<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/6372384d9c7e80680e0c737ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1292" height="861"/>Every day, after returning home from college, Sarita Aryal sits down for her homework. But these are not her class assignments, she transcribes books for visually impaired students like her.Using a needle-thin stylus, she engraves sheets of chart paper on a slate board and punches the dots wordy by word.Born blind, the 26-year-old was brought up in Surkhet. Despite her condition, her family never treated her any differently, and she was allowed to go swimming in the river with friends and explore the countryside.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238509c7e80680e0c737bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1906" height="1271">Because she could not see, Sarita grew up reading very little. There simply were not enough books in braille, and she is now determined to change that for other visually impaired students like her.She has recorded more than 125 audiobooks, and released some of them through the Keta Keti Online channel on YouTube.She also transcribes stories for the visually impaired in braille, and she gets help from the Children's Literature Foundation Nepal. After writing down the stories in braille, she recites them for the audiobooks.  The process is lengthy and Sarita often has to do several takes to make sure there are no mistakes, and then she has to edit the audio files.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238539c7e80680e0c737cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1685" height="1123">She initially started with biographies of famous and inspiring individuals, and has now moved on to other genres. Sarita’s mother Devikumari is proud of her daughter and is always the first to listen to audiobooks.Sarita’s elder sister was also born blind. Since the village lacked proper resources to teach visually impaired children, Devikumari and her husband admitted their older daughter to a school far away from home. But one day she died while on her way to school.With one daughter gone, the parents decided to keep Sarita at home and discontinued her schooling. However, when her younger sighted siblings started school, Sarita insisted that she also be allowed to attend class.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238569c7e80680e0c737djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2016" height="1344">One day, everyone in class except Sarita had submitted their classwork to the teacher. When she finally presented her work, the teacher humiliated her and hit her head with a stick.“The teacher was not satisfied with my written work,” Sarita remembers. “I could answer all questions orally, but I was belittled for not having legible writing.”The incident traumatised Sarita, who stopped going to school. She stayed home listening to radio programs, reciting poems and compositions she heard on the radio.Then a chance encounter with a foreign visitor to the school took her life in a new direction. The man talked about a school for the blind in Kathmandu and suggested that Devikumari send her daughter there.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238599c7e80680e0c737ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1685" height="1123">Devikumari enrolled Sarita in the third grade at the Technical &amp; Skill Development Centre for Blind and Disabled in Kirtipur.“Being away from my family was difficult,” recalls Sarita. “But I got used to it as I had many friends like me and that made it fun.”Sarita had learnt the alphabet orally, and started learning braille. Within a year she was fluent in reading and writing and transferred to Laboratory School and started walking with the help of a white cane.“The road in Kathmandu is not suitable for people with disabilities,” she says. “I have run into construction material, garbage, or shops on the footpath.” She once fell into a pile of garbage when on her way to college and was forced to walk back home smelling of it.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/6372385c9c7e80680e0c737fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1685" height="1123">Besides inaccessible roads, Sarita has had a difficult time continuing higher education, as Nepal neither has separate colleges for people with vision impairment nor proper books and equipment for them in regular schools.At college, she has to share one book with six other friends who are also blind. "When the syllabus changes, there aren’t any books for us," she says. "Having braille books would make it easier for us to study."<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/6372385f9c7e80680e0c7380jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="481">To make up for the lack of books, Sarita records the lectures and discussions in class and transcribes them. She often relies on the internet for reference materials.Sarita doesn’t think she is less capable than others in her class, but often faces problems when she can't find the books she needs or a writing assistant during exams. Whenever she is not studying, Sarita devotes her time in making audiobooks for others.Says Sarita, “I didn't get to read much. I grew up listening to programs on the radio. I am doing this work so that other visually impaired children get the chance to read.”Translated from the <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/130630" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/130630&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1662977096766000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3oG82P2qMuq89S9oYpivdV">original in Himal</a> by Aria Parasai.Read  more: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/hearing-for-the-deaf-seeing-for-the-blind/">Hearing for the deaf, seeing for the blind</a>, Sewa Bhattarai

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Touching others with words

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07a39c7e80680e0a5fd0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1364"/><figcaption>All photos: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07a69c7e80680e0a5fd1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1366"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07a99c7e80680e0a5fd2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1364"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07ac9c7e80680e0a5fd3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1366"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>Nepal has started to vaccinate people with disabilities across the country against the coronavirus with the Johnson &amp; Johnson single-shot jab. At Kathmandu’s Khagendra New Life Centre, there was a long queue of people in their wheelchairs and walking sticks waiting for their turn to inoculate.“We welcome the government’s decision to start vaccinating the people with disabilities but we had to advocate a lot to get to this point,” says Raju Basnet of the National Federation of Disabled Nepal.He adds: “Differently abled people should have been prioritised along with the elderly. As it is, they have very limited access to the services, education and jobs, moreover, they are also immunocompromised.”All differently-abled individuals with either their citizenship card or disability ID card are eligible for the J&amp;J vaccine. But people with normal disabilities are still not prioritised, say some rights activists.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07af9c7e80680e0a5fd4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1364"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07b29c7e80680e0a5fd5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1364"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07b59c7e80680e0a5fd6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1366"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07b89c7e80680e0a5fd7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1364"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>Nepal received 1.5 million doses of the Johnson &amp; Johnson vaccine from the United States last week under the global COVAX facility and has restarted its vaccination drive with the jab from 19 July.People in the age group 50-54, individuals with disabilities, and health and essential workers who missed their shot previously are eligible for the American vaccine.Earlier in the day, the newly-appointed Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba, who won the confidence motion in the House of Representatives on Sunday night, visited the vaccination centre at the Orthopedic Hospital in Kathmandu’s Jorpati.He said: “The government’s and my priority is to vaccinate everyone against Covid-19.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07bb9c7e80680e0a5fd8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1364"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07be9c7e80680e0a5fd9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1364"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110151116/636d07c29c7e80680e0a5fdajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1364"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>So far, 1,129,908 Nepalis have fully vaccinated, with either AstraZeneca Covishield or Chinese Sinopharm VeroCell vaccine.The 1.4 million elderly above 65 years of age who received their first dose of Covidshield more than three months ago are desperately waiting for the booster doze. Japan is expected to deliver 1.6 million doses of the jab by the end of July.

Nepal’s disabled get a shot at Covid

<figure><img width="800" height="837" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/6369230c9c7e80680e03a15fjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>SIBLING MEMORY: Former ambassador Singha Bahadur Basnyat launching a biography of his brother, the social activist Khagendra Basnyat, who helped establish a care facility for those with disabilities in Nepal. Pic: Sonia Awale</figcaption></figure>Some people cast a shadow larger than life, and Khagendra Bahadur Basnyat was one of them. Not only did he establish Nepal’s first organisation for people with disabilities, but was also responsible for entities that we take for granted today, such as a Ministry for Social Welfare. This week, his brother and former ambassador Singha Bahadur Basnyat released his biography of this extraordinary Nepali, illuminating a life full of struggle and compassion.Organisations Basnyat founded, the Nepal Disabled Association (NDA) and Khagendra New Life Center (KNLC), have earned renown for sheltering people with disabilities. In Jorpati, the KNLC complex provides a facility for treatment and rehabilitation so they can live an independent life. The premises have also sheltered other organisations like the Ryder Cheshire Home, where severely disabled people can live, SOS Children Village, Nepal Orthopedic Hospital and Rehabilitation Center for Disabled Children, and the Spinal Injury Rehabilitation Centre.The journey was not easy, and the book reveals the struggle of the early days when Khagendra Basnyat was afflicted with a rare hip disease that confined him to bed for the rest of his life. He was a man of humble means but had a sharp intellect, and made a living as a private tutor. It was in a meeting of the NDA in 1973, in the dingy confines of his residence, that ‘New Life Model House’ was launched for people with disabilities.  Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2016/07/27/disability-friendly-jorpati/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Disability friendly Jorpati</a><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/No-right-of-passage,156" target="_blank" rel="noopener">o right of passage</a>, Sulaiman Daud<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/an-electric-trolley-for-goma/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">An electric trolley for Goma</a>, Kanak Dixit“Khagendra taught us to never beg for money. If someone wants to donate to us, that is fine. But if not, then we do what we can, and do not beg,” remembers Dibyashree Malla, a member of the founding team who helped establish the Jorpati facility of the Khagendra New Life Centre.Khagendra Basnyat went on to create such a strong movement around his work that the government helped with the buildings, and established a Ministry for Social Welfare. He died in 1977, but his friends and families gathered on Monday at the launch of his biography to remember the man with fondness.   “He was full of compassion, and it was this quality that led him to achieve so much in one lifetime despite his limited physical abilities,” said Buddha Basnyat, a nephew.In his book, Singha Bahadur Basnyat sheds light on that compassionate side of an intelligent, curious and persistent man. He remembers how his brother was inspired by benevolent personalities such as Florence Nightingale, by Albert Einstein who said that the purpose of human life was to serve mankind, and by the life of the Buddha who espoused compassion. He often quoted the Gita (‘good deeds lead to more success’) which motivated him to accomplish things that have far outlived his life. This book tribute by his brother gives us a glimpse into the enduring strength required for such outstanding deeds, and is a source of inspiration.   Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18615#.W6zBSXszbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Different, but able</a>, Bhrikuti Rai<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18502#.W6zBSXszbIV" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Educating children with disabilities</a><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4956#.W6zBSXszbIV" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Differently abled</a>, Naresh NewarThe Life, Works and Legacy of Khagendra Bahadur Basnyat (1928-1978) by Singha B. Basnyat, PhD Jagadamba Press 2018 Paperback, 150 pages Available at Patan Dhoka Book Shop  01-5555256

New Life for Khagendra B Basnyat

<figure><img width="640" height="495" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922529c7e80680e03a120jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Goma Dulal participates in a rally marking International Wheelchair day.</figcaption></figure>If you can find time, do go to Jorpati to visit <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6946#.W5-Qc84zaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goma Dulal</a> who has just got an electric trolley to help her move about.I first met Goma 16 years ago, when the <a href="https://www.sirc.org.np/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Spinal Injury Rehabilitation Centre</a> was being established at the Khagendra Nabajiban Kendra precincts in Jorpati. Capable of speaking but motionless other than the ability to move her hands, Goma was resident of the next-door facility known as the Ryder Cheshire Homes, which housed <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4956#.W5-QqM4zaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">differently-abled people</a>.Goma was always there to provide encouragement and good cheer to our fledgling organisation, which she and others began referring to simply as ‘Spinal’. After about five years, ‘Spinal’ moved to Kavre, but Goma has always followed our progress keenly.She was born in 1968, the second of five siblings, the eldest being a brother. When she was about 10, Goma began experiencing difficulty standing or walking. Her mobility worsened progressively, but the hospital only gave palliative care. The elbow and knee joints started swelling, and before long Goma was confined to bed.It was only in 1990 of orthopedic surgeon <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18607#.W5-SyM4zaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Ashok Banskota</a> diagnosed Goma’s condition as Multiple Rheumatoid Arthritis, where there is no prevention, nor cure, only ‘management’.Banskota lobbied and found Goma residency at the Ryder Cheshire Homes, where she has lived for two decades. As the disease progressed relentlessly, Goma was moved from wheelchair to ‘wheel-bed’, a kind of trolley meant for those who cannot move, only lie supine. All these years, she relies on others for bodily care, to be wheeled in and out, and to be fed. <figure><img width="640" height="390" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922549c7e80680e03a121jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img width="640" height="471" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161120/636922579c7e80680e03a122jpeg.jpg" alt="">Goma’s mother has been gone now for a decade, her father died five years ago. Since then contact with her brother and sisters have been sporadic, and limited to phone conversations which requires a friend to secure her cellphone on the pillow to Goma’s ear.Her body is hard as rock, the limbs little more than bone and skin. And yet in Goma’s eyes there is a shine and a sweetness in her tongue. Her refuge is music on the radio.One of Goma’s most prized moments was the concert by <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19310#.W5-SBM4zaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Amrit Gurung</a> and his folk-rock band <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Nepali-times-buzz-nepathya,581" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepathya</a> at the Khagendra Nabajiban Kendra compound. Goma looks forward to Fridays to hear the singer and lyricist Kumar Poudel, who volunteers his time to entertain the residents. “I would die if I did not have music in my life,” she says.The last four decades have weakened Goma considerably, and the one-size-fits-all treatment of residents does not do justice to her growing needs, including a specialised diet. But what has bothered her most is her decreasing mobility even in her manual trolley: “I have to shout for someone to move me, and it is frustrating that help is not always available.”A year go, Goma asked her friends from ‘Spinal’ in Kavre to get her a bijuli trolley with a joystick control. “I am tired of asking help to be moved in and out,” she told them. They ordered an electrical trolley, with battery, motor and steering from India, and it has now cleared customs, undergoing tests, and will soon be in Goma’s hands.Goma prizes her moments with visitors and she likes making new friends, learning new things. Her spirits are high, even as her body gets weaker. Do visit Goma Dulal in Jorpati. She will be wheeling herself out in her newly acquired bijuli gadi to greet you.Read also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6946#.W5-Qc84zaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Standing up to spinal injuries</a>, Hemlata Rai<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/the-wheel-of-life,4157" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The wheel of life</a>, Sanjeev Sharma

An electric trolley for Goma

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

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

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

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&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> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

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

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