Film Southasia Festival of Documentaries, which opened on 21 November by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/from-the-forgotten-army-to-bajrangi-bhaijaan">director Kabir Khan</a>, wrapped up on Sunday with the Best Film trophy going to <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt32590036/">6-A Akash Ganga</a> directed by Nirmal Chander Dhandriyal of India. The three-member jury noted that the documentary was 'a mesmerising tribute to the enigmatic Hindustani classical musician Annapurna Devi, whose genius shaped generations yet whose life remains shrouded in mystery.' 'It was directed with sensitivity and reverence, the film masterfully combines archival footage, intimate interviews, and rare performances to peel back the layers of a recluse who became a legend,” the Jury wrote.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241125111120_ac8cce1c9440427f2a55a34fae60d705a77c6584a8604886f710c3be0b2d3eea.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241125111120_ac8cce1c9440427f2a55a34fae60d705a77c6584a8604886f710c3be0b2d3eea" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="Film SouthAsia"> <figcaption>Prateek Shekhar of India was one of the jury winners for his film Chardi Kala – An Ode to Resilience.</figcaption> </figure>  The Jury Award was split between two films <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt32058630/">Devi by Subina Shrestha</a> of Nepal and <a href="https://www.uni-goettingen.de/de/681329.html">Chardi Kala – An Ode to Resilience</a> by Prateek Shekhar of India, with the jury noting: 'The two exceptional films, each addressing the profound undercurrents of conflict in South Asia, are being awarded the Jury Prize jointly, standing together as equal bearers of the region’s most urgent stories.' This year, Film Southasia also honoured filmmaker India's Anand Patwardhan with the ‘Documentary Stalwart Award’ honouring his decades of films focused on social justice, humanity and memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241125111124_262cc63c1712584da7a433820e2f901fc8c345976add66bef54172d60c97aa06.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241125111124_262cc63c1712584da7a433820e2f901fc8c345976add66bef54172d60c97aa06" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1331" loading="lazy" alt="Film Southasia"> <figcaption>Anand Patwardhan was recognised with ‘Documentary Stalwart Award’.</figcaption> </figure>  The Best Student Film Award went to <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt28266636/">Hello Guyzz!</a> by Samiksha Mathur from India. The Tareque Masud Best Debut Film Award went to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJYFwGgLfJo">Siege in the Air</a> by Muntaha Amin. The Best Film on Depiction of the Climate Crisis, sponsored by ICIMOD, went to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qNxqvsMfRl4">A Flaming Forest</a> by Salman Javeed, Vivek Singh Sangwan and Satya Ambasta.&nbsp; This year’s edition of the biennial South Asian film festival featured 47 films from 9 countries, screened over 4 days shortlisted from over 2,000 submissions. With the theme, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/documenting-the-anthropocene">Documentary in Anthropocene</a>, this year’s festival focused on the planetary breakdown, including in South Asia, while also presenting many documentaries that touched lives across boundaries.&nbsp; The festival was also host to workshops and discussions, kicking off with a directing workshop with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4rgSDu1sDw">Bollywood director Kabir Khan</a>. ‘Kathaharu’ and the ‘WOW Festival’ conducted masterclasses with Jane Mote, The Whickers, UK, and film editor Shweta Venkat, in collaboration with Film Southasia. Other discussions were held on the themes ‘Understanding the Anthropocene’, ‘The Evolution of the Nepali Documentary’’ and ‘The Sudden Runaway Success of Nepali Cinema’.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241125111124_4da31b5e8701ad4d53e41236bd83eba1d84166f6be6d0bd6e4a786d520292059.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20241125111124_4da31b5e8701ad4d53e41236bd83eba1d84166f6be6d0bd6e4a786d520292059" data-rendition-name="original" width="696" height="611" loading="lazy" alt="Kabir Khan at FSA"> <figcaption>Bollywood director Kabir Khan conducted a directing workshop at Film Southasia.</figcaption> </figure>  The jury mewmbers were Farjad Nabi (Lahore), Anitha Pottumkulam (Chennai) and Kiran Krishna Shrestha (Kathmandu). In their closing remarks, highlighted the importance and urgency of the theme related to human-induced deterioration of the environment, jury member Shrestha said, “This year’s theme—Anthropocene—is not just timely but essential. It is a stark reminder that what we share cannot be restrained by borders.”

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Documenting South Asia on film

For the Sherpa people who live below Mt Everest, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/margins/songs-from-chomolungma">Chomolungma </a>means ‘mother god’. And as a young girl growing up below it, Lhakpa Sherpa gazed up at the mountain with awe and reverence.&nbsp; <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/pasang-lhamu-sherpa-the-film">Pasang Lhamu Sherpa</a> was the first Nepali woman to reach the summit in 1993, but she died on the way down. Lhakpa remembers the funeral in Kathmandu, and says she sensed Pasang Lhamu’s soul enter her at the cremation.&nbsp; Since then, Lhakpa holds the <a href="https://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/world-records/most-ascents-of-mt-everest-by-a-woman#:~:text=At%20the%20age%20of%2048,at%206.15%20a.m.%20local%20time.">Guiness World Record</a> for having climbed Mt Everest ten times, the most by any woman anywhere, and breaking her own record several times. Lhakpa Sherpa seeks Chomolungma’s blessings and forgiveness before and after every climb. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">The rise and fall of Nims Purja</a>, Pradnya Pradhan “I respect the mountain like my mom,” she says in the new Netflix documentary Mountain Queen: Summits of Lhakpa Sherpa.&nbsp; The film is as much about Lhakpa’s skill and stamina as a high altitude climber, as about her courage to stand up to an abusive husband and the strength to raise three children as a single mother working in a Whole Foods Market in the US state of Connecticut. &nbsp; Directed by Lucy Walker who excels in documenting real life characters, the 104 minute film provides viewers with an intimate glimpse of Lhakpa’s home, conversations with her daughters, and some spectacular footage of her climbing in Everest’s Death Zone. Walker removes layer upon layer of Lhakpa’s life to introduce us to the real person that she is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240910120952_549f2ebdc425038deb78854480449122da0890957389aa86b6a612bf91d33ec3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20240910120952_549f2ebdc425038deb78854480449122da0890957389aa86b6a612bf91d33ec3" data-rendition-name="original" width="450" height="630" loading="lazy" alt="Mountain Queen Lhakpa Sherpa NT2"> </figure>  As a girl Lhakpa was a headstrong girl, and says her mother used to call her “too tough, too tall and very, very bossy” – and that is exactly how she comes across in the film. But behind the toughness and cheerful smile, Lhakpa is a soft-hearted person who has been in search of love and healing all her life. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/on-screen-mountains">On-screen mountains</a>, Sahina Shrestha Lhakpa was a social misfit, but found her true calling in mountaineering. She started out as a porter carrying up to 100kg on her back -- double her body weight. She had to pretend to be a boy since women did not get jobs with expeditions back then. Then, she was promoted to be a kitchen boy, cooking for the climbers in base camps.&nbsp; She needed money to climb but nobody at the time was sponsoring a woman. A chance meeting with King Birendra and Prime Minister Girija Prasad Koirala got her the sponsorship she needed in 2000 to lead an all-women Nepali Everest expedition. She reached the top for the first time, the only climber from her group to do so. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/streaming-the-himalaya-on-film">Streaming the Himalaya on film</a>, Pinki Sris Rana Her goal achieved, that should have been it. But Lhakpa was hopelessly hooked to the thrill of climbing. She met the Romanian-American mountaineer George Dijmarescu who encouraged her not to just be a porter, and join him in climbing Everest from the Tibet side.&nbsp; For the next several years the two became climbing partners, the ultimate power couple in Himalayan mountaineering. She emigrated to the United States and gave birth to daughters Sunny and Shiny. It was not long before Dijmarescu showed his true self, and Lahkpa was trapped in an abusive marriage in a foreign land. As a girl child in Nepal, she was never sent to school and had no other job except climbing. The fairytale had ended. She was featured in a <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/01/31/sports/lhakpa-sherpa-everest.html">New York Times</a> report, training for her 10th ascent of Mt Everest carrying boxes of vegetables and fruits at Whole Foods. In Mountain Queen, Walker directs a highly personalised profile of Nepal’s &nbsp;almost-forgotten mountaineering legend, digging up her troubles and triumphs with sensitivity and care. Walker does more than tell the story of perseverance and resilience that go hand-in-hand with climbing, she also tells the story of a matriarch who has to be strong for her family. &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/why-we-climb-mountains">Why we climb mountains</a>, Damien Francois After her 10th Everest ascent, sponsors line up to fund an expedition to even more challenging K2, which Lhakpa climbed last year. Pasang Lhamu’s soul burns brightly in Lhakpa Sherpa, and she sums up her own journey: “I’ll give my life to the mountains, keep climbing until the day I die.” Mountain Queen: Summits of Lhakpa Sherpa Directed by Lucy Walker Netflix, 2024 104 minutes&nbsp;

Pinki Sris Rana

Daughter of Chomolungma

A Flushing Local 7 subway train approaches the platform and commuters get ready to step in. The scene cuts to solid black. These first few seconds set the tone for the rest of Diversity Plaza — this is going to be a film &nbsp;about people in motion. Movement through time and space is something of a trademark for acclaimed documentary maker Kesang Tseten, with previous films like In Search of the Riyal, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13035">We Corner People</a>, Castaway Man and Frames of War. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Kesang-Tseten-documentary-on-Dor-Bahadur-Bista,2176">Some of these films</a> will be screened in a retrospective this weekend.&nbsp; For the next minute or so, Diversity Plaza shows us beauty parlours and nail salons, a kabab king, street vendors, a Covid-19 vaccine centre and a momo van.&nbsp; We are in Jackson Heights in the New York borough of Queens. A subtitle tells us it is ‘the most linguistically diverse zip code in the US and perhaps the world’. Queens is home to 75,000 immigrants from Nepal, Bhutan and India. More than 60% of the people here are foreign-born and speak 160 languages. They are politically aware, and concerned about their place in a changing America, and an altered world. There is an intersection in Queens actually named Diversity Plaza, and Tseten films immigrants campaigning for candidates for city council amidst the Covid crisis, while there are attacks on Asians after President Trump called the bug the “Chinese Virus”. Near the Plaza in a nondescript building is Adhikaar which works for the rights of Nepali immigrants. &nbsp;Among them is Dibya Shori Shakya, who ever so slowly writes her name and address on the board. A group of women gathers to talk about being ashamed initially of their status as domestic help and nannies. “The children we raise will go on to become doctors, engineers or even presidents someday. So we shouldn’t feel lowly or discriminate against ourselves,” says one woman. United Sherpa Association Inc may sound like a mountaineering outfit, but is a monastery. After prayers, devotees do yoga. Some asana are too difficult, and they burst out laughing.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024022304020_dc3c87201c606792b8980dbb7203eb88332eebf015f4e3a638a74c9c11a780b0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2024022304020_dc3c87201c606792b8980dbb7203eb88332eebf015f4e3a638a74c9c11a780b0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1426" height="750" loading="lazy" alt="Diversity Plaza"> <figcaption>Screengrab from Kesang Tseten's Diversity Plaza</figcaption> </figure>  This is an intimate look at Himalayan peoples living in Jackson Heights, their struggles and aspirations. Some are busy celebrating festivals and keeping traditions alive, others try to assimilate and are more concerned with making their voices heard in their new country. Adhikaar staff are out on the streets of New York including at Times Square in Manhattan, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-promise-of-an-american-dream">advocating for immigrant rights</a>. They are also urging fellow Nepalis to fill up census applications. “Census means numbers. What happens when there are numbers? Power, and when there is power, there is wealth… when there is wealth there is respect and when there is respect, there is recognition,” Narbada Chettri of Adhikaar explains on camera. During the film’s hour-long runtime, viewers in Nepal are transported to the other side of the world, almost forgetting that the scenes are happening on a screen. The cuts are rough, almost cinéma vérité style, unlike some of the sleeker films being made today. Tseten does not embellish the stories, the landscape, the people. Like his previous documentaries, the film lays bare the raw reality of immigrant life in America.&nbsp; <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kesang-tseten-is-still-silent-but-not-absent">The director</a> himself takes a back seat, his inputs barely discernible. But of course he is there throughout in the composition of the shots, selection of scenes, the final edits. Tseten calls it an ‘unprompted’ style modelled after American filmmaker Frederick Wiseman. Even though there is no script in Diversity Plaza, the documentary still has a beginning, middle and an end. In Kathmandu this week, Tseten recalled how he was in New York in 2021, trying to persuade a character for his forthcoming film on the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/bon-voyage"> Bön Po</a>, when he heard about Diversity Plaza with its strong Nepali presence. He was familiar with Jackson Heights ever since he was a student at Columbia Journalism School in the 1980s, and it piqued his attention. “Diversity Plaza is like Thamel,” he says. “The restaurants are filled with our own people.” The documentary ends on a high note, literally and figuratively. An immigrant from India performs a Karnatak song as the 7 train clatters above Diversity Plaza. She translates the verse into English before singing its original: “Do not seek or mind similarity in identity in the world. Why is it that we always look for the things that are the same about one another instead of celebrating and valuing our differences?” &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024022304020_d5d5a26acda7234986e3edbd6f7dc593b10ecdeaf2f4178880249381d5371ec2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2024022304020_d5d5a26acda7234986e3edbd6f7dc593b10ecdeaf2f4178880249381d5371ec2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1135" height="635" loading="lazy" alt="Diversity Plaza"> </figure>  Social Science Baha and photo.circle's Kesang Tseten Retrospective will take place from 23 to 25 February at Nepal Tourism Board.

Sonia Awale

Seeking identity in diversity

As one of the last countries in the world to introduce television in 1998, and internet a year later, Bhutan has a whole new generation of young adults who have grown up with access to movies, football matches, and Facebook. The Buddhist-majority country holds its culture and traditions dear, and parents expect to pass these values down to their children who are having difficulty adjusting to the two worlds. The Next Guardian (2017) is a new documentary that explores this contrast between traditionalist values and modernist changes in Bhutan and questions the ideals of the country’s Gross National Happiness slogan. Directed by Arun Bhattarai and Dorottya Zurbó, the feature-length documentary follows a teen brother and sister, Gyembo and Tashi, who love soccer and their phones. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/in-nepal-east-meets-west-musically">In Nepal, East meets West musically</a>, Shrijan Pandey  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023061113068_f36c45447643ca3e6bf111ef35f2f40b131ec34b3649566c774f1ae9d64698e7.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2023061113068_f36c45447643ca3e6bf111ef35f2f40b131ec34b3649566c774f1ae9d64698e7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="803" loading="lazy" alt="The Next Guardian NT 2"> </figure>  Their father runs a monastery and believes that their culture must be passed on to future generations to preserve it. Gyembo is studying in a modern English school, loves football, and has crushes on some girls in his class. But he is suddenly expected to become a monk. Bhattarai came up with this true story when he heard about Bhutan’s first female football camp. He spent six months in the camp and finally came across Tashi who looked and acted like a boy and wanted to become a football player. However, after meeting her family and Gyembo, he changed his focus to show the widening generational gap in Bhutan by documenting one family’s story. “We saw it as an opportunity to reflect on how Bhutan is changing,” Bhattarai told an online audience during an online screening of his documentary by Screen Southasia organised by Himal Southasian, which also holds the biannual Film Southasia documentary festival. “Screen Southasia was born out of our love for South Asian documentaries and Film Southasia’s massive archive of documentaries and network of alumni,” says Alok Adhikari, Assistant Director of Film Southasia. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/pasang-lhamu-sherpa-the-film">Pasang Lhamu Sherpa, the film</a>, Tayama Rai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023061113068_fb42d3dac6947db26be86256f41b27af537a886692cafd2e5ed54636de071111.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2023061113068_fb42d3dac6947db26be86256f41b27af537a886692cafd2e5ed54636de071111" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="856" loading="lazy" alt="The Next Guardian NT 3"> </figure>  Screen Southasia hosts monthly online shows of compelling documentaries from the region, including Nepal, India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bhutan, Burma, Bangladesh, Maldives and Sri Lanka -- a diverse range of films, both classic and new, that showcase the unique cultures, histories and perspectives of the Subcontinent. Screenings are followed by Q&amp;A sessions &nbsp;with the filmmaker, editor, camera person to better understand the craft of filmmaking, funding and marketing aspects.&nbsp; June’s selected The Next Guardian effectively captures the transition of Bhutan to the digital age as Gyembo, Tashi, and their friends use smartphones, watch football tutorials, take photos, and talk to friends on Facebook. It also portrays how Gyembo is not different from young people anywhere else in the world today. In contrast, their father prepares local dishes, does everyday rituals, performs traditional dances, and is passionate about Buddhist teachings. With its rich cinematography, the film uses static wide shots to portray the scenic beauty of Bhutan and to showcase the rhythm of everyday rural life in the country. Key to Bhattarai’s filming style is not to use a lot of movement to capture the real, authentic rituals of the family with cinéma vérité technique. The cinematography is unobtrusive, and the characters ignore the film-makers and go about without being at all self-conscious. The blurs the dimension between film and reality. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/on-screen-mountains">On-screen mountains</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023061113068_0bdb4decbe10c16488b4afe993680dba4313ed7d4f3c509713ed2178cde00c1d.png" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2023061113068_0bdb4decbe10c16488b4afe993680dba4313ed7d4f3c509713ed2178cde00c1d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="850" loading="lazy" alt="The Next Guardian NT 4"> </figure>  “Sometimes, I waited for hours observing their day-to-day interactions. Some clips were possible only after the protagonists opened up as themselves, forgetting the camera,” Bhattarai explains. The film delves into the traditional South Asian dynamic where a child cannot say no to parents and is expected to carry out their wishes. The father constantly tries to convince Gyembo of the advantages of becoming a monk and the importance of preserving heritage. Gyembo has different dreams, celibacy not being one of them, yet he never actively protests. “Since I grew up near Bhutan, I wanted to tell this story,” says Bhattarai. Tashi has her own arc in the story, dressing up and cutting her hair like a boy, and she is mostly drawn to masculine behaviour. She is passionate about being a football player, and the film shows a wonderful acceptance of Tashi’s gender expression by her family and society at large. Her father, in line with his strong Buddhist beliefs, sees Tashi as a girl born with the spirit of a boy from her past life and calls it natural. And after seeing movie, Gyempo’s father postponed sending him to the monastery. The Next Guardian was the first documentary film many people in Bhutan watched in a cinema for the first time. It won the Best Documentary at the Zsigmond Vilmos Film Festival in 2018, and was nominated for the Golden Gate Award at the San Francisco International Film Festival. Films like The Next Guardian highlight dynamic cultures and their unique ways of relating to the world. However, financing is difficult, and filmmakers often have to rely on producers from the West.&nbsp; Says Arun Bhattarai: “What this means is that rather than producing a relatable film for the local audience, sometimes you have to make it relatable to a Western audience.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/at-the-edge-of-tomorrow">At the edge of tomorrow</a>, Mark Turin The next Screen Southasia event will be a film from Bangladesh.

In the land of Gross National Happiness

The Sherpa high altitude guides who take climbers to the tops of Himalayan peaks and glory have for decades been nameless and consigned to the shadows. They are also exposed to the most dangerous parts of mountains for the longest period -- as the tragic death of three guides on the Khumbu Icefall this month proved. Things were not much different back in the autumn of 1990 when Pasang Lhamu Sherpa attempted to climb Mt Everest. The French leader of the expedition she was with ordered her to go back down. He seemed to be worried Pasang would steal the thunder from his climbers.&nbsp; As it turned out, Christine Janine became the first French woman to climb the world’s highest peak as Pasang Lhamu looked on from a lower camp. She realised it was her identity as a Nepali Sherpa woman that prevented her from getting to the top too. This ordeal only made her more determined to become the first Nepali woman to conquer Chomolungma. Pasang: In the Shadow of Everest is an inspiring story of the ambition, dedication, and triumph of this amazing woman. In equal part, it is the retelling of a tragedy that transcends socio-cultural boundaries.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230422040440_a41b978e19c989753156c07a2cdebb4d5fcc2b3637e5143cdff192f4d8e1e6a1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20230422040440_a41b978e19c989753156c07a2cdebb4d5fcc2b3637e5143cdff192f4d8e1e6a1" data-rendition-name="original" width="719" height="478" loading="lazy" alt="Nancy Svendsen, Ang Dorjee Sherpa, and Dawa Yangzum"> <figcaption>From left: Dawa Yangzum, Ang Dorjee Sherpa and Director Nancy Svendsen.</figcaption> </figure>  "Her incredible story moved me," says Nancy Svendsen, the director of the 72-minute documentary that premiered on 19 April, ahead of the 30th anniversary of Pasang Lhamu’s historic climb on 22 April 1993, and the 70th anniversary of the first climb on 29 May 1953.&nbsp; Svendsen was first introduced to Pasang Lhamu not as a Nepali national hero, but as the late sister of her brother-in-law, Ang Dorjee Sherpa. But the climber’s story resonated strongly with Svendsen who had worked in corporate America, a field traditionally dominated by men. "From that moment, I have been working to gather her archival footage and pictures. I started with very little. We had maybe a few home videos and scrapbooks of pictures her daughter gave me, and that was it," recalls Svendsen. Pasang Lhamu came from a deprived farming family so much of her climbs and expeditions were never filmed. But Pasang makes it work with press footage combined with contemporary photos to portray her life. Svendsen has also deployed clever edits and animation to show Pasang Lhamu’s last journey. The entire production took 10 years with Svendsen changing her career to become a first-time filmmaker to locate and interview the late mountaineer’s colleagues, including Pemba Norbu, the last person to see Pasang Lhamu alive. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/on-screen-mountains">On-screen mountains</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230422040440_720c4705cb02a6e2881cc63ae2188da46c580cb200f2202977e3c8c5a6841163.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230422040440_720c4705cb02a6e2881cc63ae2188da46c580cb200f2202977e3c8c5a6841163" data-rendition-name="original" width="452" height="700" loading="lazy" alt="thumbnail_Pasang-Lhamu-Sherpa"> <figcaption>Pasang Lhamu Sherpa</figcaption> </figure>  "It seems much like everything even risk-taking is gendered," says Dawa Futi Sherpa, Pasang Lhamu's eldest daughter and president of the Pasang Lhamu Foundation and Nepal’s former ambassador to Spain. "For the longest time my mother was criticised for leaving her family and takings risks with her life even as she was doing it for her country and Nepali women." Pasang Lhamu, born the only daughter of a Sherpa mountaineer, was not allowed to go to school or mountaineering with her brothers like the majority of Nepali women of her time. She eloped, escaping an arranged marriage, with Lhakpa Sonam Sherpa and opened her own trekking company in Kathmandu. Mother to three, she was a homemaker determined to level the status of Nepali women to what Western women had at that time. It was not necessarily her mountaineering skill she wanted to prove. Her struggle is seen in the backdrop of Nepal's quest for democracy as she clashes with the prime minister, political parties, and Western mountaineers to fund her expeditions. As she embarks on her fourth and final mission to Everest, we can see how the subordinate status inflicted on her for being a woman, a Sherpa, and a Nepali led to decisions that proved to be fatal for her and her team in that 1993 expedition. Pasang: In the Shadow of Everest brings the real Pasang Lhamu Sherpa to life, beyond what little is depicted in school textbooks while also addressing controversies surrounding her final climb through first-hand accounts. It equally showcases her trailblazing character that led to national mourning after her demise. "Climbing Mt Everest as a Nepali woman then is harder than climbing 14 peaks now," notes Dawa Yangzum Sherpa, the first Nepali international mountain guide who was at the premiere of the film in Kathmandu this week. Dawa Yangzum Sherpa herself started her career by climbing the Pasang Lhamu Foundation walls, and says that a whole generation of Nepali women mountaineers has grown up inspired by the legacy of Pasang Lhamu. After Pasang Lhamu, 65 Nepali women have scaled Mt Everest. Winner of 14 international film awards, Pasang: In the Shadow of Everest honors the legendary climber while also delving into the realities of Sherpas, often sidelined in mountaineering films. Public screenings of the Nepali version will begin on 28 April and there are plans for shows in 15 locations in Kosi and Madhes provinces with donations raised during its Nepali premiere. House Speaker Dev Raj Ghimire and famed ophthalmologist Sanduk Ruit were among the attendees at the premiere where Ang Dorjee Sherpa said: "This documentary will encourage Nepali women to dream big and conquer their summits." Read Also: <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/women-take-over-the-%20mountains,1868" target="blank">After Everest and K2, Sherpa women set sights on Kanchenjunga</a>, Tsering Dolker Gurung <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/all-women-nepali-team-scale-k2,1557" target="blank">Ketis on K2</a>, Ayesha Shakya <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/k2-women-nepal,1610" target="blank">Conquering the world</a>, Pasang Lhamu Sherpa Akita <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/WOMEN-ON-TOP,236" target="blank">Women on top</a>, Tsering Dolker Gurung <div class="embed-block"><iframe id="aswift_0" name="aswift_0" sandbox="allow-forms allow-popups allow-popups-to-escape-sandbox allow-same-origin allow-scripts allow-top-navigation-by-user-activation" width="718" height="0" frameborder="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" vspace="0" hspace="0" allowtransparency="true" scrolling="no" src="https://googleads.g.doubleclick.net/pagead/ads?client=ca-pub-6415359448570403&amp;output=html&amp;h=180&amp;slotname=1392833685&amp;adk=461865442&amp;adf=3145719360&amp;pi=t.ma~as.1392833685&amp;w=718&amp;fwrn=4&amp;lmt=1682131490&amp;rafmt=11&amp;format=718x180&amp;url=https%3A%2F%2Farchive.nepalitimes.com%2Farticle%2FNepali-Times-Buzz%2Fnepali-mountaineer-breaking-barriers%2C2708&amp;wgl=1&amp;adsid=ChAI8OiIogYQ0pOKyM7hx5U3EjkA3d-9b1mqGISDvdad8KAx3AewqDjyt9En6FuVBwQ5_OqP8GNB75I6e4TO0kQbDFGrRvZVZo9DZfI&amp;uach=WyJtYWNPUyIsIjEzLjIuMSIsImFybSIsIiIsIjExMS4wLjU1NjMuNjQiLFtdLGZhbHNlLG51bGwsIjY0IixbWyJHb29nbGUgQ2hyb21lIiwiMTExLjAuNTU2My42NCJdLFsiTm90KEE6QnJhbmQiLCI4LjAuMC4wIl0sWyJDaHJvbWl1bSIsIjExMS4wLjU1NjMuNjQiXV0sZmFsc2Vd&amp;dt=1682131427262&amp;bpp=2&amp;bdt=367&amp;idt=788&amp;shv=r20230418&amp;mjsv=m202304130102&amp;ptt=9&amp;saldr=aa&amp;abxe=1&amp;cookie=ID%3Dc5b4cdb05cf8144d-229b93d9a5de0091%3AT%3D1680592509%3AS%3DALNI_Mamkt9UmuQGMOCGLpZz_oPKpUIwdw&amp;gpic=UID%3D00000bebd63f863d%3AT%3D1680592509%3ART%3D1682128380%3AS%3DALNI_Ma_YtFySMX09AOoZZN28vO0GUGzPA&amp;prev_fmts=0x0&amp;nras=1&amp;correlator=4350293643221&amp;frm=20&amp;pv=1&amp;ga_vid=2032045364.1680592509&amp;ga_sid=1682131428&amp;ga_hid=371399134&amp;ga_fc=1&amp;rplot=4&amp;u_tz=345&amp;u_his=1&amp;u_h=900&amp;u_w=1440&amp;u_ah=813&amp;u_aw=1440&amp;u_cd=30&amp;u_sd=2&amp;dmc=8&amp;adx=207&amp;ady=3244&amp;biw=1440&amp;bih=657&amp;scr_x=0&amp;scr_y=691&amp;eid=44759926%2C44759842%2C44759875%2C31073974%2C31074012%2C42531706&amp;oid=2&amp;pvsid=2703339081112636&amp;tmod=178841159&amp;uas=0&amp;nvt=1&amp;ref=https%3A%2F%2Fnepalitimes.com%2F&amp;fc=896&amp;brdim=0%2C25%2C0%2C25%2C1440%2C25%2C1440%2C793%2C1440%2C657&amp;vis=1&amp;rsz=%7C%7CEebr%7C&amp;abl=CS&amp;pfx=0&amp;fu=128&amp;bc=31&amp;jar=2023-04-22-02&amp;ifi=1&amp;uci=a!1&amp;btvi=1&amp;fsb=1&amp;xpc=4JnXA4eA5J&amp;p=https%3A//archive.nepalitimes.com&amp;dtd=63261" data-google-container-id="a!1" data-google-query-id="CKu69o-8vP4CFYgIXAodE-4JOg" data-load-complete="true" style="overflow: hidden; left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px; border: 0px; width: 718px; height: 0px;"></iframe></div>

Pasang Lhamu Sherpa, the film

<figure><img width="2456" height="1632" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131140/637237749c7e80680e0c732ejpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: DEEPAK TOLANGE</figcaption></figure>When Kathmandu-based filmmaker Deepak Tolange visited the Museum of Asian Art in Berlin seven years ago, he sought out the collection from Nepal (pictured above). It was a large section around the corner from the Tibetan artefacts on the same floor.Among the items was an ornate 70.5cm tall two- storeyed <a href="https://id.smb.museum/object/1714079/buddhistischer-schrein">Buddhist shrine</a> richly decorated, inlaid with precious stones, gold and silver. Three standing bodhisatva were placed in niches on the lower level, and there were three other deities inside the upper chamber.The object represented elements of Newa architecture: the torans, the iconographies, the jala nhyaka, but the roof had Tibetan touches. And, upon inspection, Tolange noticed traces of vermilion and saffron powder on the idols, indicative of continued worship.The Nepali in him was intrigued, Tolange wondered if the antique shrine was stolen from a temple in Kathmandu Valley like many others.The first historical account of a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/who-looted-nepals-gods/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">religious object stolen from Nepal</a> is from 1765, when the statue of Narayan disappeared from the Bhagwati temple in Hanuman Dhoka. Plunder peaked in the 1960s, as Nepal started to open up to the outside world. Today, after campaigning by citizen groups and the government, foreign museums and collections are <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-enigma-of-arrival-of-nepals-gods/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">repatriating stolen deities</a>. According to the Department of Archaeology (DoA), in the past decades, 93 religious objects have been returned, of which as many as 19 were repatriated since July.Back in Berlin, Tolange reached out to Bernadette Broeskamp, a researcher of East Asian and Buddhist art at Freie Universität Berlin. Based on his findings, Tolange made a 6-minute short film Buddhist Shrine.“I thought that maybe, if it was indeed stolen, it would be possible to return the shrine to Nepal,” Tolange recalls.The museum dates the ritual object to the 19th century. Provenance record shows that it was sold to the museum in 1936 by one Heinrich Meinhard, but beyond that nothing is known. Tolange speculates that because war was brewing in Europe at the time, Meinhard might have been in need of money which prompted him to sell the object to the museum.There are no other documents, which were either never kept or were subsequently lost during the war. The only thing certain is that Meinhard told the museum that the object was indeed from Nepal.The short film was shown at the museum in 2015, where it was received well. “The Q&amp;A after the screening was very heated,” recalls Tolange. “Everyone wanted to know if the object was really stolen and, if yes, then would it be returned.” The question remained unanswered. <figure><img width="997" height="1200" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131140/637237789c7e80680e0c732fjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Tolange returned to Nepal for three months in 2016 for a field visit as part of his MA. He had been thinking about the altar, wondering if there was a bigger story behind it.He went to Patan to meet Bhim Ratna Shakya, senior sculpture artist, who recalled that his father had made six altars like the one in Berlin. That was a significant clue, and Tolange spoke with historians Satya Mohan Joshi, Sukra Sagar Shrestha, Mukunda Raj Aryal, KVPT’s Rohit Ranjitkar, and went to Boudha to meet the Buddhist monk S Dharmacharya.The conversations shed more light on stolen artefacts, even though he did not get a substantial lead on the shrine in the Berlin museum. “I found out that these shrines, or altars, were often for private use,” Tolange says. “And that people in Mangal Bazar continue to make them.”But the artisans still do not sign their names on the pieces, and that makes it difficult to track them down. “On top of this, when the dealers sell the altars, they sell it at the value of an art object -- while the artisans are paid only the rate of the labourer,” he adds. “Artists does not always get the recognition they deserve, and this practice is ongoing.”Upon graduation, Tolange proposed to the museum that he would add the Nepali side of the story and make another film with the new findings, this time a little longer and more detailed. Titled Buddhist Altar, the 16-minute film was completed in 2022 after much research.After Covid restrictions were lifted, Tolange visited Khenpo Gyaltsen from Rangjung Yeshe Institute and Loponma Ani Phuntsok Wongmo from Hasantar Nunnery. He also went to Buddhist temples and observed traditional rituals at the Golden Temple in Patan, Swayambhu, Boudha and other monasteries in Kathmandu.“I discovered that in many Buddhist shrines, the idol of the Buddha is at the centre, representing his body, with <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/neighbourhoods-save-their-shrines/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">chaitya</a> to his right representing his mind and a book to his left representing dharma or his speech, teachings,” Tolange says.Other deities in the shrine depend on the people and the families. In fact, as Bhim Ratna Shakya remarked in the film, any god can go in the chambers.Historians are convinced that the person who crafted the Buddhist shrine in the Berlin museum was a Newa, possibly from Patan, although there is still some doubt regarding where it was actually made, since there are Tibetan influences on it as well. Historically, these shrines were commissioned by families for their use, and the one in Berlin was commissioned too, most likely by Meinhard himself.In the film, which is first and foremost about a quest, Tolange has tried to trace the craft behind the shrine, digging into its past and current practices. Intercut with images of the mountains, the hills and the temples, he also focuses on the religious syncretism in Kathmandu Valley to contextualize the artefact as still being a part of a living culture.The film has been selected to the permanent collection at the Humboldt Forum, where it will be screened next to the shrine itself to mark the inauguration of the Asian section of the Berlin-based centre on 16 September.Tolange also plans to show the film to Nepali audience.Says Tolange: “Working on the film helped me rediscover my country and its cultures. If I hadn't done it, I'd have known nothing about the object and its importance.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-nepali-antiquities-got-to-chicago-museum/">How Nepali antiquities got to Chicago museum</a>, Alisha Sijapati

Ashish Dhakal

How did a Nepali ritual altar end up in Berlin?

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111152/63721e0e9c7e80680e0bd522jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="807" height="605"/><figcaption>Behind the scenes still from Urmi with director Limbu (left) and Purna Gurung (right). Photos: ASHISH DHAKAL.</figcaption></figure>Pranay <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14302#.YmTykidBxpQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Limbu</a>’s Urmi (उर्मि) opens with the early hours of dawn in Buddha Chok of Dharan. The sky is velvet black, crickets chirp in the background. Every once in a while, a motorcycle or a car rushes by and the screen turns momentarily bright, filled with the rattle of engines.At the centre of the shot is a lonely house, its first floor bathed in an eerie yellow falling squarely upon figures that look almost alive from a distance. Slowly, the sun creeps in from all directions, signalling the start of another day.The house gains more colour, more features. A blue signboard at the top reads, ‘Late Poet Bimal Gurung Memorial Library’ in Nepali and English. Purna Gurung, can be seen walking about inside, arranging books. He pauses occasionally, his calloused hands run across the tables and the books, eyes rippling and wandering like pools of water in the monsoon.Urmi is a story primarily of absence, where every note is sustained and every shot lingered. The protagonist is an ex-<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/gurkha-grandparents/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">British Gurkha</a> coming to terms with his son’s death 28 years ago. But there is no way the grief can be truly expressed, even after all this time. Purna Gurung says so himself early in the film: “I don’t know how to explain.”Bimal Gurung, the son, was 20 when he died in a bus accident in 1991. Always abroad on duty, Purna never really got to spend time with his son and truly bond. So, he establishes the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/pandemic-revives-reading-culture-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">library</a> in his son's name, as he was a voracious reader.Purna also visits his old teachers and friends, flips through the family album, reads Bimal’s passionate and politically charged poems – all in an attempt to understand and build the character that was his son.Shot in nine days over two years, the film is a strange blend of documentary and drama. Certain events, such as when a real estate broker from Kathmandu dressed garishly in denim struts into the library to try and buy it from Gurung, are the amalgamation of various middlemen who continue to try and coax Gurung into selling the property.“I am a businessman,” says the smooth-talking broker with a glint of malice slipping through his teeth, “I do not only think of my own benefit, I think of yours too.”But Purna Gurung is a patient man. The deep lines on his face are testament to his devotion to the memory of his son and family. “I will think about it,” he says, and in the end leaves Tolstoy’s <a href="http://www.online-literature.com/tolstoy/2738/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">How Much Land Does a Man Need?</a> bookmarked in a story collection for the businessman to read.Another impressive dramatisation is the haunting voice that reads Bimal’s poems, punctuating the film in what feels like a series of exclamation marks. To be fair, the drama would fall flat without the interviews with Gurung himself. But without the drama, the film’s background and direction perhaps would not have been possible to convey either.The emotional climax of the film comes when Gurung wells up, saying “When I am with these books, I feel like I am with my son … his soul is in these books.” Purna trembles, and says later: “About Bimal, I have no words.”It is a risky mix, certainly, of fact and fiction – not in that the parts of the story are untrue, but only so far as they are metaphors – but Urmi is successful because of that risk taken.The word ‘उर्मि’ means a wave of sorrow and pain – and in the film, the viewer follows a father, who has recently turned 80, in search of his lost son, piecing together the images and memories others have of him. To tell this story entirely through interviews would have missed the point. How else can one show absence, that heavy abstract feeling of nothingness?Urmi was screened at the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/documenting-the-subcontinent-for-a-generation/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">25th Film Southasia</a> in Yalamaya Kendra on 23 April 2022.URMI (उर्मि)Nepali | 85 minutes | 2022Directed by Pranay LimbuCinematography by Deepak BajracharyaEdited by Chandan Dutta

In the name of the son

Free to watch on YouTube, and released on Earth Day on Wednesday, Michael Moore presents: Planet of the Humans, a documentary that dares to say what no one else will. This film is the wake-up call to the reality we are afraid to face: that in the midst of a human-caused extinction event, the environmental movement’s answer is to push for techno-fixes and band-aids. It's too little, too late.

Michael Moore Presents: Planet of the Humans

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a95549c7e80680e05dbffjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1448" height="2048"/>Film Southasia is held every two years, and in 2019 the theme of the festival of documentary films says it all: ‘Where the Mind Is Free’. Indeed, since the last edition of the festival, the space for free expression is increasingly constricted throughout the region.From 14-17 November, 64 documentaries from the Subcontinent will be shown at Yalamaya Kendra, Patan – many of them films that would be difficult to have a public screening anywhere else in South Asia.  "In the region’s increasingly cloistered space, exclusion seems to be a common concern of the documentaries," says festival director Mitu Varma. "The films focus on the marginalised like growing up in Ladakh, transgender love, and the crisis of Rohingyas and Dalits. Many of the films focus on people who have little in terms of resources, but a huge store of empathy and compassion for all living creatures, that marks them out as more human than many in the so called mainstream  There are five films on Kashmir, and several films on migration and education."By its very definition, the documentary is a film genre that takes time to dwell on social injustices and delve in-depth into the structural reasons for discrimination, inequality, exploitation. Film-makers tend to give voice to the voiceless, show the plight of neglected or abused people whom the mainstream media ignores.With the space for dissent and the marketplace of ideas shrinking all over the region, Nepal remains the last bastion of free speech. This year also, Film Southasia will be showing films that could not be screened elsewhere.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18597#.XcPHuFUzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Documenting Nepal</a>, Angelo D’Silva and Diwas KCThe focus of the festival this year is Pakistan, and the opening film Indus Blues profiles the country’s disappearing musical instruments and folk art, given the rightward movement of the state. Other films on Pakistan investigate scavenging ships on the Arabian Sea beaches and the murder of an activist who sought to provide a cultural space called "The Second Floor" in Karachi where all art forms could be shared and different issues could be freely debated and discussed.With most of South Asia living under similar social-political conditions, the  subject matter of the films focus on similar concerns common to all countries. However, there is a lot of experimentation in the form of film-making.There is a documentary shot mostly in the night with striking visuals (And What Is the Summer Saying), another film that simply records conversations that swirl inside a tea shop at the centre of a heated religious debate (Chai Darbari). The documentary about old Delhi with a 400 strong cast of actors straddles the line between fiction and nonfiction (Ghode ko Jalebi Khilane Le Ja Riya Hoon)."There are quiet films with little dialogue, where the story is told with visual imagery, or with the neutral eye of a fly on the wall," explains FSA organiser Alok Adhikari. "The film-maker takes the backseat with these observational techniques lets the story tell itself."This year the festival went digital for the first time, accepting submissions online instead of asking for DVDs to be couriered to Kathmandu. The number of submissions soared to more than 2,500, a testimonial to the rising interest in this form of storytelling.The festival's jury comprises of filmmakers Sumathy Sivamohan from Sri Lanka and Ayisha Abraham from India, and Nepali journalist Kunda Dixit.Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17242#.XcPHvlUzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The world of South Asia</a><h2>8 FILMS from 8 COUNTRIES</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a95579c7e80680e05dc00jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427">Pariah DogsJesse Alk, IndiaA group of people, themselves outcast, poor, and living in slums, take care of street dogs in Kolkata, India.Kabul, City in the WindAboozar Amini, AfghanistanA glimpse into the strained, tenuous life in Kabul where violence is a constant backdrop to daily life.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a95599c7e80680e05dc01jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="329" height="153"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a955a9c7e80680e05dc02jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427">Opium WarsJohn La Raw, MyanmarJade miners who work under dangerous circumstances are being sucked into opium trade, while the state turns a blind eye to the issue of minorities.Scratches on CelluloidVindhya Buthpitiya &amp; Timothy P A Cooper, Pakistan/Sri Lanka/United KingdomWith the rise in multiplexes and home entertainment, days are numbered for traditional matinee theatres.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a955d9c7e80680e05dc03jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="360"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181140/636a955f9c7e80680e05dc04jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="360">The Next GuardianArun Bhattarai &amp; Dorottya Zurbo, BhutanA priest wants his son to inherit the profession, but the son would rather play football and watch Facebook in rapidly modernising Bhutan.After SabeenSchokofeh Kamiz, PakistanHuman rights activist Sabeen Mahmud is shot dead in her car, and the film captures the aftermath of the tragedy.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181144/636a95639c7e80680e05dc05jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="360"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181144/636a95669c7e80680e05dc06jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="360">Bamboo StoriesShaheen Dill-Riaz, BangladeshThe use of bamboo is dying out, but there are still many whose lives have depended on floating bamboo rafts down river.The Winter TapAashish Limbu &amp; Debin Rai, NepalThe story of the struggle to build a water supply in a remote Himalayan village is not as simple as it seems.

Film Southasia 2019

<img width="2480" height="1753" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141148/636a5edf9c7e80680e056df2jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>Vidyadutt Sharma, 83, stands in front of his blue-tinted two storey home, looking out into a 360 panorama of the Himalayan mountains. This is Moti Bagh, Sharma’s farm in Pauri district of the Indian state of Uttarakhand. Tall, with an aquiline nose, white hair cropped close to his scalp and rugged features, weathered by work in the farm, Sharma in kurta pyjama and vest, points to the abandoned homes and locked gates. These are the ‘ghost villages’ where inhabitants have migrated permanently. “The mountains are dying,” says Sharma, who worked for the state government and resigned when he was 28. There is a photo of him with a fierce beard, which he grew in protest to get high school status for the village school. Now, it is an Inter College, he says proudly. Another family photo with his wife and four children, two daughters and two sons, one who died young. His wife died in 2000. “She kept us all together and whatever status I have today is because of her,” he says. Sharma (pictured right) ploughs his land with oxen, plants seeds, hauls his own water and chops wood. He sings while sowing seeds of monkeys and langoors who pick and destroy the crops, the wild boars, cows, parrots, jackals, porcupines. In 2019 Sharma’s record breaking 22.75 kg radish won a national award and made him famous. Cooking a vegetable dish over a wood fire he says ‘upper’ caste people have left the villages and abandoned farming. The ‘lower’ castes do all the work. With the demise of farming, producers are now consumers, people want to work with the mind, not hands, scared of physical labour, he says.“It’s easy to write books, but the challenge is to make a tomato seed grow,” Sharma adds.Consolidated fragmented farms would make agriculture more productive. The farms were rainfed, and when in 1976 Sharma started rainwater harvesting the villagers laughed at him. <img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141148/636a5ee29c7e80680e056df3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="2000">Pauri town is 35 kilometres from Moti Bagh and built up in concrete like most hill towns. Tribhuvan Uniyal, Sharma’s journalist son, lives here with his wife and two children. Will they farm? His daughter wants to do fashion design. In a trip to Pauri town to meet the Regional Transport Officer (RTO), Sharma protests about the re-routing of buses in their village. The bus contractor tells the RTO on the phone that there are not enough passengers on rural routes anymore. Get the buses back on the usual routes, orders the RTO. With locals having migrated, most farmhands here are from Nepal. Helping Sharma on his farm is Ram Singh, who came here from western Nepal 18 years ago and never left. He is happy the children got to go to school, he has savings to send back to the larger family back home.“Locals are jealous of me,” Ram Singh says with a toothy smile. When he first came, he and his family were called names and told to go back to Nepal. Now, he says, he is accepted. “I will have to return to Nepal one day or, maybe we will be made to go back,” he says.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141148/636a5ee69c7e80680e056df4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="1280">Director Nirmal Chander Dandriyal (pictured left) is himself from Uttarakhand and his sensitivity to his protagonists shines through the film. He was born in Chennai, but began travelling to Uttarakhand more frequently around 2011. Seeing migration as a central issue interconnected to others, he felt it could be a theme for a film. But, how to tell the story?  Migration was not a new issue. But while it is seasonal in other states, in Uttarakhand it is permanent.So, Moti Bagh became the location, a microcosm to the big picture. The story unfolds through the characters, without hectoring, lecturing, or a voice over of gloom and doom. The characters in the film are fresh and rooted in the environment. Supported by India’s Public Broadcasting Service Trust (PBST) and Prasar Bharati, Chander was able to shoot in different seasons, various stages of cultivation, and events such as marriages and wildfires. Chander’s rhythms changed and informed the way he shot. He let it flow. The cycles and pace of life quietened him. He found peace.Moti Bagh has been picked as an entry for the oscars and will be screened at the South Asian Documentary Film Festival in November in Kathmandu.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHfTKPUBY1gMoti Bagh, 201960 minHindi

Moti Bagh

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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