just followed my instincts. I try to be a good mentor to Nepalis interested in this field even though what I earn here does not compare to what I was used to overseas.&nbsp; But there is a different kind of joy in the training and even the respect I get from my students. Nepalis in the rope access sector renew their licenses or upgrade to the next level at my centre, and many are working in the Gulf. A handful of Filipinos, Bangladeshis, Sri Lankans and Indians have also come to Kathmandu, where I have trained and licensed them as we are an internationally accredited centre and cost less than elsewhere. Our offer to them is that they not only get cheaper training, they also will get to visit our beautiful country.&nbsp; Luckily, I know enough people in the industry worldwide who hire me for short-term gigs like protective coating services in the oil and gas sector. I have worked in Africa, the Middle East and Central Asia where I spend a few months every year. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/money-is-not-everything-but-you-need-money-for-everything">"Money is not everything, but you need money for everything"</a>, Rohit Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023120902120_761d1f46b408f2d199a5d0375df8702a5987a948b61df03eacbe2d9a8b18a219.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2023120902120_761d1f46b408f2d199a5d0375df8702a5987a948b61df03eacbe2d9a8b18a219" data-rendition-name="original" width="1778" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="DD #48 NT"> </figure>  My travels allow me to offer similar opportunities to fellow Nepalis. Three Nepalis, for example, joined me in Nigeria. My international colleagues are often surprised to hear that I am from a landlocked country with no oil industry. I myself wonder sometimes how I got here. I tell them: “I learned and earned.” &nbsp; Nepalis in my field know me as Rudra Dai their mentor, who follows their progress even after training. My foreign friends call me Ruddy. Ruddy’s occasional gigs makes Rudra Dai’s work sustainable. In a way, I have the best of both worlds.&nbsp; It is not easy, of course. We have to meet strict IRATA standards to pass audits. At our training center, we simulate different scenarios such as in civil and marine rope access work. We also provide on-the-job training so students can practice what they learn. There are more complex courses like industrial painting. Additional training for painting or welding inspection combined with rope access training could contribute to boosting earnings.&nbsp; Many Nepalis still go overseas to earn just $300 USD monthly. I wish they understood that there are also opportunities that offer much higher salaries if they got training. It cannot be any training; it has to be recognised and valued overseas as well. In rope access, where safety is paramount and licensing requirements are mandatory, just a short training can open up higher salaries, new sectors and upward mobility, as the demand for workers in this field is growing.&nbsp; This model would work best if employers themselves were also involved. But Nepali employers do not prioritise occupational health and safety, and training. They just want cheap labour. Overseas companies also hesitate to invest in training workers especially as they have trouble retaining them, and there are competitors who offer small salary mark-ups.&nbsp; I have come a long way from dangling with shaky knees on a rope off a high rise in Dubai. When I meet young migrant workers on leave in Nepal, I see myself 15 years ago. I used to go to India to get myself trained, now I am glad to say I can offer such training in Nepal itself. &nbsp;&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/from-retail-to-selling-chiya">From retail to selling chiya</a>, Gautam Guvaju Translated from a conversation with the author. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to editors@nepalitimes.com with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

Migrant worker teaches others the ropes

This is the 47th instalment of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. When I first went overseas in 2005 as a kitchen help to Bahrain, I had just one goal: to save Rs200,000 so I could return to Nepal and start a small business like a cold store. &nbsp; Nearly 20 years later, I am still overseas. The years have just flown by.&nbsp; When I had first started applying to migrate for work, I got rejected in many interviews because of my poor English. I was close to giving up, but instead enrolled myself for language training.&nbsp; And it paid off. I was the last interviewee in a recruitment drive for a Bahrain-based job, but got selected. When I first saw the vacancy in the newspaper, I did not know where Bahrain was. I had heard of Dubai, Saudi Arabia and Qatar, but not Bahrain.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123101124_37b1ba3da8af8f5e5448d049083827b68366859b0d8165ccfb8e02da4e8d6efd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20231123101124_37b1ba3da8af8f5e5448d049083827b68366859b0d8165ccfb8e02da4e8d6efd" data-rendition-name="original" width="525" height="700" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 47"> </figure>  After a few years there, I did manage to save my first two lakhs, but then I wanted the next two. And so it went on. As we work and earn, our dreams grow. And there are no limits to our dreams. You buy land back in Nepal, and after some time overseas, manage to build a one-storied house. You build the first storey, and then think why not add another floor. Once the house is done, it’s time to start thinking about the children’s future. There is no end, really. Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/finding-a-niche-in-nepal">Finding a niche in Nepal</a>, Babare Bahadur Bomjan My starting salary in Bahrain was Rs12,000. Now I am a chef earning over 33 times the amount. My specialisation is in French and Italian cuisine at a high end restaurant but with an Arabic twist for the palate of our customers. I manage over 35 kitchen staff from Asia and Africa.&nbsp; At peak hours, the kitchen can get quite chaotic and loud, but I am also at my best under pressure and try to create a fun environment for my team. My base is in Bahrain, but I am currently in Saudi Arabia temporarily setting up a new outlet for the same employer. One of the reasons for my involvement in the Saudi outlet is that many of the new staff are from Nepal so my employer figured it would be easier for me to train and motivate them.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/adventures-of-a-nepali-coffee-aficionado">Adventures of a Nepali coffee aficionado</a>, Laxmi Prasad Timilsina Before leaving Nepal, I dreamed of joining the army but it got complicated when I used to get questioned in my village, including from my friends who had joined the Maoists. They gave me a hard time.&nbsp; I lied at a canteen that I had prior experience working in restaurants. I kept making mistakes and did not even know how to cut vegetables the right way. I used to say “this is how we used to do it at my old restaurant” and cut carrots without peeling them or putting random spices in noodles. I got away with it. My first mentor in one of the restaurants was a Dubai returnee who trained me. &nbsp; In my years away, I have come home twice intending to stay. My sacrifices and effort working night and day has earned me the trust of my employers so I could tell them that I will go home, try out something and if it does not work out, I will return. And I did return, and they welcomed me back. When you prove yourself at work and build good relationships, doors remain open.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123101140_ff3a1b3424a4ea61fa941f967ed4b30bca5af18ced066e319252ec62098be33d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20231123101140_ff3a1b3424a4ea61fa941f967ed4b30bca5af18ced066e319252ec62098be33d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="diaspora diaries 47"> </figure>  Switching jobs also improves your bargaining power and employment benefits, either by your original employer who will match the new offer or the new employer who will try to attract you with better benefits. I have jumped from Bahrain to Qatar and back to Bahrain over the years, and these added to the benefits. Despite what I have achieved, I know that I have missed out a lot in life by being away. True happiness is at home, where my family is. That will never change, no matter how much time I spend away.&nbsp; I first left Nepal when my wife was pregnant with my eldest daughter. It was a time when photos were exchanged over letters and phone calls were expensive and difficult to arrange. I wasn’t there to hold my wife’s hand during those months. Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/the-return-of-a-master-baker">The return of a master baker</a>, Raju Pakhrin I made up for it partially when my son was born eight years later. I could at least go home for the delivery. My daughter will go abroad for her education when she finishes high school next year. By the time I return to Nepal, she will have left to pursue her own dreams. Once she is abroad, I will pass on the baton to her and she will help bring her younger brother to wherever she is. That a family like mine can dream of sending children for overseas education is a testament of our sacrifices. But then you miss all important milestones in life. I could have brought my family to Bahrain but my work schedule is so busy that I would not be able to give them enough time. I have come a long way since my days as a kitchen help. But if someone were to make a movie of my life, it wouldn’t be of my professional journey but rather a story about separation and sacrifices. About not being able to give my family the quality time they deserved.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123101124_e67381d1bdc348ac5d675eb569b2c802ac9abb0042eb4c8491cb38e7112594bf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20231123101124_e67381d1bdc348ac5d675eb569b2c802ac9abb0042eb4c8491cb38e7112594bf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 47"> </figure>  Ours is a generation of sacrifices. And we were born at a time and in a country where it feels impossible to balance time with family with earning money. There are festivals that you miss because you are away from home. But there are also times when work keeps you so busy that you even forget that it is Dasain back home. &nbsp; Many Nepalis have done well across the Gulf including in the hospitality sector by proving themselves with their hard work and loyalty despite not having formal education or language skills. &nbsp; Youth these days have it a lot easier, young Nepalis are better educated and have English. But it is your skills, work experience and performance at work that matters most. As an interviewer who is involved in recruitment drives now, I have learnt to look beyond English skills or CVs to identify genuinely hard-working people eager to learn and grow.&nbsp; Many newcomers these days are in a rush for overnight success and promotions and get easily disheartened, but it is a process, a journey. With luck, hard work, and patience success will come.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-on-my-mind">Nepal on my mind</a>, Ishwar Chaulagain I do not think my story is that remarkable. I am a simple Nepali who worked hard and made personal sacrifices, and things fell into place. I was good at grabbing opportunities that came my way. I think that most people who stick to their craft continuously for years will eventually get good at it.&nbsp; Everything might not work out as we plan or hope, but something or other inevitably will. That is my mantra, to give it my all without worrying too much about results. In fact, I try not to worry about anything at all. &nbsp;&nbsp; Translated from a conversation with the author. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to editors@nepalitimes.com with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

Sky is the limit for Nepali chef in Bahrain

This is the 46th instalment of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. During my first job in Qatar as a waiter it was clear that my lack of proper English would make it difficult for me to be promoted to front-office positions.&nbsp; There were Filipino, East European and Indian colleagues across the Gulf who came from much better backgrounds, had more polished English and could present themselves much better. So for my second stint overseas, this time in a luxury hotel in Kuwait, I opted for back-end jobs in food and safety hygiene. I figured my linguistic weakness would not hold me back.&nbsp; I had learnt the English alphabet only in Grade 4 by the flickering light of an oil lamp in my village in Bhojpur. I dropped out of school so my siblings could study. I grew up helping my parents with household chores and farming, school was never a priority. Later, I worked as a lab boy in the biology departments of high schools in Nepal. Like everyone else, I chose foreign employment to improve my family’s living standard, Nepali wages were just not enough.&nbsp; I had the grit, ability to work hard and knowledge of my field, but it would be lack of communication skills that would hold me back in the hospitality sector. Now, many years later, I have reached managerial positions in luxury hotels overseas. As part of a support department for kitchen and service, we are responsible for inventory, cleaning, sanitisation, store organisation and calibration of all equipment and ensure that they meet the highest hygiene standards. I manage 40-45 staff from different countries. But I may not have achieved all this had I insisted on getting front-end jobs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231104041124_8eb359ad4cec1b47f26a7b0ba8b0e343b33374e4c3b0e95dbf005592ea69576d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20231104041124_8eb359ad4cec1b47f26a7b0ba8b0e343b33374e4c3b0e95dbf005592ea69576d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1288" height="725" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal on my mind 4"> </figure>  After working in Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain and Seychelles, I am once again headed back to Kuwait to work as a stewarding manager. I will be earning $2,100 (KWD 650) a month with additional benefits. My foreign employment did not start well, it must be said. I left Nepal in 2007, to work in Qatar as a busboy. My salary was just $110 (QAR 400) then. I was cheated by the recruitment agent who made me sign a fake contract, but I could not go back to Nepal. The supply company placed me in the catering section of a gas firm, and even though the salary was below what was promised it gave me a solid foundation in my area of work.&nbsp; Since then, I have worked in luxury hotels in multiple countries, but the hygiene standards in the oil and gas sector in Qatar were superior. For us overseas migrant workers, it is important to manage our time and finances and think about the long term. Such planning requires constant reminders of why we are here, who we have left behind and that working abroad is temporary.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231104041124_f7fc4b99bb5a64da56fceb65096cf0d366873e93b45a472aa8751d6f54a6ffa7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20231104041124_f7fc4b99bb5a64da56fceb65096cf0d366873e93b45a472aa8751d6f54a6ffa7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal on my mind 1"> </figure>  It is easy to splurge when there is cash without thinking of the future. Overlooking exercise or proper eating habits can affect our health in the long term. One day, we will have to return, leaving all this behind with no social protection for future security. My friends and I often wonder what we can do once we return to Nepal. One option that fits our background that might also have scope in Nepal’s hospitality sector is to train and supply hotel workers. But that means leaving a well-paying, stable job for an uncertain entrepreneurial journey in Nepal. We have been away so long that it does carry immense risks. It is this uncertainty that keeps us renewing our contracts, or looking for a better job in another country. The new generation of Nepalis who come to the Gulf or elsewhere are not limited as we were. The youth migrating now have it easier, they are better educated and already have degrees in hospitality management. They also have better exposure and language skills, and this is an advantage. But ultimately, it does boil down to job performance. One of my early memories of being overseas is being formally recognised as Colleague of the Year among a staff of 900. This was a turning point in my career that gave me the positivity and energy to work harder and dream bigger. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231104041124_46369189939b8bfd7be4f8c0d1913cac6415d06268bb454cbbbf7bbd1a83ee0f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231104041124_46369189939b8bfd7be4f8c0d1913cac6415d06268bb454cbbbf7bbd1a83ee0f" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="979" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal on my mind 5"> </figure>  The perception overseas that Nepalis lack management and leadership skills that other nationalities have is now being broken. There are Nepalis who are doing very well across the Gulf region. It is important to have Nepalis in leadership positions, not just for our individual growth and finances, but also because it allows us to help other Nepalis to solve problems they encounter, especially as newcomers.&nbsp; There is chain migration that allows us to pull fellow Nepalis overseas from our communities that has been going on for decades, but there is also upward mobility where those of us doing well in leadership positions can open the way for more Nepalis to climb the ladder.&nbsp; Creating that positive perception of Nepalis in upper management positions is a priority. Leveraging networks to help others is an added bonus.&nbsp; One of my proudest moments was seeing immense potential in one of the staff I was managing in my team who was from Bangladesh. I recommended a fellow chef to take him under his wing and vouched for him as his manager. Today, he is a successful chef.&nbsp; I have learnt with time how important it is to be able to defend yourself at work or to be aware of the rules and policies in place. Often we fail to use existing rules that are in our favour because we are just unaware of them and are hesitant to speak up.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231104041124_348b63d15b026d1c2a1d1afd0621c1fca06791181a5a1615b8d5e2faa0c87006.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20231104041124_348b63d15b026d1c2a1d1afd0621c1fca06791181a5a1615b8d5e2faa0c87006" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal on my mind 3"> </figure>  Labour laws in the Gulf countries are also changing, and have become more flexible. But how those changes affect us depends on our ability to make use of them. Of course, this also depends on what kind of employer we land. In my job, I have witnessed the extreme luxury and wealth of our guests, and how easy they have it financially. I compare that to Nepalis like me who have to struggle every step of the way.&nbsp; I blame politics which has prevented Nepal from making the best use of our incredible natural and human resources. Yet, when I watch news from Nepal these days, there is little to be optimistic about.&nbsp; I hope that we will soon be allowed to vote in elections from overseas, so we too have a say about who should lead Nepal. We are not in the Gulf region permanently, we send money home every month, and we will eventually return. We should have the right to vote. We spend a good chunk of our lives overseas to toil in difficult circumstances, far away from home. But it is as much about our families we leave behind.&nbsp; They give us the green signal to go abroad to work, while they take care of things at home in our absence. I believe families left behind do not get enough credit for the sacrifice they make. As for me, I owe it to my wife who has been a pillar of strength for me and someone who has supported my professional growth. I keep reminding Nepalis overseas to stay connected with their families back home. It takes a lot of effort to make this journey of separation tolerable. It is easy to get lost in the daily grind.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231104041124_fc4a2e976ca1d5b10f12f0aea543d696a6ba2c772189a6ddca7b2e87e36ae773.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20231104041124_fc4a2e976ca1d5b10f12f0aea543d696a6ba2c772189a6ddca7b2e87e36ae773" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal on my mind 6"> </figure>  The lack of communication and distance can take a toll on mental health as well. The need to make a better living seems possible only in a foreign land, and that makes physical separation unavoidable. It is up to us to remain connected emotionally and virtually — after all they are just a phone call away.&nbsp; Translated from a conversation. Diaspora Diaries provides a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to editors@nepalitimes.com with ‘Diaspora Diaries’ in the subject line. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;

Nepal on my mind

This is the 42nd edition of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis who have lived or are working abroad. I still remember the blast of hot air that enveloped me when the airport door slid open at Dubai airport that afternoon 20 years ago. I was immediately worried whether it was the right decision to go to the UAE for work. I was there to flip burgers, much to the dismay of my parents who had invested in my education. But my Master's in Geology from India did not amount to much in Nepal. Oil companies in India prioritised locals, so I had to return to Nepal. I still remember entering the premises of the Department of Geology and Mines in Kathmandu with the hopes of getting a job. But the lethargy and broken furniture there put me off, I did not want to work in such a place. I then took on odd jobs, teaching math and science. My father suggested I could be a lecturer in geology, but how could I inspire people to join a field in which I saw no potential for myself? Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/from-retail-to-selling-chiya">From retail to selling chiya</a>, Gautam Guvaju They say money is not everything, but you need money for everything. So, after two years, I found myself interviewing for a job at Burger King in the UAE. The country manager had come to Kathmandu himself for the interview. He told me that I could achieve the same success as another Nepali he had employed in the UAE if I worked hard. My educational background and language skills would be an advantage, he said. But he told me to be realistic about my expectations. I would have to be ready to do even menial tasks, like cleaning restrooms. Foreign workers are usually housed in labour camps in the UAE’s industrial areas, segregated from the rest of the population. I was lucky to be put up in a flat in the middle of the city on the 16th floor of a high rise. In the morning after my arrival in Dubai I marvelled at how high we were, and watched the cars below that looked like toys. At Burger King, everything was by the book. There were specifications and instructions for all functions, from how to wash hands to how to thaw condiments. As a science student I was intrigued. It was not easy, especially in the early days. Standing for nine hours a day as a crew member in a fast-paced environment can be stressful, especially if you are not used to working at all. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-bonds-with-racing-camel-in-qatar">Nepali bonds with racing camel in Qatar</a>, Mohan Pandey Once the restaurant opened for business, customer flow was constant. In the beginning, I could barely stand by the end of the day and my hands would be stiff. It felt like every cell in my feet was hurting. Even on my days off, I visited the restaurant to read the Burger King manual like a textbook. I found it fascinating how specific it was about standards covering practically every aspect of the burger making process. Perhaps my science degree came in handy after all, helping me grasp details faster than the average employee. I soon became the go-to guy at work. I got 100% in all internal exams required for the job. Doing well in these exams or getting awards in the company positioned me for quicker promotions, but once you hit managerial posts, certificates and training did not matter as it was all about the outlets' performance and numbers. I once caught a cold as my body wasn’t able to handle the frequent changes between the AC inside and the outside heat. Back in Nepal, this would have been enough to keep me in bed. There, I somehow made it to work and got so busy that by the time I was done with my shift, the cold would be gone. I worked myself and my cold to death. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/amit-and-tilak">Amik and Tilak</a>, Tilak Bahadur Tamang and Amik Singh Lama My hard work paid off. When I was promoted to Assistant Manager in two years, I was described as the fastest-developing crew member to assistant manager in Burger King Middle East history. I still recall reading that email in tears right before my shift started. It helped that there were managers who were genuinely invested in my growth. Duty meals were free for employees, so I ended up eating burgers every day from 2003 to 2009. I once calculated that I must have eaten about 2,028 of them — but the hard work kept me from gaining weight. Burger King gave me more than just a good job. It is where I fell in love with my wife, who was also making a future for herself in the same restaurant. I then jumped ship to Subway where I worked as an Area Manager for two years. This experience was different because Subway did not have the same strict specifications as Burger King, and gave me room to apply what I had learnt there. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/finding-a-niche-in-nepal">Finding a niche in Nepal</a>, Babare Bahadur Bomjan  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230930030916_5827ccc1a858abbfa8fa778b5c340f6db99d48511fb5725f161369025fb624bb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20230930030916_5827ccc1a858abbfa8fa778b5c340f6db99d48511fb5725f161369025fb624bb" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="DF42"></figure>  I was then hired by the Swedish chain Max Burger to establish a presence in the UAE. Its operating style relied on common sense rather than strict specifications. It had the same feel as grandmoms who run kitchens using intuition and common sense, which I quite liked. I had experience handling high volumes, including full destination restaurants with drive through, delivery and takeout. I was also a certified restaurant trainer. As someone who had started out with a monthly salary of AED900, I was now making over 12,000. I had the savings and the skills, but like all migrant workers, I was working for someone else and had started questioning myself – till when? Whenever we came to Nepal on breaks and satisfied our momo and chow mein cravings, we would be on the lookout for burgers. But we were never satisfied with the burgers here, which is what gave us the idea of starting a burger place in Nepal. My parents were getting older, and my father's health had started failing. As an only child, I decided to head home. My wife and son returned first, and I followed. I got on the plane to Nepal with no regrets about leaving the place I had worked in for 11 years. I set up Burger Shack in Nepal in 2014. My parents, who had initially questioned why I was going abroad to make burgers, now started expressing concern about why I wanted to sell only burgers and not momos. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/migrant-worker-returns-to-create-work-at-home">Migrant worker returns to create work at home</a>, Sunil Bhujel  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230930030916_dd8bea786db86cdc3619171fc4efeaaf007708d3fb0114fc6f723e149e8b41c7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20230930030916_dd8bea786db86cdc3619171fc4efeaaf007708d3fb0114fc6f723e149e8b41c7" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="2667" loading="lazy" alt="DF42"></figure>  Despite my experience in three fast food restaurants overseas, running a restaurant in Nepal was a different proposition altogether. Even finding the right kind of buns and patties was a challenge. I had to improvise every step of the way. Fortunately, business is doing well and we now have three branches including one franchise. Customers say we are the closest thing to McDonald’s in Nepal. Had I not gone overseas for work, I would probably still be doing something on my own — perhaps a small grocery shop or a momo restaurant. But the experience in the UAE gave me capital and skills. I am the first person in my risk-averse family to start a business. I learnt in those few years abroad more practical lessons than I did from my formal education. It was important to pick up technical skills, and use them to build a niche for myself in Nepal. Going overseas means access to a platform and new possibilities, but in the final analysis it boils down to what you make of it. Dubai feels like a dream now. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/the-return-of-a-master-baker">The return of a master baker</a>, Raju Pakhrin Translated from a conversation with the author. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com" target="_blank">editors@nepalitimes.com</a>

"Money is not everything, but you need money for everything"

This is the 41st instalment of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. Even as a kid, I could feel my family's standard of living improve when my father left for Iraq after a failed trucking business in Nepal. It crept up in small ways. Instead of five rupees for lunch money, I now got ten. Or the clothes my mother bought me were of a better quality. Birthday celebrations got bigger. Immediately after Iraq, he hopped on a plane to the UAE to work at an Abu Dhabi-based hospital as a supervisor of security guards. It was a relatively easy job, and he earned well. I am not sure why, but the UAE has fascinated me ever since. I suppose part of it has to do with familiarity, as I watched YouTube videos from a young age to learn more about the country where my father was working. When family members encouraged me to go to Australia or the UK for further studies, I figured the UAE was a better option as I did not want to spend my father's hard earned money to go elsewhere. I was well aware of his struggle and sacrifice, and the UAE felt like a better fit for financial reasons. After my 12th, I headed to the UAE on a family visa that my father arranged. On my second day in Dubai, I passed a walk-in interview for a salesman job at a retail store. I also did my bachelors in business administration over weekends at Jaipur University.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230926120936_cd472b68ad1a2f120dd8bc634c049946f5939d80ff2a2993dd34d67109ce72ce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20230926120936_cd472b68ad1a2f120dd8bc634c049946f5939d80ff2a2993dd34d67109ce72ce" data-rendition-name="original" width="450" height="592" loading="lazy" alt="DD 41"> </figure>  I was hired as a salesman at a clothing company, but most of my responsibilities were that of a stock boy. One day I got the chance to showcase my salesmanship to the higher ups at a sales event at the World Trade Centre in Dubai. Impressed, they pushed me to take on more front-desk sales related tasks. I outperformed my peers, but I was not satisfied. My next goal was to become a store manager. I took it upon myself to learn various skills including bookkeeping, merchandising, setting schedules of staff and preparing sales reports. To learn these skills, I arrived at the store before opening and left after closing. Those extra hours did not translate to overtime pay, and I left the store only to sleep. I soon saw the fruits of my labour when my sales numbers landed me opportunities to train new hirees at the company headquarters. The networking allowed me to get a store manager job at our branch at the Ibn Battuta Mall. We Nepalis are indeed a hard-working, honest bunch, and there is a reason why we have built a strong reputation abroad amongst employers. I did not get to meet my father much because he was based in Abu Dhabi and I was in Dubai. His schedule was more flexible, so he would sometimes come to see me and we would go eat at Nepali restaurants. I did not share my struggles in the UAE with my father, I just wanted him to know the happy bits.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230926120928_e7e65b492d29434a1e997b85c7e8a896ed8402a5215f3ce99040ce1da7c8977a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230926120928_e7e65b492d29434a1e997b85c7e8a896ed8402a5215f3ce99040ce1da7c8977a" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="DD 41"> </figure>  Life in Dubai was not easy. There were 8 of us from five nationalities crammed into a small room. I decided with a Nepali that I got along with to get our own place. It was a tiny 7 by 4.5 feet room that had just enough space for a bunk bed and a tiny fridge. We lived frugally, a large chunk of my earnings went on rent and school fees. Living paycheck by paycheck for me meant starting off the month strong and running dry as it ended. Towards the end of the month, I would have to resort to loans from friends, or I had to stop eating out and innovate to make food last longer by adding water to fried lentils bought in the market for one dirham, or living off white rice and fried sausages, which cost peanuts. After the store manager job, I started dreaming bigger. I was transferred to the head office and had my eyes on the area manager role. But I also had other aspirations that would interrupt my career progression -- I started toying with the idea of returning to Nepal. I was in my mid-20s, and there was pressure to get married and have children. With those added responsibilities, I would not be able to choose a risky career path like entrepreneurship, my calling. I had witnessed what was possible with hard work in Dubai during my 3.5 years there. I figured if I failed in Nepal, I could always return again for a job. It was not easy to convince my family, they wanted me to head to greener pastures like the US or Australia and not return to Nepal. Many returning Nepalis who muster the courage to call it quits and come home usually backed by savings accumulated abroad. Not me. I had no savings, only courage.&nbsp; I had learnt to work hard in Dubai, and had built the confidence to deal with people from diverse backgrounds. Even as I took my Nepal-bound flight, I knew that I would be coming back to Dubai one day, either as a tourist or for a job. I knew this wasn’t the final goodbye to the place that had been home. In Nepal I tried my hand at two different clothing lines, given my retail background. On a trip to India to buy fabric for our clothing business, Jama Store, I remember waiting in line for tea every morning at a tea stall. Chhotu, the young tea seller, drew quite a crowd every morning. Intrigued, my friend Ritu Karmacharya and I spoke with Chhotu who excitedly demonstrated to us how he prepares his tea, and what makes it so special. This struck a chord, and we considered the possibility of starting a tea place in Nepal. We also noticed many classy tea cafes in India as we walked around. Once we returned, we visited places in Nepal and realised that there was scope for this venture in Nepal as well.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230926120936_e18cd45a48ad0b2fb99250c591d9321f8c6300aadb4ad80cd9933d76d76ba587.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230926120936_e18cd45a48ad0b2fb99250c591d9321f8c6300aadb4ad80cd9933d76d76ba587" data-rendition-name="original" width="936" height="753" loading="lazy" alt="DD 41"> </figure>  Ritu's sister, a USA returnee, also suggested that there were such elegant tea places in New York with vibrant Moroccan decor and floor seating arrangements, and she encouraged us to pursue something similar. We had no money, so I reached out to my family members in Kuwait and the UAE who agreed to become part investors. We found a vacant place in Kumaripati and renovated it. Chiya Spot was born and we started selling tea. Our special? Chhotu's tea in honor of the boy from Delhi who inspired us. At first, we made do with three or four packets of milk every day to serve our customers. But unbeknownst to us, the famous food vlogger Mr Foodie Nepal featured our café. It blew up on social media and we started getting loads of customers. We could not keep up and had to expand our space to accommodate more customers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230926120936_0fa4ec82e0ebed65de088a4519b9d9190169017534abb92cd0d2e5e28fdecf42.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20230926120936_0fa4ec82e0ebed65de088a4519b9d9190169017534abb92cd0d2e5e28fdecf42" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="DD 41"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230926120936_1f0c371596ab95192026266dcbae582bd01e3c6b313632cdaf927b2410d61c52.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20230926120936_1f0c371596ab95192026266dcbae582bd01e3c6b313632cdaf927b2410d61c52" data-rendition-name="original" width="719" height="898" loading="lazy" alt="DD 41"> </figure>  Most recently, we have also opened a new branch in Boudha. While the Kumaripati branch is inspired by Moroccan/Jaipuri decor, the cafe in Boudha is inspired by Middle Eastern design, in particular from Dubai. I remember going to Dubai Gold Souk whenever I had a few hours off to relax in the market and grab a bite with a friend at a Nepali restaurant. Now, I have brought a little piece of Old Dubai back home to Nepal at the new café, to be enjoyed with karak chai that is famous there. While the vlogger Foodie Nepal's post helped draw customers to Kumaripati, my sisters’ social media posts on the Boudha branch went accidentally viral on TikTok. We got so many customers that it got unmanageable, and this even translated to angry posts and reviews as people were not happy with the wait. We were expecting our customer base to increase organically over time, not overnight. Such is the power of social media. For both good and bad. We quickly added staff and are learning every day to improve our service. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230926120936_1e044c0b6bcaea569c6651e5bf53530abc227f99d55490e5a94940ae032c4d64.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230926120936_1e044c0b6bcaea569c6651e5bf53530abc227f99d55490e5a94940ae032c4d64" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="DD 41"> </figure>  I had never, in my wildest imagination, thought I would be leaving retail to sell tea one day. But both branches are doing well, Insallah. We try to create a space for people to relax over tea, conversations, or board games without putting pressure on them to leave or order more items. As long as people are happy, the customer volume or finances will automatically work themselves out, as they have over the past three years. &nbsp;We want to fill the niche left by restaurants that either offer great ambience or reasonable prices, which we don’t believe have to be mutually exclusive. Many migrants spend a large chunk of their remittances to buy land or build houses in Nepal. I returned to Nepal empty-handed. But with my earnings here, I have managed to contribute significantly to my parent's new house, and I could not be prouder. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

From retail to selling chiya

This is the 40th instalment of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. Sanaya is the industrial area of Doha, and is home to the majority of foreign workers in Qatar. But for me, it was in the desert in Al-Shahaniya where I lived for seven years since 2009 training race camels.&nbsp; My days used to start at 3AM, and I made sure the camels were well-fed, hydrated, and prepared for race day with exercises, including walks and runs at various speeds and lengths.&nbsp; During practice race days I rode a non-race camel in between two race camels to guide and train them. Known as galaisha, these were well-trained, retired race camels that had never won in competitions during their glory days.&nbsp; When we were practicing for a race, my employer would drive in parallel outside the track, instructing me to slow down or go faster depending on the camel’s endurance. The robot jockey would be charged overnight, placed on the camel’s back and the employer spoke to it through the speakers in the jockey. He even used the automated whip if necessary when the camel wasn’t paying attention, or to urge him to go faster.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/amit-and-tilak">Amik and Tilak</a>, Tilak Bahadur Tamang and Amik Singh Lama The intensity and passion for this sport and what it meant to his family both financially and prestige-wise was evident in his voice as the robot blared “ghap, ghap” through the speakers. My employer owned 15 camels, and I was attached to all of them. But one race camel, Riyaj, stood out. He was special, an underdog. &nbsp;I once left Riyaj at the starting point of a 4-km race in Qatar. There were 40-50 other camels. The trainers honked and cheered from the vehicles with “ghap, ghap” on speakers.&nbsp; Listening to the live and animated commentary on the radio, I overheard a Sudanese person telling his friend that Riyaj was leading. I could not believe it, and my heart pounded with excitement. A wrap with the number one was placed on Riyaj’s back, and the judges put saffron all over him as part of the celebration. Everyone wished each other “mobarak” although we still had to wait for lab tests to ensure no performance enhancement drugs were used. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-nurses-gone-and-going-to-the-uk">Nepali nurses gone and going to the UK</a>, Nepali Times  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230811190848_15388417d3f33dc5bdbdf9caef4c89ad1a56ec8d97c00a152616478cc61ee1ed.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230811190848_15388417d3f33dc5bdbdf9caef4c89ad1a56ec8d97c00a152616478cc61ee1ed" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="839" loading="lazy" alt="DD 40"> <figcaption>Mohan Pandey with a trophy after the win.</figcaption> </figure>  &nbsp;When Riyaj won, nothing else mattered to me momentarily. Not the struggles I had gone through, not my status in a foreign country, not the uncertainty of what lay ahead. All that mattered was that Riyaj had won and with it, I too felt like a winner.&nbsp; My bosses, his family members and friends, clapped my back and hugged me, and I was a hero among other workers from Rajasthan, Pakistan and Sudan with their own camels. Today was Riyaj’s turn to win. It was my day.&nbsp; Baba, my employer, could not be prouder. I was given 5000 riyal (Rs190,000) as baksheesh. This was a lot of money for me, although it was peanuts compared to the prize money which ran into millions.&nbsp; This win also changed my status in Qatar, as I won the trust and dare I say, respect, for my skills in training the camels. Baba started relying on me for all things related to his camels, he wanted my input and involvement. Who could have said that someone like me who was afraid of camels when I first arrived in Qatar would one day be a natural with them? It was not a hobby or passion that brought me to camel racetracks. Nor did I have any natural inclination towards camel rearing like colleagues from Rajasthan or Sudan. Actually, it was the only job I could get.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/finding-a-niche-in-nepal">Finding a niche in Nepal</a>, Babare Bahadur Bomjan Perhaps life would have never brought me to Qatar to take care of camels had my father, a garment worker in UAE, not met with an accident and returned to Nepal for good. Till then, our family was faring just fine. His return and inability to provide for us forced me to grow up.&nbsp; Had my father continued working normally, I would have completed my studies in Nepal. I see glimpses of what my life could have been like from where my friends are today, earning handsome salaries in Kathmandu.&nbsp; I first went to India to help my cousin who was a truck driver in India. My body could not take the heat and pressure of the job, and I fell sick. My cousin found me a job as a domestic worker.&nbsp; “Chotu, do this. Chotu, do that.” That is how my days passed for 350 Indian rupees a month, running around the house trying to be helpful. I used to send money home occasionally and when I went home for my first vacation, I took with me a pickle jar and Rs2,600 to hand over to my mom.&nbsp; Moving to India at an early age had changed me. I spoke with a Hindi accent, and my mother used to laugh at my “haaji” whenever she called out my name. My father was also in India, but he had a tendency to disappear for years and show up randomly without any money. We heard he was in Goa. The accident in the UAE had taken a mental toll on him and he was never the same again. From a family that was doing okay for ourselves, we had lost more than my father’s stable earnings.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/power-of-workers-working-together/">Power of workers working together</a>, Madhusudhan Ojha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230811190848_b280af6b55caee9518ef425cfa932d40304533e919329217cf4c53b75571c759.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230811190848_b280af6b55caee9518ef425cfa932d40304533e919329217cf4c53b75571c759" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="827" loading="lazy" alt="DD 40"> <figcaption>Pandey is now in Nepal and his recent venture as vegetable seller has been mostly profitable.</figcaption> </figure>  After working as a helper in several houses, I found a job at a gym where a customer later poached me to work in his electric company. The highlight of my job at the gym was serving sandwiches to Bollywood stars Hritik Roshan, Saif Ali Khan, Ajay Devgand and Isha Deol who were at the opening ceremony of the Barbarian Power Gym. I wish I had that moment captured on camera.&nbsp; I knew that for real progress, I had to go to the Gulf. An acquaintance arranged a visa for me for Qatar and I only found out later that it was to race camels. &nbsp; I had no idea how to take care of camels that were much taller and stronger than me. The heat in the desert was also unbearable. And I did not speak any Arabic. Everything was so unfamiliar that I considered quitting right away. But I had already paid recruitment fees to get there, and leaving was not an option. Slowly, I started understanding these unfamiliar creatures, and learnt the tricks of the trade. I started feeling more comfortable with the animals, and they with me. &nbsp; While other camels could eat however much they wanted, I had to be careful about how much I fed the racing ones. It could neither be too much nor too little and had to be timed well so they were at peak performance on race day. We fed milk and ghee to the race camels.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/for-better-or-verse-in-the-gulf">For better or verse in the Gulf</a>, Dalbir Singh Baraili Our camels usually came third or fourth and even 15th in the races. Such losses ended with “Insallah”, hoping for a win the next time. Except when Riyaj won. On that day, all barriers came down with my employer’s family, as we celebrated. I still smile fondly when I think of that time.&nbsp; I came to Qatar completely unfamiliar and unprepared, but left knowing all there was to know about camels. The only problem was that those skills were useless in Nepal, where there are no camels. I also picked up Arabic, which is not much needed in Nepal. My employer did not want me to leave, but I left assuring him that if I ever were to re-emigrate, it would be back to take care of his camels. In school, I was a bright student but did not get to study after my father's accident, and I had to earn to ensure that my siblings could continue their studies. Indeed, my brother is now in Japan and works in IT.&nbsp; Back in Nepal, I had to start from scratch and life has not been easy. I tried my luck in marketing, being a butcher, I ran a canteen, dabbled in real estate, learnt driving, and unsuccessfully attempted to re-emigrate.&nbsp; My latest venture as a vegetable seller has worked out. The earnings are enough to cover household expenses, and some losses are manageable. I want to ensure a comfortable life for my wife and daughter. But it is not easy even after all these years and experience, just like it was not easy when I went to India to find work as a 13-year old. &nbsp;&nbsp; The Dhumbharahi vegetable shop that I run was submerged in this week's flood in Kathmandu, highlighting my move from a place with no water to too much water. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/migrant-worker-returns-to-create-work-at-home">Migrant worker returns to create work at home</a>, Sunil Bhujel Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com" target="_blank">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

Nepali bonds with racing camel in Qatar

This is the 37th instalment of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. Tilak: I always valued education despite my humble beginnings in Ramechhap. In Grade 3, my English teacher had mentioned to us several times that he had a bachelor's. It felt like a lot of years of education to get that degree, but as an impressionable kid who ranked first in class, I resolved to follow his footsteps. And I did. I completed my Bachelors degree although the journey was full of challenges. Going from my village school to Dolakha after Grade 8, and to Kathmandu after my SLC was especially difficult. I took up Intermediate of Arts (IA) in English, but was simply not able to grasp anything, no matter how hard I tried.&nbsp; I had to rely on the English dictionary for every other word and simply could not keep up. I switched to Nepali instead but I also took private English classes to catch up and completed a second IA in English. The same institute would also later hire me as an English language instructor. Influenced by people in my Patan neighbourhood, I also got a job as a stone sculptor. With no background, I had a long way to go before I could transform stones that cost less than Rs500 to artefacts that would sell for 100 times the amount.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/return-of-the-native">Return of the native,</a> Lek Yonzon Tamang My first assignments were to just wipe stones, but slowly I started getting orders to carve idols of gods and goddesses. I did not understand the theory behind sculpting, but I was quick with my hands as I carefully &nbsp;carved details on stone. Even now, some of my sculptures are on display in the shop where I worked. Between teaching English classes and carving stones, I was earning around Rs15,000 rupees a month, which at that time was quite remarkable. One day in 2001, I received an email from my acquaintance in Saudi Arabia about a potential job at McDonald's. I had never heard of the restaurant chain, and was unsure about life in Saudi Arabia, or the kind of work I would be doing. But I was young and excited about seeing the world so took up the job offer even though the salary was Rs16,000, just about what I was making in Nepal. When the plane took off from Kathmandu, it suddenly hit me that I was leaving behind my home and my family, and I felt a chill run through my body. I traveled via Pakistan to Riyadh and Jeddah. The number of South Asians on the plane decreased after each flight, until the final domestic flight had only Saudis in their white robes.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/tale-of-a-modern-day-lahure">Tale of a modern day lahure</a>, Uday Bahadur Baniya The heat on the tarmac in Riyadh was overpowering, unlike anything I had experienced before. I am not sure why, but I still vividly remember feeling very low and lost walking away from that plane. I already doubted that I would make it through my 2-year contract. I was to spend the next seven years there.&nbsp; At our accommodation, we were welcomed by colleagues including Nepalis. They brought us food, McDonald burgers and fries, which smelled nice. I recognised the golden arches on my burger box which I had seen on my contract document.&nbsp; I had never seen or tasted a burger before. Little did I know that my first burger would determine the course of the rest of my life.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023071413074_3a4aeb7b5bb41e9985db7157195bb8edc4947d97785069c72066e0c96217f061.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2023071413074_3a4aeb7b5bb41e9985db7157195bb8edc4947d97785069c72066e0c96217f061" data-rendition-name="original" width="1384" height="912" loading="lazy" alt="DD37"> </figure>  Amik: I was part of the first cohort of Nepalis hired by McDonald's in Saudi Arabia in 1999. I come from a farming family in Kavre, and have been living in Kathmandu since Grade 7. I was working at a hotel in Thamel and was a second-year Bachelors' student when I had the possibility of working at McDonald’s in Saudi Arabia. I thought McDonald’s was a five-star hotel. I remember getting off the plane in Qatar en route to Saudi Arabia. Just a couple of minutes in the heat, and I was completely drenched in sweat. I was nervous whether I would be able to survive in such an environment. But then again, if others could, why not me? Two years before Tilak came to Saudi Arabia, I too was welcomed at my accommodation in Jeddah with McDonald’s burgers and fries. Even though I had worked in hotels in Thamel after completing my SLC, this sandwich was unfamiliar to me. I liked the taste, but it was not filling like dal bhat.&nbsp; We were allowed to buy 15 riyals equivalent to food and drinks at work, so my diet was mostly burgers in the beginning. But soon the taste got monotonous, and I started using the allowance on coffee while spending out-of-pocket for kabsa meals from outside. Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/finding-a-niche-in-nepal">Finding a niche in Nepal</a>, Babare Bahadur Bomjan During my initial years there, my Nepali friends and I used to sit closely to people speaking Nepali and eavesdrop. At that time, there were few Nepalis and everyone from Nepal felt like family. There was an instant bond and a desire to build lasting friendships. All that changed, and within a few years every other person we met in Saudi Arabia would be Nepali. Within a month on the job, I had already got the employee of the month award. I realised that hard work was recognised and rewarded here. They used to organise competitions among McDonalds staff from all outlets in the kingdom in which we were tested for our compliance with the company's standards, among others, by evaluators who observed our work and asked us questions.&nbsp; I stood first among all Saudi-based employees and a Filipino, who stood second, and I were selected from Saudi to travel to Thailand for a week to participate in a wider competition. As luck would have it, only the Filipino went, as Nepalis were not eligible for visas on arrival.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/power-of-workers-working-together/">Power of workers working together</a>, Madhusudhan Ojha A few years later and after a few promotions, I was able to travel to Egypt where I got a manager of the year award and also felt a sense of redemption. In 2008, I became sick. The doctors could not figure out what was wrong with me, but I knew something was not right. Falling ill in a foreign country is perhaps the most isolating experience, and I decided to go home. My request for an extended break was denied, so I resigned. &nbsp;I felt no attachment or nostalgia about saying goodbye even though I was leaving after 8 years and 8 months. After numerous visits to doctors and the temple of our ancestral kul deuta gods, I was healed.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023071413078_cd881366fe724916d0f60ed9430ccd74fc4fccfe3cf0084cf0597580278bb69d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2023071413078_cd881366fe724916d0f60ed9430ccd74fc4fccfe3cf0084cf0597580278bb69d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1296" height="862" loading="lazy" alt="DD37"> </figure>  Tilak: Both Amik and I rose to managerial positions at McDonald’ after starting out as staff crew members. We had met in Saudi Arabia, but were from different cohorts who arrived two years apart so we were not very close. But it turns out that we bought houses with our savings in Saudi Arabia in the same colony in Boudha. Progress, it turns out, meant the same for both of us as we moved back to Nepal to live in our remittance-enabled houses in the same colony. &nbsp; Amik: We got close in Nepal because we became neighbours by chance. But the bills were stacking up, and our families felt we had to stop fooling around. The natural choice was to re-migrate, this time to Dubai, but when we heard through the grapevine that KFC was launching in Nepal, we decided to apply. Given our experience at McDonald’s, we jokingly referred to ourselves as “kings of fastfood”. We both ended up joining the company a few months apart and worked for a few years in various managerial and training capacities.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023071413074_4093bf5c1ba31966f91debf620c1c3f64160ab9cea337ec399a94cb3ba9d2cc8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2023071413074_4093bf5c1ba31966f91debf620c1c3f64160ab9cea337ec399a94cb3ba9d2cc8" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="540" loading="lazy" alt="DD37"> </figure>  Throughout all this both of us, at the back of our minds, had considered starting our own venture. So many people have trusted us, whether it is to manage KFC in Nepal or McDonald’s outlets in Jeddah. But why were we not trusting ourselves? How long would we continue working for others? The conversation eventually turned into concrete plans when we resigned to be our own bosses at AT Burger. &nbsp; Tilak: AT actually stands for ‘anytime burger', which it will be when the government allows restaurants to open 24/7 in Nepal. We celebrated when we sold a few burgers a day. It was common for people to walk away when they found out that we did not sell momo. We have now come a long way, and our chain now has five outlets.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-qatar-job-mirage/" target="_blank">The Qatar job mirage</a>, Nepali Times After customer feedback, we have also introduced momo to our menu. It was not easy, we had to take a crash course on momo-making from experts before we started offering it.&nbsp; What we liked best about McDonald’s was the culture where we learnt to do all tasks from cashier, burger stations, packing, cleaning and customer service. We have tried to inculcate the same culture to our café, and our former staff who are now in countries like Australia and Japan tell us how this all-round experience has been helpful for them.&nbsp; There are returnees from UAE and Saudi Arabia from the fast-food industry and our own long-time staff who have joined forces with us as investors to start new AT branches.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023071413078_c4c27acf2b7eca00339078b190e737a39ec975ff3179b871e47499dbb844b48f.png" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2023071413078_c4c27acf2b7eca00339078b190e737a39ec975ff3179b871e47499dbb844b48f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1244" height="804" loading="lazy" alt="DD37"> </figure>  Amik: Working in Nepal takes patience and there are obstacles along the way. One of the biggest mistakes returnees make is to dive into areas that are ‘trending', even if they are not familiar with that business.&nbsp; Choosing opportunities in our own area of expertise is critical because it gives us the cushion and ability to think about multiple back-up options and to innovate when things don’t go as planned. And in Nepal, things indeed often do not go as planned.&nbsp; Translated from a conversation in Nepali.&nbsp; Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

Amik and Tilak

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

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

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

UFO over Pokhara

When Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) president Rabi Lamichhane was arrested in October on charges of defrauding depositors of cooperatives, the party’s vice president Swarnim Wagle gifted him Fareed Zakaria’s book, Age of Revolutions.
Since then, Lamichhane has been shunted around from Kathmandu to Pokhara to Chitwan and back to Pokhara to attend police investigations and court proceedings. He was being flown to Birganj via Kathmandu on Buddha Air on Monday. There is another pending case in Janakpur.
Human rights groups and civil society have criticised the government for hounding Lamichhane with inhumane treatment that borders on physical torture. The two parties in the coalition, Nepali Congress (NC) and the UML, see Lamichhane’s RSP as a potentially formidable challenge to their power.
Even if the fraud charges against Lamichhane are true, the Nepali public is increasingly looking at the government’s actions through the police and courts as political vendetta.
Despite all the travelling, sometimes by plane and often by road at night, Lamichhane appears to be in high spirits, waving to supporters who often gather if they know he is going to be driven around. A social media video shows him giving high fives to fellow passengers on a recent flight to Pokhara.&nbsp;
In the past weeks, streets in Pokhara have erupted with parallel protests by Lamichhane’s supporters as well as depositors of cooperatives who lost their savings to the scam.&nbsp;
Although family visits are allowed, prison officials in Pokhara told Nepali Times that not many people visit Lamichhane these days. He added, “When he does get visitors, he asks them to bring him books.”
Lamichhane is currently Nepal’s most high-profile public figure in custody, and highlights the stark difference between how influential prisoners are treated compared to ordinary inmates.
There are six prison cells at Kaski District Police Office’s two-story detention centre, three on each floor. And while authorities pack prisoners into already overcrowded cells, Lamichhane has an entire room on the second floor to himself.&nbsp;
He has also been allowed to call his family every few days. Other prisoners are not permitted phone calls except for emergencies.
Meanwhile, Lamichhane’s former business partner Chhabilal Joshi, an ex-Deputy Inspector General of Police with whom he established his Gorkha Media Network, is in custody under the same charges in the prison cell next to him.
Lamichhane is accused of siphoning off depositors' money to the tv network in which he was part-owner and anchor. &nbsp;
Both Lamichhane and Joshi are able to buy food from the police canteen instead of being served the regular meal like other prisoners. Joshi has also given his statement to authorities in Rupandehi and Kathmandu for his alleged role in the scam. Lamichhane is yet to be presented in Kathmandu for questioning.
While he was in custody at the Kathmandu District Police Complex, Joshi expressed his desire to sleep in a police officer’s office, reportedly assuring authorities that he would not run away and he was entitled to certain facilities as a former officer of the law.
“He seemed to be under the impression that he is still a police officer,” says a source at the Kathmandu District Police. “We made it clear to him that as someone accused of a crime, he was not entitled to special treatment.”
Former ministers Balkrishna Khand and Top Bahadur Rayamajhi, and ex-home secretary Tek Narayan Pandey, who were arrested in connection with the fake refugee scam last year, were similarly housed in the offices of law enforcement officials instead of prison cells. Khand has since been released after six months in jail.
While there is no legal provision to keep high-ranking officials in separate detention centres when they are arrested, authorities granting them special facilities is not uncommon. Law enforcement officials say VIP detainees expect preferential treatment while in police custody.
Among those is former Kosi Province minister Lila Ballav Adhikari, who was arrested from Biratnagar on 10 November over his alleged involvement in human trafficking and brought to Kathmandu. Adhikari had flown to Japan without government approval with three individuals on 29 October to attend a cultural conference, but had been sent back to Nepal from Narita.&nbsp;
His three companions were arrested at Kathmandu airport upon their arrival, but Adhikari was able to exit unscathed from the VIP lounge. Adhikari had resigned as the Kosi Province Minister for Internal Affairs and Law when it became public that his companions had been taken into custody, and was himself arrested shortly after. He has since been cleared by the courts.
Throughout his detention, Adhikari was kept separately from other inmates. Senior Superintendent of Police (SSP) Basant Rajouri, head of the Bhadrakali complex, says that while there is no separate detention area for VIPs, some detainees are kept separately depending on the nature of their crime.
However, sources say that arrangements were made for retired judges and others to visit Adhikari frequently worked at the office of a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) during his time in custody.&nbsp;
“He used to constantly pester the authorities to let him sit outside in the sun, and to be able to use the police officer’s shower area,” added an officer.
Adhikari was released on 25 November after the government prosecutor’s office decided not to charge him in a move that was seen to expose the government’s double standards.
Over at Kathmandu’s Dilli Bazar Prison, former Kist Bank CEO Kamal Gyawali emerges from his prison cell into the courtyard of the prison’s ‘Ka (क)’ block every morning with a thick book in his hands, ready to give his daily sermon.
With his long beard, Gyawali, who is serving a prison sentence for banking fraud, looks the part of a religious guru as he implores his rapt listeners to “walk the right path, abandon bad thoughts and turn to scripture and spirituality”.&nbsp;
Afterward, the attendees gather to discuss politics and current affairs. Inmates at his daily sermons at the prison include other high-profile detainees, including former MP Ichchha Raj Tamang, who is in jail for money laundering and cooperatives fraud, former joint secretary Chudamani Sharma, who was convicted of corruption, as well as NC leader Chandra Bahadur Lama and Krishna Bahadur Upreti of the UML both of whom are on trial for embezzling billions of rupees.
Victims of the cooperatives scam that former lawmaker Tamang was involved in have made trips to the prison and requested visits, but he has refused to meet with any of them.
“Tamang often complains that the state has prevented him from returning the money to the victims by locking him up,” says a police officer at the Dili Bazar jail.
“All you hear every day from the VIP prisoners is that they have been framed,” adds the officer. “No one admits that they were involved in misdeeds.”
But while most high-profile prisoners complain about prison conditions, one exception is former provincial lawmaker Deepak Manange, who is serving a sentence at Dilli Bazar Jail for attempted murder.
“He is the happiest prisoner here,” says a warden. “Unlike the others, he doesn’t claim to have been framed, in fact he doesn’t seem to care that he is in prison.”
Manange is detained in the ‘Kha (ख)’ block of the prison complex, which he renovated at his own expense. The block previously housed female prisoners, but Manange used his influence to transfer them elsewhere. He faces no shortage of visitors, who range from political leaders to people from the underworld.
Along with Manange, other well-known prisoners in this block include Nepal Telecom Managing Director Sunil Poudel, and former executive director of the Surakshan Printing Centre Bikal Poudel, who are serving time for corruption.
Former prisoners at Dilli Bazar prison include ex-ministers Khum Bahadur Khadka and Shyam Sundar Gupta, NC leader Ganesh Lama, Maoist MP Balkrishna Dhungel, Nagarik Unmukti Party leader Resham Chaudhary, as well as former IGs Ramesh Chand Thakuri, Om Bikram Rana, and Hem Bahadur Gurung.
Section 54 of Nepal’s Prison Act assigns each prison’s internal administration the
responsibility of governing its prisoners, which means the more favourable the jail management is, the more comfortable it is for prisoners.
Dilli Bazar prison has been the prison of choice for many high-ranking prisoners, especially those convicted of white collar crimes, due to its more accommodating administrators. The prison, which has the capacity to house 700 inmates, is also less crowded than other jails.
Anuj Bhattarai, spokesperson of the Department of Prison Management, says that there is no legal classification in Nepal for felons to be assigned prisons based on the nature of their crimes.
“That Dilli Bazar Jail has a higher number of prisoners convicted of crimes like corruption is most likely a coincidence,” says Bhattarai. “There is no provision for influential people to be able to choose where they will be incarcerated.”&nbsp;
Translated by Shristi Karki from the Nepali original published in himalkhabar.com

What Nepal’s VIP prisoners do in jail

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

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