<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108121140/636a40e49c7e80680e04a648jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="544"/>One of the most prominent changes we see while travelling across Nepal these days is the presence of earth movers, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/bulldozing-democracy-in-nepal,4184">bulldozers</a>, tipper trucks and excavators. They dominate the highways, gouge out riverbeds, claw at mountainsides and rip through forests.There may be many planners in Singha Darbar who claim to be the drivers of development. But out in the hinterland, we know who is really making development ‘happen’.Ask Nepalis in the districts what they want the most, and the answer will be “a road”. For them ‘road’ is synonymous with ‘development’, and they are going to get them by any means possible. If anyone still had any doubts, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/trickledown-corruption,4176">Kathmandu is no longer in charge</a>, thanks largely to the devolution of decision-making in the new Constitution.The road-building spree is now fuelled by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/uncategorized/elected-contractors/">local governments</a>, which get to spend money quite indiscriminately. Yet, with <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/survey-is-wakeup-call-for-nepal-government/">three-fourths of the population now having access to some kind of road</a>, public demand for any old road is now being superseded by an insistence on black-topped roads that will not be washed away in the next monsoon. Quality is slowly taking precedence over quantity.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18019#.XNpIyuUza70">Roads are a two-way</a> street. They may be designed and built to take local produce to market, but roads also bring the market to remote villages. This can have a huge <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nation-road-from-nowhere-to-nowhere,549">negative impact</a> on the local economy if competitiveness is lost. Roads can also become an incentive to produce more, or disincentive to pack up and leave for the city or go abroad.Socio-economic and environmental studies are conducted before a road is built, but there is little to show that these recommendations have been studied, much less implemented. Roads may take local trout, strawberries and vegetables to the market, but they also enable human trafficking and the spread of HIV, and push land prices beyond the reach of the poor.On 13 May, Himalayan TV, Dooshan, Facts and V-chitra gave out excellence awards to projects that met new, higher standards. One surprise award went to the restoration of the historic Pim Bahal neighbourhood of Patan.The second surprise was that no one was awarded in the large project category: sending a message that there was plenty of room for improvement. Such due diligence to select winners will in future ensure that the quality of construction will improve. As the saying goes, when everyone stays average, the average goes down – this is what has long plagued the infrastructure sector in Nepal.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12390#.XNpJtOUza70">Dozers are literally changing the face of Nepal</a>. Mountains are no longer the barriers they were, which may be the necessary first step toward prosperity through connectivity. However, this process must ultimately deliver the kind of prosperity that can come with easier movement of value added goods and services. The cost of transport must go down over time.To attain such results, maintenance, management and upgrading of infrastructure must be a continuous process. Roads can not only pay for themselves, they can generate huge revenue in the longer term. Building infrastructure is not expenditure, as is currently perceived, but an investment.Many construction projects today are undertaken through a flawed public procurement regulation that awards the contract to the lowest bidder. This has resulted in many destructive projects and a waste of taxpayers’ money. In future, many projects will be designed, resourced and implemented by the private sector. Competition will help improve things in general.The government can collaborate with the private sector, as we are seeing in hydropower, hotels, schools and hospitals. There could even come a time when development partners will buy back well constructed social infrastructure built by the private sector as their contribution to Nepal’s development.During a recent trip up the Trisuli River, it was heart-warming to see dozers expanding the road to Kerung. Dozers are for development, it just depends on who is driving them.

Anil Chitrakar

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Dozers and Nepal’s development

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107121140/6368ef289c7e80680e035964jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="953"/><figcaption>MOVING MOUNTAINS: The remote district of Bajhang is a microcosm of what rampant, random roadbuilding fuelled by local corruption is doing to the environment across Nepal.</figcaption></figure>Paramananda Joshi is 90, but in his long life he had never seen anything like it. The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/deep-water,3883" target="_blank" rel="noopener">flash-flood</a> swept though his village of Malumela here in the remote mountains of far-western Nepal, washing away farms and making 45 families landless in an instant.In the village of Tollodhika, the Gole Khola flooded for the first time in living memory. The sudden flood swept away five people crossing the stream. That evening, a jeep carrying five people was washed away by the Chaitya River with a ferocity locals had never seen before.“It is just a brook, and it had been raining for less than an hour before the floods came down without warning, how did that happen?” asks Ramdal Mijar, 54.Scientists blame <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mixed-blessings-in-mustang/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">extreme weather events caused by global warming</a>, the impact of which has been exacerbated by a construction spree of unplanned and poorly built roads along fragile mountain slopes.In all, 10 people have been killed by raging floods since April in this area of Bajhang that has seen much road-digging. The crop damage has been extensive, and pushed many farmers in this already food-deficit region to the brink of starvation.The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Recharging-the-mountains,3465" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Himalayan mid-hills have always had floods and landslides</a>, but how can barely one hour of rain cause such havoc? Why do normally calm streams suddenly turn into angry torrents of mud?“Cloudbursts are becoming more frequent because of erratic weather caused by climate change. Badly constructed roads upstream that alter natural drainage patterns make the floods worse,” explains the Bajhang soil conservation officer Sunil Kumar Gupta.Flooding has been prevalent and unpredictable throughout Nepal during unusually heavy pre-monsoon showers this year. But even normal precipitation can trigger landslides because haphazard road construction disturbs natural drainage, unleashing flash-floods downstream.Finding details about new roads nationwide is impossible. Even the Department of Roads doesn’t have proper records. Bajhang district authorities have no idea where roads are being built, but unofficially we tallied at least 165 currently under construction. There are more than 75 heavy earthmovers in Bajhang alone.Every infrastructure project must by law have an Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA). None of the new improvised roads here have done EIAs.Five years ago the Local Development Ministry (LDM) ordered all District Development Committees to notify them of the use of bulldozers and excavators. They were encouraged to minimise the use of diggers, and have have an engineer present when using them.“These rules are flouted everywhere, no one is enforcing them,” admits Nripraj Joshi of the District Technical Committee. After <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Elected-contractors,4182" target="_blank" rel="noopener">an earlier expose by the Centre for Investigative Journalism</a> and being questioned by the LDM, several discussions were held. But that did not go anywhere.Besides floods, road-building has set off rockfalls that have ruined terrace farms. Madan Rokaya has a family of 13, and was once happy that a road was coming to his village. But his terraces were buried by landslides set off by road construction. “I am ruined, I have no land and am now begging for work,” says Rokaya.Subeda village (pictured below) once had the district’s most fertile farms, and its 30 or so families were well off. But most of its farms have been destroyed by rocks and boulders tumbling down the mountains from a road alignment. The contractor, Lama Golden JV, shows no remorse.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107121140/6368ef2c9c7e80680e035965jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000">Singh Bir Rokaya says farmers like him are helpless: “We are just spectators, many of our farms are buried under rocks.”The District Agriculture Office has collected complaints, and says 1,800 families in 40 villages in Bajhang have been affected by road building. Already destitute, many families here have become landless.It is not just farms that have been destroyed, traditional irrigation systems that hugged the contours of mountains have been blocked or washed away by road construction up the slopes.Land is being covered and rendered useless, KC says. He questions the logic of such development, when it means people are being displaced. But there is more to the problem, because water supply is also disrupted. Several irrigation structures have fallen prey to the dozers, he says.“Of the 440 irrigation schemes we had in Bajhang, more than 283 have been destroyed by the bulldozers,” says Rajesh Kumar KC of the Agriculture Development Office here.“The excuse from local politicians is always the same,” KC says, “they tell us that there is always destruction when there is development. They say destruction is temporary whereas development is permanent.”Water supply schemes are also affected. The Padamjelya Drinking Water Project in Sireta village that served 72 families and completed last year at a cost of Rs350,000 was damaged two months later by reckless road construction.“We all volunteered to build this water supply, our dreams are ruined,” says Bijay Joshi. Two other drinking water projects have also been ruined in the area, and locals are back to drinking contaminated water from rivers and springs.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107121140/6368ef309c7e80680e035966jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1460" height="1498"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>When approached, local politicians often try to shift the blame. <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Elected-contractors,4182" target="_blank" rel="noopener">One-third of the officials, elected village heads and mayors are contractors, or are from families that own construction companies</a>.They also own excavators and bulldozers and rent them to the municipalities. Many have been found to be awarding contracts to themselves. Devolution under federalism was supposed to stop such greed and lack of accountability, but it appears to have <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/trickledown-corruption,4176" target="_blank" rel="noopener">democratised corruption</a>.To be sure, there are examples of mountain roads that heed the environment and try to minimise the damage to the local economy. The green road concept tries to ensure minimum disruption to slopes, and plan roads to create farm jobs and market access for produce.Unfortunately, the roads being built haphazardly by local governments lack many of these essential attributes. Seismologists warn that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/past-disasters-foretold/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">western Nepal could be hit by a long overdue mega-earthquake</a>, and mountains destabilised by poorly designed roads could trigger catastrophic slope failures.Says Upama Ojha of Geohazards International: "Things are bad enough during normal times, but the haphazard use of bulldozers have increased landslide risk. It is unthinkable what will happen during an earthquake."Province 7 Chief Minister Trilochan Bhatta was recently visited by a group of concerned residents of Thalara-9 which was threatened by the risk of flood and landslide. They told him: “It has been three years since we have slept soundly because of the danger from road construction.”New road constructions even threaten existing highways. Bajhang’--s lifeline to the Tarai was recently black-topped, but rockfall debris from another road up the mountain obstructs it frequently. Last month the important artery was blocked by a landslide triggered by the construction of a feeder-road for two weeks.“The road should never have been built without analysing the environmental impact, and close supervision of the construction methods,” says Chief Engineer Lalijan Khanal of the Department of Roads in the neighbouring district of Baitadi. He said he wrote repeatedly to the district administration about the danger posed by excavators. “They didn’t listen to me,” he says.Such obstruction can mean life or death. Five patients died last year because they couldn’t be taken to hospital when the road was blocked for more than a month. The landslide that blocked the highway was caused by excavator activity on the feeder road above it.Centre for Investigative Journalism<h2>DEADLY TOLL</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107121140/6368ef339c7e80680e035967jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1300" height="975">May 8: Sub-engineer Narayan Dahal died in a landslide at the Chainpur-Taklakot road section in Ramaili.May 6: Five people, including four of the same family, were killed by a flood in the Guhe River in Thalara village. Livestock was killed. Five houses were swept away and the Juilgad hydropower plant was put out of action.May 2: Three people were killed when a flashflood swept away their jeep on the Chauthiya river. Over 152 hectares of farms were destroyed, more than 50 livestock were killed.April 27: Floods caused by road building inundated 130 hectares of land and destroyed crops in Sabik village. Farmers lost Rs300 million worth of standing crops.<h2>Duplication road</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107121140/6368ef369c7e80680e035968jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2198" height="1280">It is not just local governments that are on a nationwide road construction spree. The NCP government announced it had set aside Rs 4.5 billion for the so-called Madan Bhandari Highway in its last budget. The new highway will span 1.200 km from Jhapa in the east to Dadeldhura in the west, cross 14 districts – most them in the ecologically fragile Chure Range and the Inner Tarai (depicted on map above).The announcement caught many by surprise because it was made without conducting an Environmental Impact Assessment or a Detailed Project Report. Moreover, there has been no satisfactory explanation as to why there was a need for another east-west highway when there is already the Mahendra Highway, the Mid-hill Highway and the Tarai Feeder Road project.When asked, spokesperson Rajendra Sharma of the Ministry of Physical Planning and Transportation said parts of the new highway were already in existence, and the Madan Bhandrai Highway would just connect the missing bits. He also said the region served by the road was rich in limestone deposits, and would serve existing and future cement factories.“In fact, you could call this a cement highway,” Sharma told us.However, Dhananjaya Poudel of the Ministry of Environment expressed surprise that his ministry was never consulted about the highway, and that budget was allocated without studying its environmental impact and economic feasibility.He added: “You have to take into account the geography, geology, vegetation, environment, and the impact on human settlements before undertaking a project like this. Only then can you minimise the damage.”Kalpana BhattaraiRead also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Elected-contractors,4182" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Elected contractors</a>, Mukesh Pokhrel <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/trickledown-corruption,4176" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Trickle down corruption</a>, Editorial <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/bulldozing-democracy-in-nepal,4184" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bulldozing democracy</a>, Om Astha Rai

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From nowhere to nowhere

The dawn air in Muktikot is dewy as the sun sets over the horizon in the mountains of western Nepal. A sad farewell song drifts across the village from a mud plastered house.&nbsp; Rani BK sings a half melody, half lament: “I feel like my own hands are being cut off as you leave.” She is bidding farewell to her youngest brother, 37-year-old Ranne, his wife Akashe. They are going to Bangalore in India to find work. Neighbours gather quietly in the gathering light, some wiping their eyes, others joining in song. “Please, don’t cry,” Ranne says softly. “These tears will haunt us on the journey.” Migration is not new to Muktikot, but the tears are. For decades, nearly every household here has sent its men to India every winter to work. They return in spring to plant their crops.&nbsp; What is new is that women like Akashe BK are now also going, and for longer periods. The couple is leaving their two of their children behind, and will be away for at least five years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Daughter and son left behind with Rani BK after departure.</figcaption> </figure>  Ranne has been a daily wage labourer since he was 17, moving across Nepal and different parts of northern India. This journey is different — it will be to southern India.&nbsp; He had borrowed Rs50,000 from a local lender to cover the travel cost, hoping to recoup it from his earnings as a security guard. Aakashe plans to work as a household helper.&nbsp; “We would not go if we have a choice,” Aakase says quietly, her eyes fixed on “We are forced to leave our children. We cannot afford to educate them, there is little to eat here, no water, no work, no electricity.” Their daughter Sitala, 12, and son Dipson, 10, put auspicious red tika on their parents’ foreheads. Aakase sobs as she asks relatives to look after their children and their house.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Departure of Ranne BK.</figcaption> </figure>  “We may return by the time you finish school,” Ranne tells Sitala, who is in Grade 6. Sitala stands forlorn by herself, not saying anything. Across Muktikot, women who once stayed back to raise children and manage households now join their husbands in India to support families in these remote mountains of western Nepal.&nbsp; Unnati BK, 30, and her husband Barune BK decided to migrate to India after their home was damaged by landslides in 2021 and the family was nearly killed. The arid farms did not produce enough food as rains failed. “Nothing grows here,” says Unnati, who is also leaving for Bangalore with her husband, along with Ranne and Akashe.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Unnati BK</figcaption> </figure>  After 54 families lost their homes in landslides four years ago, the district administration has set aside Rs500,000 for families including Unnati and Barune. But although nearly complete, they have received only Rs175,000 each. Unnati had realised and told her husband that if they stayed in the village, their sorrows would multiply. So they planned to leave, hoping that a little extra hardship in India would allow them to pay for the education of their three children, who are 11, eight, and six years old. “We chose Bangalore because relatives told us it is easy to find jobs there for both men and women,” Barune says. They plan to leave their children with Unnati’s parents for now, and later send them 250km away to Kailali to attend school.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Landslide four years ago caused 54 families to lose their homes.</figcaption> </figure>  More than 75 couples from 350 households in Muktikot have left for cities like Mumbai and Bangalore in the past three years alone, leaving behind their children either with their in-laws or in the Tarai cities where they go to school. Ajay Kumar BK, chair of the rural municipality of Muktikot says, “There is a clear intention to leave the village altogether.” &nbsp; Diksha BK, 25, has three sons aged six, three, and one. Her husband Dhirjan works in Surkhet. She and her husband have given up on Muktikot, saying they see no future there. DISASTER-PRONE Muktikot is populated mostly by Dalit families, and used to be named Dumkot after a derogatory term used by higher caste people for Dalits. During the Maoist conflict, many Dalit boys joined the guerrillas and the rebels renamed it Muktikot, meaning ‘freedom’.&nbsp; The village clings to a steep mountain flank wrinkled with rain-fed farm terraces. Many of the men who have left for India have never come back, and now even the women are leaving. The 2020 Disaster Preparedness and Response Plan of Bajura identifies Muktikot as a disaster-prone area, making its rain-fed agriculture vulnerable to droughts. The denuded slopes above are at risk of landslides.&nbsp; The 2021 International Migration in Nepal report counted 13,482 people migrating to India from Bajura alone that year. There are an estimated 3.5 million Nepalis living and working in Nepal — mostly from the western mountains.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Houses being built under resettlement plan.</figcaption> </figure>  National Environment and Equity Development Society (NEEDS) Nepal found that 70% of households in Sudhurpaschim Province have had at least one member migrating to India at some point in their lives. “Female migration used to be low, but there is now an observable trend of women migrating for work from Sudhurpaschim,” says Prakash Madai of NEEDS Nepal. However, anthropologist Jeevan R Sharma says female migration is not new, what is different is the scale and duration of women migrants. Increasing demand for part-time household help in India makes it a pull-factor for Nepali women from the rural west to enter the informal workforce. “Women used to go only when opportunities arose, working for half a year to maximum two years, and frequently going back and forth,” says Sharma. “The potential rise is likely due to the need for greater income driven by rising cash-based expenses for health, education, food, and purchase of consumer goods.” COST OF LEAVING “Previously people struggled for basic needs, and we did not have the money or the roads to travel to Kathmandu, which is why most people went to India for manual work,” says Kartik Kami, 60, of the rural municipality. “Migration trends have changed because both men and women can make money washing, cooking, and cleaning in cities. Soon, there will be no one to conduct weddings or funerals, only children will remain.” While women from other parts of Nepal began participating in foreign employment three decades ago, women from traditional Sudurpaschim families are only now venturing into the Indian labour market. “This surge is filling a labour vacuum in India created when its domestic migrants shifted their focus to Gulf countries,” explains historian Yadab Devkota. Yet, research paints a social cost. A 2020 study found that children of migrant parents suffer loneliness and neglect due to the absence of parental care and love. Children fall back in studies, and girl children are burdened with excessive workload managing the household and siblings.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Sitala BK, daughter of Ranne and Aakashe.</figcaption> </figure>  The emotional toll is manifested in anxiety, stress, depression, and in some cases, suicide, especially for those whose mothers have migrated.&nbsp; “The significant shift towards couple migration is driven by families making difficult and high-cost decisions in the hopes of breaking the cycle of poverty,” says Arjun Kharel at the Centre for the Study of Labour and Mobility (CESLAM ). “Migration remains primarily a strategy for subsistence rather than development, it is a calculated family decision made in the absence of local opportunities.” Migration to India remains largely invisible to the Nepal government. The country’s foreign employment framework does not extend to migrants going to India. And because they travel through the open border, they are not regulated by formal systems.&nbsp; There is no accurate count of how many Nepalis are working in India, or of Indians in Nepal. According to the Indian Population and Housing Census, there are 600,000 Nepalis working in India, but this is a gross underestimation.&nbsp; A study by Aapti Institute describes Nepali migrants in India as ‘liminal’ neither fully protected as citizens nor recognised as foreigners there, exposing them to exploitation and risk.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Ranne and Aakashe's last night at home.</figcaption> </figure>  “Nepali migrants in India are not covered by compensation if they fall sick and or if die, unlike migrants to other overseas destinations who can receive compensation of up to Rs700,000,” notes labour migration expert Saru Joshi. The recent draft National Labour Migration Policy 2025 of the Ministry of Labour, Employment, and Social Security offers a flicker of hope for migrants to India with provisions for welfare, social security, and mental health support for families left behind. The draft also mandates better data collection of the movement of people.&nbsp; It is unlikely that these initiatives will make any difference to the people who remain in Muktikot. Many like Ranne and Akashe are likely to go to India for work. “If I had only two or three children, I would take my wife to India too,” says Jaya BK, 46. But he has seven children, including newborn twins, whom he has stayed behind to help his wife look after this time, rather than leaving for Uttarakhand in winter like he usually does.&nbsp; With the support of Internews' Earth Journalism Network.

Mass migration from Muktikot

The Himalayan mountains are also known as the Third Pole because it is the largest repository of water stored as ice outside the two polar regions. However, it is divided by political boundaries that nature does not recognise – be it the air pollutants that flow or migratory birds that fly over the peaks. The Himalaya is also a geopolitical and climate change hot spot. In these geopolitically and environmentally challenging times, it becomes even more important to create oases of conversations, where candid and future-oriented discussions can take place at a people-to-people level. Platforms dominated by inter-governmental agencies have been able to do little. The Himalayan Future Forum (HFF) aims to be a platform that stands at the crossroads of climate, community, and connectivity, fostering dialogue and promoting citizen-led action. Growing up in the Indian Himalayan town of Kalimpong and spending the nascent stages of my career helping in setting up offices of the award-winning Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) that fostered community involvement in conservation, I have witnessed transformations both good and bad.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_6e2087b11fff0cc6704eebaee6f169848a9cfd57c4a02d7d1fd45db2526d2f67.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260205070244_6e2087b11fff0cc6704eebaee6f169848a9cfd57c4a02d7d1fd45db2526d2f67" data-rendition-name="original" width="5559" height="3711" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  There are initiatives like Nepal’s forest cover doubling in 30 years, or Bhutan’s drive for high-end sustainable tourism. At the same time, I have seen landscapes destroyed by bulldozers and tall buildings competing for air and sunlight in expanding cities. From crony capitalists patronised by political leaders engaged in plundering natural resources to citizen-led initiatives on cleanliness drives and waste management, the Himalayan region is full of stories from both ends of the spectrum of disappointment and hope. Life is about observing and, in one’s little sphere of influence, taking baby steps towards catalysing positive transformation. This is why, Nepal Economic Forum (NEF) had been hosting the Himalayan Consensus Summit in Nepal from 2014 to 2020 following which the Himalayan Future Forum (HFF) was incubated since 2023. HFF is an initiative to encourage multi-faceted dialogues on the topics of climate, community, and connectivity in the Himalayan region by bringing together leaders, experts, institutions, and practitioners from different countries and sectors.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_a7e673507dcdb6e265cb6f76f2890f17af36f17006a7f6d0f2f0e1a288c89a09.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260205070244_a7e673507dcdb6e265cb6f76f2890f17af36f17006a7f6d0f2f0e1a288c89a09" data-rendition-name="original" width="5364" height="3581" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  In this year’s edition, there are a series of sessions on 6 February with 34 speakers including ten international panelists. On day two the Himalayan Haat aims to showcase a variety of local, indigenous, and sustainable products. As in 2024, it is believed that the conversations and interactions at the HFF will lead to more partnerships and collaborations from climate financing to managing disasters to taking Himalayan brands global. YOUNG FELLOWS Beyond this, there are sessions on topics such as geopolitics and the Himalaya, as well as on migration which are especially relevant considering the past few years that have seen many events which impacted the global world order. One of the key features of HFF, guided by our ethos of bringing together experts, experiences, and enthusiasm, is also to ensure stronger youth representation through the HFF Youth Fellowship. This year, following a rigorous screening process, youth fellows were selected out of an overwhelming response. Those chosen will be able to attend the events as well as collaborate in future research and publications. Selected fellows will also be provided with full scholarships to the public policy program at Takshashila Institution, an independent centre for research and education in public policy in Bangalore. In a region where half of the population is under 25 years, it is important to get the future generations also in the room.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_3416bd14d5249afeb357b11f760f49b0cd1d77feeac71d820406b2d9e86696bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260205070244_3416bd14d5249afeb357b11f760f49b0cd1d77feeac71d820406b2d9e86696bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="5273" height="3520" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  Nepal presents an ideal location to hold meetings such as this, where no-holds-barred conversations can take place face-to-face. The country has good air connectivity and one of the most liberal visa policies in Asia. And while Davos is a good example to follow for convening global voices, we need not have so many private planes burning fossil fuel, as we can have participants take scheduled commercial flights or have regional participants simply take a road trip. Ultimately, the Himalayan region is also about festivities. No exchange of ideas is complete without immersing in art, culture, culinary experiences, and music. This is why HFF envisages graduating to a Himalayan Jatra, rooted in a region where people smile from the heart, and teach the world to smile with them. Join us at HFF 2026 as we move closer to this vision. See the schedule <a href="file:///Z:/%231297%20February%206/pix/page%209/HFF%202026%20Program%20Schedule%20(1)_compressed.pdf">here</a>. Sujeev Shakya is Chair of Nepal Economic Forum and Convenor of the Himalayan Future Forum.

Himalayan Futures Forum 2026

When I landed in Kathmandu last November, I arrived with a Diwali hangover. Not the festive kind, but the coughing, dust-coated, throat-scratching kind gifted by North India’s winter air. After a decade of breathing in Delhi’s seasonal gas chamber, my lungs were in an open revolt. But within days of landing in Kathmandu, my cough vanished. It felt almost miraculous. The air was crisper. The Air Quality Index was kinder, and the Himalayan peaks rose on the horizon.&nbsp;
But by the third week, the familiar grey veil returned. First as a faint blur, then peak by peak the Himalaya began to disappear. Locals said it had been getting worse every year.&nbsp;
Much of this haze is not Kathmandu’s doing. What drifts into Nepal each winter is a toxic spillover from the plains of North India and Pakistan: black carbon, brown clouds, and fine particulate matter carried across borders by seasonal winds. Kathmandu’s bowl-shaped valley simply traps what the region exhales.
Abid Omar, founder of the <a href="https://pakairquality.com/" target="_blank">Pakistan Air Quality Initiative</a>, put it bluntly: “We often view air pollution and climate change as separate silos, but in the Himalaya, they are one and the same.”
Black carbon is essentially soot from diesel emissions, brick kilns, and crop burning. It may be short-lived in the atmosphere, but when ash settles on snow and ice, it reduces reflectivity and accelerates melting.&nbsp;
Omar adds, “Black carbon is a threat to the water security of the entire Indus and Ganges basins.”
What burns on both sides of Punjab do not stay in Punjab. It ends up on glaciers that feed rivers, sustaining hundreds of millions of people downstream.
In November 2024, AQI levels in New Delhi hovered near 500 and about the same time Lahore briefly became the world’s most polluted city, with the AQI count crossing 1,100. These numbers are not abstract.
According to the <a href="https://www.stateofglobalair.org/resources/archived/state-global-air-report-2024" target="_blank">State of Global Air 2024 report</a>, India recorded more than 2 million deaths attributable to air pollution in 2023. Bangladesh and Pakistan each saw over 200,000 deaths. Air pollution is now one of the leading causes of premature death across South Asia.
Nepal, often imagined as cleaner by default, tells a sobering story of its own. Air pollution in Nepal led to an estimated <a href="https://www.worldbank.org/en/news/press-release/2025/06/17/air-pollution-is-the-number-one-health-risk-factor-in-nepal#:~:text=Vehicle%20Emissions:%20Continuing%20to%20electrify,airflows%20carry%20pollutants%20across%20borders." target="_blank">48,500 premature deaths</a>, with the loss of more than 1.4 million disability-adjusted life years. The University of Chicago’s <a href="https://aqli.epic.uchicago.edu/post/nepal-capital-chokes-as-wildfires-rage-en" target="_blank">Air Quality Life Index</a> estimates that particulate pollution cuts 3.4 years off the life of the average Nepali. In the Tarai region, life expectancy drops by nearly five years. In Kathmandu, residents lose 2.6 years.
Says infectious disease specialist Anup Subedee: “Air pollution is killing at a far higher rate than Covid-19 did during its worst years in Nepal. People are dying in their twenties of cancer, or having heart attacks and strokes in their thirties and forties.”
Nearly <a href="https://www.icimod.org/press-release/kathmandu-choked-on-polluted-air-for-75-of-the-last-90-days/?utm_source=chatgpt.com" target="_blank">40 per cent of winter particulate pollution in the Kathmandu</a> valley originates outside Nepal. Black carbon carried from Punjab, Haryana, and Uttar Pradesh in India, besides parts of Pakistan, rides the winds north, settles on Himalayan snow, and accelerates glacier melt by absorbing heat.
“The pollutants travel across borders within shared airsheds, creating one gigantic plume of polluted air over India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Pakistan several times a year,” says Subedee.
In some Himalayan regions, <a href="https://www.icimod.org/success-stories/chapter-2/black-carbon-and-glacier-melt/" target="_blank">scientists estimate</a> that black carbon can increase localised melt rates by up to 30%. Yet global climate negotiations continue to treat glacial loss primarily as a carbon dioxide problem.&nbsp;
CHINA’S APPROACH
The South Asian story is transboundary, and more immediate as well as more preventable. This is not only about emissions. It is about coordination, and China offers an instructive contrast.
Since 2013, China has dramatically improved its air quality by declaring a '<a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2025/12/12/what-new-delhi-can-learn-from-chinas-war-on-air-pollution#:~:text=In%20the%20following%20years%2C%20Beijing,29.3%CE%BCg%2Fm%C2%B3%20in%202024." target="_blank">war on pollution</a>'. A major air pollutant, suspended PM2.5 levels fell sharply through strict controls on coal, vehicles, and industry, massive investment in renewables, and legally binding national action plans.
Crucially, China shifted from city-by-city firefighting to a regional airshed approach. Provinces shared data, coordinated emergency responses, enforced unified standards, and tied environmental performance to political accountability. South Asian countries have done none of this.
Isolated national actions are insufficient when pollution itself ignores borders. India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Pakistan share the same airshed. Without cooperation, each country keeps breathing its neighbour’s mistakes.
“As the government representing the largest population affected by air pollution, India should lead this effort. Instead, the region has drifted away from cooperation, and the cost is becoming catastrophic,” Subedee says.
The haze over Kathmandu is not only Nepal’s burden. It is a <a href="https://sapannews.com/2024/12/27/could-climate-diplomacy-be-the-googly-a-gamechanger-for-regional-cooperation/" target="_blank">regional failure</a>. The melting of South Asia’s glaciers is not just a global warming story. It is also a local one, written in the smoke rising from our own fields, factories, and highways.
If we keep ignoring black carbon, the Himalayas will keep losing time, snow, and stability. The disappearing peaks of Kathmandu are not a metaphor. They are a warning.
And like the air itself, that warning is already crossing borders. ©Sapan News
Pragyan Srivastava is an Indian journalist and associate editor at <a href="http://www.sapannews.com/" target="_blank">Sapan News</a>. <a href="mailto:pragyan@sapannews.com" target="_blank">pragyan@sapannews.com</a>

Cleaning up the Himalayan airshed

On full-moon nights in October and the Nepali New Year in April, hundreds gather to worship at the sacred pond of Mai Pokhari in Ilam. According to legend, the pond was born thousands of years ago from the union of the holy Mai and Tamur rivers in eastern Nepal. Another story tells of an elderly couple whose death gave rise to a life-giving pond meant to quench human thirst. The nine corners of the pond are each believed to house a goddess capable of granting health, fertility, good harvests, and protection from landslides and storms. In every version, one message is constant: when people polluted the water, the goddess moved away. Fear of losing her protection still shapes how people treat the sacred water body today. Besides ponds, wetlands are areas that are saturated with water, permanently or seasonally, including marshes, swamps, and bogs – representing some of the world’s most biologically diverse ecosystems, with distinctive soil, plants and animals. In 2008, Mai Pokhari earned the status of a Ramsar site – a wetland of global importance – for its ecological significance.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Mai Pokhari"> <figcaption>Mai Pokhari in Ilam. Photo: JITENDRA RAJ BAJRACHARYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  Its mid-elevation broadleaved forests provide habitat for many epiphytic orchids that grow without soil, attaching themselves to trees, and protected species such as the white-rumped vulture (Gyps bengalensis), leopard cat (Prionailurus bengalensis) and Eurasian Otter (Lutra lutra). For the people of the area, this is more than a wetland. It is a living mother, an ancestral guardian, and at the heart of their cultural identity. But long before it was recognised internationally, it was already being protected through belief, respect, and traditional knowledge passed quietly from one generation to the next. This pattern of faith-based stewardship is repeated across the Himalaya. Spirituality has shaped conservation in ways no law ever could. Fishing, hunting, and polluting wetlands and rivers are strictly forbidden, not by force but by faith. When erosion threatened the pond in the 1930s, villagers planted pine trees along its edges. As forest degradation increased, the community organised itself, establishing community forests in 1992 and 2001. In 2004, the area surrounding the pond was formally recognised as a religious forest –- a recognition based on local devotion rather than outside instruction.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017" data-rendition-name="original" width="919" height="540" loading="lazy" alt="Map of wetlands in Hindu Kush"> <figcaption>Map showing four wetlands in the Hindu Kush Himalaya. Source: RAMESH KATHARIYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  In the lowland forests of western Nepal, lies Ghodaghodi, a wetland complex consisting of large and shallow oxbow lake with 13 associated marshes and meadows surrounded by tropical deciduous forest on the lower slopes of the Siwalik range along the southern edge of the Himalaya. These wetlands and forests serve as a critical wildlife corridor between the lowlands and the Siwalik, supporting several globally threatened species of plants and animals, and rare wild rice. To the people who live around it, especially the Indigenous Tharu, Ghodaghodi is alive – a sacred presence shaped by gods, ancestors, and centuries of belief. The name Ghodaghodi, which means horse and mare, carries ancient memories. Elders tell stories of divine beings who once moved through the landscape in animal form, leaving behind a lake infused with spiritual powers. The waters are believed to be the dwelling place of gods and goddesses, particularly Lord Shiva. This belief has shaped how the wetland is viewed: not as property to be owned, but as a holy space to be respected. Each year during the festival of Agan Panchami, thousands of pilgrims gather at Ghodaghodi, walking barefoot along forest paths with offerings of flowers, fruits, milk, and water. Polluting the water or harming its creatures is believed to invite misfortune. These unwritten cultural rules have conserved the wetland for generations, long before it was declared a wetland of global importance. In the central highlands of Bhutan lies the Gangtey-Phobji in a wide glacial valley. The Ramsar site is the prime wintering habitat for the globally vulnerable, black-necked crane (Grus nigricollis).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="998" loading="lazy" alt="Black necked crane"> <figcaption>Black-necked crane in Phobji. ALEX TREADWAY / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  An annual festival at the Gangtey monastery welcomes the arrival of the cranes in November. Locals revere the birds as sacred messengers, and they are believed to bring blessings and prosperity. It is these beliefs that have helped preserve Bhutan’s flagship Ramsar site. In West Sikkim, the Khachoedpalri wetland was declared a Ramsar site in 2025. This Himalayan high-altitude wetland ecosystem and its surrounding temperate forests provide critical habitat for many species of flora and fauna, and the wetland serves as an important habitat and stopover site for migratory birds. But more importantly, it has religious significance as a pilgrimage site and is revered by both Buddhists and Hindus as a wish-fulfilling lake. It is these values that have supported its conservation from time immemorial. These wetlands are recognised internationally as Ramsar sites for their ecological and other attributes. However, the very cultural practices that preserved these wetlands, along with new external pressures, now threaten them. Many are now increasingly under threat due to growing human intervention – including misplaced practices such as the ritual release of exotic fish by the faithful. Some religious bodies now advise against these practices. Many others are drying out, silting up, or polluted by upstream activity. As these changes intensify, there is concern that not only biodiversity, but also the cultural practices and spiritual values tied to the wetlands may begin to fade. As we mark this year’s World Wetlands Day on 2 February with the theme ‘Wetlands and Traditional Knowledge: Celebrating Cultural Heritage’ it is a reminder that wetlands are not only ecosystems – they are rich cultural spaces. Traditional knowledge and belief systems have quietly conserved these wetlands for centuries, showing that when people revere nature, protection becomes a way of life. It is this profound connection, where culture nurtures ecology that we must safeguard to ensure neither wetlands nor the heritage they hold fade away. Sunita Chaudhary is the Biodiversity Lead at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD).

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Cleaning up the Himalayan airshed

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