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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Why Nepal is stuck

Despite the contemporary narrative that Nepalis are giving up on their country and are migrating in droves, a recent public opinion poll shows that nearly half the Nepalis are still positive about the direction the country has been going since the last election in 2022. Asked if they feel that the situation has worsened, improved, or remained the same in the past two years, 45.4% of the respondents in the nationwide survey said they were satisfied about the way Nepal is headed. Of them, 13.9% of respondents said they were ‘significantly positive’, while 31.5% said they were ‘somewhat positive’ about the situation in Nepal over the past two years. Although 34.6% of those answering the question believed that the socio-political situation in the country was ‘unchanged’ since 2022, Sharecast Initiative in its analysis of the results, said there was ‘a notable sense of optimism about the current state of affairs’. Even so, about 18% felt the situation was either ‘significantly negative’ or ‘somewhat negative’. And most respondents (35%) felt there had been no change in the country’s situation in the past two years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241201111212_f1ec1009533e9c1e6847672142da4688694159bb5ff0e5dc9088007cb6d995a1.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20241201111212_f1ec1009533e9c1e6847672142da4688694159bb5ff0e5dc9088007cb6d995a1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1192" height="1030" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis not so unhappy"> </figure>  “If we count those who say ‘no change’ as not being satisfied and add that to those who had a negative view of the way the country is going, then we have 55% of the people not happy,” says Madhu Acharya of the research organisation Sharecast Initiative Nepal, which conducts annual public opinion polls. Still, 45% of the people being positive means the national mood is not as pervasively cynical and despondent as Nepal’s public sphere believes it is. Even more unexpected, and also contrary to prevailing perceptions, is that disaggregated data of the responses showed that the level of optimism is highest among young Nepalis, especially women. It was also higher, not surprisingly, among those in the higher income brackets. A higher percentage of female respondents (15.6%) thought Nepal’s current situation was ‘signficantly positive’ while only 12% of males felt that way. More men (11.5%) also had a ‘negative’ view of the past two years, compared to only 7% of women feeling the same way. Provincewise, most of those surveyed in Bagmati and Gandaki said there had been no change, while in the Madhes Province respondents held strong views with 26.5% saying they were ‘signficantly positive’ and 15.7% feeling things are ‘signficantly negative’ — both positive and negative responses were higher in Madhes than any other province. Because Nepal’s migration pattern is blurring the lines between city folk and those residing in villages, the level of positivity was at equal levels in both urban and rural areas of the country, with nearly half the respondents in both areas feeling ‘somewhat’ and ‘significantly’ positive about their circumstances. Literacy appears to play a significant role in determining satisfaction with the state of affairs. Generally, those with higher education were happier than those with less education. Illiterate respondents had the most negative view about their status. Even though understanding among media commentators is that Nepali youth are frustrated and cannot wait to leave the country, the survey showed that 54% of those in the 18-24 age group were either ‘somewhat’ or ‘significantly’ positive about the state of things. In general the older people are, the less happy they seem to be about the way things are. The survey results showed that even though those with higher incomes are generally more satisfied, one-tenth of them felt ‘significantly negative’ about the way things are going in Nepal. The scientific poll was conducted face-to-face earlier this year among 4,267 respondents from all seven provinces and three ecological zones. Nearly 70 supervisors and enumerators fanned out across the country to interview Nepalis selected by domicile, gender, walks of life, socio-economic strata, ethnicity in the ratio of their representation in the population. Most Nepalis see progress in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/beijing-30-zak6iu1w">gender equality</a>, but cite problems: 1. Violence against women 2. Lack of say within households 3. Political representation 4. Societal restraints  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241201111224_faf741ca7a1187cb971b468eca573c8c3ee756f585d6a72e0dc1bd99114f4088.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241201111224_faf741ca7a1187cb971b468eca573c8c3ee756f585d6a72e0dc1bd99114f4088" data-rendition-name="original" width="6720" height="4480" loading="lazy" alt="gender equality"> </figure>  As the world marks 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence from 25 November–10 December, a recent public opinion poll in Nepal has shown that both men and women respondents place ‘safety from violence’ as their number one concern. Asked ‘What are the primary issues facing women in Nepal today?’ more than one-third of the respondents felt it was safety and security. Both genders – and especially younger respondents -- identified protection from violence as the main problem facing Nepali women. Geographically, people in Bagmati, Sudurpaschim and Madhes prioritised safety as of women as their main concern.&nbsp; Societal restraints against women was seen as the second-most important problem, especially in regions of the country considered to have more entrenched patriarchal norms like the Karnali. ‘Lack of household decision-making’ was the third main issue respondents said women in Nepal face, and this was especially pronounced in rural areas. It could be a significant pointer to the feminisation of Nepal’s hinterland, with the outmigration mainly of young men from households.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241201111216_79f09832d11b27679a1cbeb8a8f9189d28afdd3b91a52df4c143d876e23d06f8.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241201111216_79f09832d11b27679a1cbeb8a8f9189d28afdd3b91a52df4c143d876e23d06f8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1420" height="858" loading="lazy" alt="gender equality in Nepal"> <figcaption>All graphs: SHARECAST DATA INITIATIVE, THE STORY KITCHEN</figcaption> </figure>  This was among seven questions asked in a recent nationwide survey ‘General Perceptions of Gender Issues in Nepal’ by Sharecast Data Initiative and the Story Kitchen. The poll was conducted by enumerators in face-to-face interviews with 4,267 respondents selected for a balanced representation of Nepal’s population.&nbsp; In answer to questions if Nepal has been making progress on gender equality, most respondents had positive outlook about female representation, constitutional and legal safeguards and cultural norms. Asked about Nepal’s socio-political and cultural changes affecting women, nearly 62% had a positive response while about 15% said they had noticed no change and about 16% said the country was moving in a negative direction. Younger respondents of both genders, urban residents and those with higher education and income levels tended to have a more optimistic view about socio-political and cultural changes that affected women.&nbsp; In response to a question about new constitutional and legal provisions safeguarding women’s rights and gender equality, nearly three-quarter of respondents (both men and women) felt they had benefited women. Only about 10% felt the laws had negatively affected women.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241201111216_b359ef289ca228753e83564c3d5a278c650aa8a13dff93a2d49fffff7305646c.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241201111216_b359ef289ca228753e83564c3d5a278c650aa8a13dff93a2d49fffff7305646c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1212" height="804" loading="lazy" alt="gender equality in Nepal"> </figure>  Again, it was younger men and women, city-dwellers and better educated people who were more optimistic. In its analysis of the results, Sharecast says: ‘However, there are areas of concern, particularly among less educated and lower income groups, indicating a need for targeted interventions to address these disparities.’&nbsp; In response to the question about which areas Nepali women have not yet received equal opportunities with men, a surprising 35% said they could not answer, while 20% felt there was no inequality anymore.&nbsp; But among those who said there was inequality, the highest number (12.8%) said it was within in the household. Almost as many cited unequal representation in politics, while education, high-paying jobs and protection from violence were also of concern to respondents.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241201111220_59198bf078425a63f4a27fe6f6910170fd22ded6da77824de2bdd3c5ebbb337a.png" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241201111220_59198bf078425a63f4a27fe6f6910170fd22ded6da77824de2bdd3c5ebbb337a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1430" height="928" loading="lazy" alt="gender equality in Nepal"> </figure>  More men (16.3%) cited unequal political representation, while only 9.5% of women respondents felt that was an issue and they pointed to not having enough say within the household (13.7%) as their main concern. Asked about the problems faced by Nepal’s men, the highest number of respondents (27%) said men had ‘no problems’, and a significant number (14.4%) said they had no idea. Most of those who chose to answer (15.4%) said it was lack of jobs and wages.&nbsp; To a question about the problems faced by adolescent girls and boys, substance abuse and mental health topped the list (22.7%), while violence against girls (21.3%) and education came next. Nearly 30% said they didn’t know or couldn’t say.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241201111220_a5ea2454f1462a05a50730a51450ffe99b06b53f58bf5e3db3414ca14338cabf.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241201111220_a5ea2454f1462a05a50730a51450ffe99b06b53f58bf5e3db3414ca14338cabf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1710" height="1050" loading="lazy" alt="gender equality in Nepal"> </figure>

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Nepalis not so unhappy

More than 2.5 million Nepalis left the country just in the last three years to study and work abroad. In the past year alone, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/push-factors-driving-nepalis-out">nearly 900,000 students and migrant workers flew out of Kathmandu airport</a>. These figures do not include those who crossed over to India.&nbsp;
There were, of course, returnees in that period, but it is estimated that up to 16% of Nepal’s population at any given time is outside the country. Most of them are 20-35 years old, which means an estimated q<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepals-demographic-window-is-closing">uarter of all Nepalis in that age group are abroad</a>.&nbsp;
It is mandatory for students going overseas to get a certificate from the Ministry of Education, and last year alone 112,593 were issued -- nearly double the pre-Covid figure (graph, below).
Before leaving, Nepali students officially exchanged Rs117 billion last year into hard currency to pay for their education costs. The actual figure through unregulated channels is probably higher.
<div class="embed-block"><iframe title="MORE NO OBJECTIONS" aria-label="Column Chart" id="datawrapper-chart-OBL1y" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/OBL1y/2/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="width: 0; min-width: 100% !important; border: none;" height="600" data-external="1"></iframe><script type="text/javascript">!function(){"use strict";window.addEventListener("message",(function(a){if(void 0!==a.data["datawrapper-height"]){var e=document.querySelectorAll("iframe");for(var t in a.data["datawrapper-height"])for(var r=0;r<e.length;r++)if(e[r].contentWindow===a.source){var i=a.data["datawrapper-height"][t]+"px";e[r].style.height=i}}}))}(); </script>All graphs: RAMESH KUMAR</div>
<div class="embed-block"><iframe title="$ in, $ out" aria-label="Column Chart" id="datawrapper-chart-gUPnY" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/gUPnY/4/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="width: 0; min-width: 100% !important; border: none;" height="600" data-external="1"></iframe><script type="text/javascript">!function(){"use strict";window.addEventListener("message",(function(a){if(void 0!==a.data["datawrapper-height"]){var e=document.querySelectorAll("iframe");for(var t in a.data["datawrapper-height"])for(var r=0;r<e.length;r++)if(e[r].contentWindow===a.source){var i=a.data["datawrapper-height"][t]+"px";e[r].style.height=i}}}))}(); </script></div>
Meanwhile, the 4 million <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-editorial/the-migration-myth">Nepali migrant workers</a> in Malaysia, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, UAE, Kuwait, Korea, Europe and elsewhere sent back through banking channels Rs1.47 trillion in remittances ($11 billion) last year. Actual figures are higher.
“The great irony is that while poorer Nepalis toil in the Gulf and Malaysia to increase our foreign exchange reserves, middle and upper class families are exchanging a part of that money to pay for college fees, travel and medical care abroad,” points out migration researcher Ganesh Gurung.
The numbers going to Australia and Canada dropped last year because of visa restrictions. But that has been more than made up by a 30% uptick in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-hard-working-students-overseas">Nepali students</a> going to the US (11,261) and UK (13,339) compared to last year.
But by far the largest number of students are going to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/why-nepalis-are-flocking-to-okinawa">Japan</a> (34,731) which is also an increase of 30% over the previous year (map, below). Numbers going to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/yo-man-ta-mero-nepali-ho">South Korea</a> doubled in one year to 6,889.&nbsp;
Nepalis go to 66 countries for higher studies, with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/looking-for-the-nepali-dream">Denmark</a>, Finland and France becoming more popular, although the numbers are still much lower than the top six.
Till recently, Nepalis were the third largest number of foreign students in Australia. They were number three also in Canada. Nepalis were among the top ten in the US.
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It is no secret that many young Nepalis leaving on student visas <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/migration-certificate">intend to emigrate permanently</a>.&nbsp;
Countries in the Global North experiencing declining populations know this, but find it a convenient way to allow controlled entry for much-needed workers in the service or tech sectors.
“Many young Nepalis plan to settle in first-world countries eventually, or to return only after 10-20 years,” affirms migration expert Ganesh Gurung.&nbsp;
“Destination countries benefit too, they are getting a new generation of cheap labour without having spent anything on raising or educating them. What’s more, they also earn university fees. It’s a way for them to allow calibrated migration,” he adds.
Nearly half the students coming out of 10+2 schools opt to go <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Between-the-lines/More-Nepali-students-settle-overseas,528">abroad for higher education</a>, leading to a significant drop in college enrolment across Nepal.&nbsp;
Just like migrant workers are a safety valve that lets the government off the hook from providing jobs at home, students going abroad allows the state to dodge its responsibility to improve higher education quality here.&nbsp;
Indeed, some argue that better universities and colleges in Nepal would not lessen the exodus of young Nepalis, because many of them intend to emigrate for good.&nbsp;
“Yes, student visas have become a means to an end, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/hardworking-students">the goal is to work and settle</a>,” says Narottam Aryal of King’s College in Kathmandu. “But more alarming than the figures of students leaving is that we are taking it so casually, calling it normal."&nbsp;
He adds: “Let us not worry about people who will leave anyway, but focus on the students who will stay if Nepal’s higher education is system is redesigned, repurposed and reformed to foster an entrepreneurial mindset so they benefit the country.”&nbsp;
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The method of education in state-run colleges and universities are still stuck in the era of rote learning taught by under-motivated teachers using outdated curricula, regurgitating memorised answers at exam time. The university environment is politicised and there are frequent disruptions with delayed exam results.
One way to change this is twinning with international universities, but for this there has to be a less xenophobic and transparent government machinery that is open to new methods.
“Accreditations, partnerships and exchanges with institutions around the world will open up opportunities for students,” says Aryal. “The government should welcome foreign universities, they will force us to raise the standard of our education.”
Information technology and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/grass-is-greener-overseas-for-nepals-doctors">medicine</a> are among the most lucrative options for Nepali students abroad. Institutions of higher learning in Nepal itself could specialise in inter-disciplinary liberal arts, social studies, agriculture and the environment, public health, hospitality, or heritage studies.&nbsp;
Youth are also leaving because there is no guarantee of jobs even when they get a higher degree here. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/brain-drain-into-brain-gain">The informal sector</a> is still the biggest employer, and job options in private companies and civil service are limited.&nbsp;
Ganesh Gurung says the education sector must adapt to the changing labour market such that Nepal produces skilled human resources in the areas with high demand like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nursing-grievances-against-the-state">nursing</a>.
He adds, “The focus must be on our strengths. The economy can be revived by making the best use of Nepal’s natural beauty to generate jobs in the hospitality industry, and turn it into a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/go-away">destination for international retirees</a>.”&nbsp;

Sonia Awale

Brain gain into brain drain

After graduation Danber Maden was working as an accountant and in his spare time practising his passion for sketching. Wanting to adapt his talent to digital design, he joined a new course at Bhanu Jana Secondary School here. Today, Maden is a mentor for new students at what has become the IT Academy, Taplejung. The 24-year-old is now juggling various online design gigs with companies worldwide, and earning much more than he did as an accountant. “I’m learning 3D design and motion graphics, animation from YouTube,” says Maden, sitting in the spacious Academy on the grounds of the secondary school. Light-coloured walls, extra high ceilings and a wide wooden staircase give the building a bright touch. Nearby is a group working area fronting the wood-panelled Pernille’s Coffee Bar. It is named after Pernille Madsen, founder of Human Practice Foundation (HPF), a Danish NGO that has been supporting schools and their communities in Taplejung since 2017.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240728130728_9c530879e791f54e0ea3de2c78efe7cf68add4935b663f7f7b2dc1e52ce0dd71.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240728130728_9c530879e791f54e0ea3de2c78efe7cf68add4935b663f7f7b2dc1e52ce0dd71" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="IT Academy Taplejung NT 3"> <figcaption>Photo: MARTY LOGAN</figcaption> </figure>  Launched in 2014, HPF also runs programmes in Denmark and Kenya.&nbsp; Donor Waldemar Schmidt says he and his Academy co-founders wanted to give students at HPF-supported schools in the district another option after graduating.&nbsp; “Some years ago I started thinking, ‘what happens to the children when they leave the school? Have we done the job of giving the children a better future’? The simple answer was ‘no, I don’t think we have—we need to do more’,” he says in a Zoom interview from Denmark. The Academy opened in November 2023. To date, 61 students have graduated and 14 are working online, says Bhanu Jana’s head teacher Kishor Kumar Rai. Some are working for companies in Singapore, Denmark and South Korea.&nbsp; “They are earning more money here than doing other work so they are happy to stay in Taplejung,” adds Rai. “The Academy will stop migration and also the brain drain of youth.” A new, six-month session on graphic design and digital marketing started in June. Besides the technical component, students also learn the skills needed to become successful online freelancers, such as writing offers and negotiating contracts.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240728140712_918f5db890b05fe967117391d621bce6eafc41652323ec4eb3f8782a4f300bcc.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240728140712_918f5db890b05fe967117391d621bce6eafc41652323ec4eb3f8782a4f300bcc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1010" height="556" loading="lazy" alt="IT Academy Taplejung NT 2"> </figure>  By 2028, HPF aims to have graduated up to 800 digital workers in courses that include web development and cyber-security in Levels 2 and 3. Graduates of Level 1 will need to pay tuition for advanced courses and prove that they are already earning as freelancers, explains Schmidt. “We don’t want to be known as a place that does a bit of everything. We want to build a brand which is very strong in graphic design and cyber security,” he adds. A former CEO, Schmidt knew HPF founder Madsen from the corporate world. Today he is the driving force behind the IT Academy, as quick to recite the latest facts and figures as he is to share a vision for the next decade. Schmidt estimates that after graduating from Level 1 students will have the potential to earn $500 a month, compared to the $200 locals make working in banks and other offices. After taking Level 2 and 3 courses in graphic design and cyber security, earnings will rise to $1,000-2,000 monthly, he predicts. &nbsp; HPF now subsidises tuition, leaving students to pay 15%, or about Rs 5,000, of the cost of the courses. Schmidt says donors in his personal network have covered the remaining amount (about $500 per student) for the first 100 students this year. For the next session he hopes sponsors will chip in $1,500 per student, enough to also buy each one a laptop. An enthusiastic, well-connected former CEO, the 84-year-old Schmidt has also called on his network to take on graduates in their firms as interns, and convinced WorldLink to provide the Academy with fibre-optic Internet at no cost. Developing students’ skills so that they are competitive globally will also happen gradually, says Schmidt, in part because of English-language skills. In the beginning, the Academy will focus on work experience in Asia. Already it has arranged virtual internships in companies in Singapore, Vietnam and Indonesia. The Academy’s 10-point manifesto is also training women students who can continue working as freelancers while raising families. Women make up 60% of students, and head of the Academy Basanta Palungwa says female students design more creatively, in part because they are more patient.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024072814074_ab971ae77232481761249c23b7e88584ac303fa39fb448ddbaf9b9fde0676f86.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2024072814074_ab971ae77232481761249c23b7e88584ac303fa39fb448ddbaf9b9fde0676f86" data-rendition-name="original" width="2290" height="1407" loading="lazy" alt="IT Academy Taplejung NT 1"> </figure>  The Academy also aims to digitise and engage the community in this remote corner of north-eastern Nepal. Plans include a course for the general public on using smartphones and tablets, and WorldLink will soon install wifi hotspots. Also in the planning stage is vocational training for those who are not inclined to IT. HPF-supported secondary schools in Taplejung are graduating about 1,000 students a year, but the IT Academy will be able to accommodate less than half of them. Says Schmidt: “They may be frustrated because they’ve been to a good school and they see no future after graduating, so we need to make sure that there’s a link to the labour market.” After graduating, Danber Maden’s freelance work now includes four hours daily for Bookmundi, a Denmark based travel agency. After interning there for one year he was recently promoted to Junior Graphic Designer.&nbsp; For the past year he has also been designing social media posts for GenX Pharmacy, an online business based in Kathmandu. And he has local clients, including candidates who ran in the last elections. The local boy seems to have found his niche online. Asked what he sees himself doing in 10 years, Maden responds confidently: “Senior designer or art director.”

Going global to retain local talent

As the well-known adage goes: you can choose your friends but not your neighbours. There is no alternative to learning to live together. Relations between neighbours in a housing estate or nation states is (or should be) dependent on long term bilateral interest, not instantaneous calculations. Nowhere is relations between nations become more of an everyday issue than in the borderlands. And how multidimensional relations between countries are managed and nurtured should be the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">message in school textbooks</a>. Afterall, the foundations of knowledge and values are laid in school and in the books used to teach them. In most countries the content of textbooks is determined by the state, in fact it is an official document reflecting a country’s position on various facets of citizenship. Textbooks determine a person’s views on a cross border state.&nbsp; I have recently been leafing through the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/delay-dilute-deny"> Social Studies textbooks</a> for Grades 9 (pictured, below) and 10 published by the Ministry of Education, Science and Technology’s Curriculum Development Board at Sano Thimi. Imagine my astonishment when in the Grade 9 chapter on ‘Nation and Nationalism’ was this sentence in the section titled Border Security (translated from Nepali): ‘An open border opens up the possibility of increased human trafficking and drug smuggling. In fact, an open border can poison relations between people and even lead to war.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240717080732_a0492a1be8aaa76b0a90985f0c8ebf85874f53fd9e328d09aef9b614aa29cb84.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240717080732_a0492a1be8aaa76b0a90985f0c8ebf85874f53fd9e328d09aef9b614aa29cb84" data-rendition-name="original" width="1074" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali textbook social studies NT"> <figcaption>Social Studies textbook for grade 9.</figcaption> </figure>  Similarly, a section titled ‘Nepal’s Friends and Agencies’ talks about Nepal being a landlocked country situated between India and China, &nbsp;without indicating that these two neighbours of Nepal are global economic heavyweights. Whatever the text book may say about the dangers of an open border, all <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/borderlines/barbwire-borders">national frontiers should be as open as the one between India and Nepal</a>. Nepal has had a similar open border with Tibet for centuries.&nbsp; Officially, a country’s relation with its neighbour is marked by when diplomatic relations were established. But there is no such date with which we can pinpoint how long Nepal’s relations with India and Tibet (now an autonomous region of China) has existed. Nepal’s school textbooks fail to impart on students the importance of the country’s relations with these two vast and powerful neighbours. Instead of establishing a narrative that an open border is the ultimate symbol of strong and close ties between countries, Nepali textbooks give it an unhelpful negative connotation. By contract, Nepal’s trans-Himalayan border with China is limited and controlled. Citizens of both countries need passports and visas to enter the other. From time to time, some Tibetans do enter Nepal bypassing official checkpoints.&nbsp; The Nepal-India border on the other hand is open because of mutual agreement, friendship, good neighbourliness, religious and cultural diversity, social cohesion, family relations, and common geographical features on both sides.&nbsp; These economic, cultural, political and historical aspects of the open border should have been incorporated into Nepal’s text books. On the other hand, the books should also have explained the reason why the Nepal-China border has not been open since the annexation of Tibet 65 years ago. The content of the Social Studies text book reflects state neglect. A border is not the result of the wishes of a country on one side, it is the common meeting point of nations. Because the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/lessons-not-learnt-homework-not-done">examination system </a>requires students to memorise and regurgitate content of textbooks, a teacher cannot deviate from what it says even if it is incorrect. A secondary school teacher regards the textbook as the curriculum. A text book’s content therefore does not just impact the point of view of students, but also teachers. More than disinformation on social media, it is the half-truths and false notions in text books that are more dangerous. In fact, textbooks read like the declaration of the political party in power. This is a result of the curriculum drafters not being inclusive and representative of Nepal’s diversity.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-exceptional-buhari">The Exceptional Buhari</a>, Sudeshna Thapa This can bring about a tectonic shift in the thought process of young Nepalis, evoke a sense of animosity towards neighbours and ‘others’. In a country where political polarisation, ideological divide is already wide, such assertiveness by the dominant community can be sensitive.&nbsp; Textbooks cannot be propaganda, they cannot be a vehicle to establish a political narrative. They should heal and unite. Students need to learn and understand <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-love-triangle-with-china-and-india-impacts-investment">Nepal’s fragile geopolitical circumstance</a>, and not be exhorted to rock the boat. There is a common socio-cultural milieu that is transboundary because of our shared history and politics. Nepal’s youth need to have a moderate and balanced view of the history, geography and cultural links of the borderlands so they can contribute to cooperation and coexistence.&nbsp; Chandra Kishore is a Birganj-based media commentator and writes this monthly column Borderlines for Nepali Times. @kishore_chandra

Chandra Kishore

Textbook case of bad textbooks

Humla is in the remote northwestern corner of Nepal. And in a remote corner within Humla district is Limi Valley. Culturally, linguistically and even geologically, this is the Tibetan Plateau, and Limi’s 2,000 inhabitants are facing the threat of cultural erosion and outmigration of its young people. Now, however, local schools are trying to change that by ensuring quality education not only so that local children do not have to go to faraway boarding schools, but also to attract students from other parts of Humla. The Aatmiya Shree Sunkhani Basic School in the village of Halji has Tibetan language classes and tries to instil pride in students about their local culture. It has also invested in better dormitories and other facilities so the school does not have to close in the winter months because of the extreme cold there at 3,700m elevation. Following the construction, the school hopes to revamp the quality of instruction, and change the focus of curriculum to address the challenges of heritage loss and outmigration. Limi Valley is the location of the 1,100-year-old Rinchenling Monastery and represents the cultural soul of Upper Humla. It has enormous potential for pilgrim tourism because of the proximity to the sacred Lake Mansarovar and Mt Kailash across the border in China. Limi has three villages: Til, Halji, and Zhang, and they each had a school till five years ago but they closed down because of lack of students. The valley is only accessible by crossing the 5,000m Nyalu Pass, and its extreme remoteness translates into isolation, lack of jobs and opportunities. Most young people have migrated to Kathmandu, or to Purang across the border in China. What is left in Limi are the elderly, and children separated from parents. “Only grandmothers are left in the community,” says Anjila Thapa of Aatmiya. Humla’s children are growing up in Kathmandu or abroad and losing touch with their culture. Aatmiya is a Nepal-based sister organisation of CITTA, a non-profit seeking to bring healthcare, education, and economic development to the most remote and underserved communities in Nepal and India. It was founded by American artist Michael Daube, whose love for anthropology and Buddhism led him to work in the region. CITTA runs a Women’s Economic Development Centre, hospitals, and schools in Jaisalmer and Odisha in India, and also manages a hospital in Sindhuli. Aatmiya (which means ‘intimate’ in Nepali) was started in 2011 as a public-private partnership under which there are government teachers as well as those supported by the project. Earlier, schooling was not much more than “kids teaching kids”, says Daube, and government teachers were unwilling to travel to such remote parts of Humla and were mostly absent.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240616020616_4b1ba2f6d9f351d4d4e1b50607e1df85a2221444b0bae2b0eb5d1fcd7e865d75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240616020616_4b1ba2f6d9f351d4d4e1b50607e1df85a2221444b0bae2b0eb5d1fcd7e865d75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Limi Humla school"></figure>  Their unfamiliarity with the local language and culture also meant that schools were actually the reason for cultural erosion. Now, with its Community Centre housing for teachers and a free hostel for students, parents can feel more confident in their children’s education and accommodation year-round while keeping them in Limi. “Earlier, people in surrounding areas used to say Limi was poor and backward,” says Ward Chair Paljor Tamang. “Now, people say that if the school provides teachers and opportunities, children will come from other parts of Humla to study up here.”  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240616020616_23d9bf409f31a8d3ed559aa3ff2b11d0b8f7b315904242d1c9f20880503e3cb0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240616020616_23d9bf409f31a8d3ed559aa3ff2b11d0b8f7b315904242d1c9f20880503e3cb0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1066" loading="lazy" alt="Limi Humla school"></figure>  The school, centrally located in Dalji, is set to be inaugurated in September, with the construction of the site's main building nearly complete (pictured above). Even so, the push factors driving young people away may be too strong to halt outmigration. “Construction and hardware won’t bring students back,” admits Anjila Thapa, who wants to start additional teacher training before classes begin. The school is adding Tibetan language teachers, and Aatmiya also plans to introduce fellowships focusing on extracurricular activities and a holistic education. CITTA Country Director Sanjeev KC says the school’s success will not just be measured in maintaining student numbers, but increasing them by attracting those from the community currently studying in faraway Kathmandu. “Within the next five years, we hope to have 70 or 80 students,” says KC. “We identified the gaps in education and worked with the community to understand their needs. That is why we pooled our resources for a centrally located school.” There is now a need for a high school till SEE level, and the goal is to make its present Grade 7 the first graduating class. Daube wants Aatmiya to be more than just a school, but an effort to preserve the culture and local economy. The organisation recently began working with local women to produce and internationally market shuktu, traditional woollen blankets. When the Limi Valley School opens in September, it aims to prove that modern education and cultural preservation can go hand-in-hand. “Of those who have left Limi, many still own land and farms here”, says Tamang. “With adequate facilities and opportunities, we may see them return”.

Saving Humla from heritage loss

Aliya Bashar finished up her Grade 6 class exams and swiftly walked over to a room next door at her Kanya Mandir Secondary School in Kathmandu. Other students join in and together they offer namaz. This is an important time of year for Bashar, not only because of her annual exams but also because of the holy month of Ramadan. "It is a relief not to have to rush home for prayers at 1 pm," Bashar tells us later. "The school provides a space for namaz, making it easier for us to focus on exams." With a week left for the end of Ramadan, Muslims eat before dawn and fast throughout the day with afternoon prayers at 1pm. They break fast with a collective iftar feast after sunset. Recognising the challenges of its Muslim minority students, Kanya Mandir School provides a dedicated space for them to offer prayers immediately after the exams.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_48e2571556490b496061569a30d8935a7d358b2647feb0935d09cfbe2fb53cc4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240402120448_48e2571556490b496061569a30d8935a7d358b2647feb0935d09cfbe2fb53cc4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  "Having a prayer room makes everything easier,” says Salma Khatun, a Grade 8 student. "And the school also allows us to dress in clothes we are comfortable in.” The school’s inclusive environment has helped students like Bashar and Khatun thrive. They participate in sports wearing the hijab, something not possible at many other schools. Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-column/moving-to-the-mainstream">Moving to the mainstream</a>, Chandra Kishore Jasmin Shaikh in Grade 7 says she faces no hate and discrimination at school. “Students of all religions are treated equally here,” she says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_7d674a06c7ebaf6e5a35f8d19595b55a9f5710bee41fb2243abd9a54a24422d8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240402120448_7d674a06c7ebaf6e5a35f8d19595b55a9f5710bee41fb2243abd9a54a24422d8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  Muskan Khatun says being allowed to wear the hijab in class makes her feel safe and supported. Khatun who is originally from India says she feels a sense of belonging at the school. “There are no restrictions here, even the school feels like home,” she says, smiling. The Kanya Mandir School’s commitment to inclusiveness extends beyond Ramadan, and extends to the cultural practices of students from all faiths, including Hindu, Buddhist and Christian.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_e2f7573555a66f363ec2927588488ac85b97bbf0d36fa5f95140eeb833c6ac73.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240402120448_e2f7573555a66f363ec2927588488ac85b97bbf0d36fa5f95140eeb833c6ac73" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  "The hijab does not hinder the students in any way," says Assistant Principal Bhagwan Babu Adhikari. “In fact, our top performers are girls from the Muslim community." The welcoming environment has boosted the school’s appeal, and some 245 of the 1,170 students at the school are from Nepal’s Muslim minority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_47c4d1d60e34acf8be892a28a643edb4eebb0f8b6d3c2887396072705dc2adcf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20240402120448_47c4d1d60e34acf8be892a28a643edb4eebb0f8b6d3c2887396072705dc2adcf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  "School is where children develop compassion, tolerance, good behaviour," says Principal Ghanashyam Neupane. "We are simply trying to create an environment that fosters these values."&nbsp; This approach promotes respect for different religions, cultures, and traditions, inculcating a sense of camaraderie among students when young, he adds.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_b14ec82030a573a5bf31ed7d4d2bdb8e46568c9fcd3020686261057632b1c014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240402120448_b14ec82030a573a5bf31ed7d4d2bdb8e46568c9fcd3020686261057632b1c014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  Nepal’s Tarai plains bordering India where there are more Muslims have more traditional madrasa schools which focus mainly on religious studies. Students say they prefer mainstream schools so it helps them get into good colleges.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/nepali-muslims-on-the-margins">Nepali Muslims on the margins</a>, Prakriti Kandel Not all madrasa have Nepal’s educational accreditation, and this limits career options for students. Many Muslim girls prefer public and private schools, but not all have a welcoming environment like Kanya Mandir.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_0cca122211c649b5c57cdad51fbbd2bc41d63abf55dbbd7f2007b21a93873d68.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240402120448_0cca122211c649b5c57cdad51fbbd2bc41d63abf55dbbd7f2007b21a93873d68" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  "We must uphold the constitutional rights of every child and ensure schools become inclusive spaces," says Seema Khan of the Muslim Mahila Kalyan Samaj. “They should follow Kanya Mandir’s example and adopt an inclusive education policy that reflects Nepal's rich social tapestry."

Inclusiveness not just theory in this school

Thick-framed glasses, a wide nose, and a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache. A front curl peeked out of his cap if he missed his haircut. He wore a full-sleeved shirt and cotton trousers.
His appearance was unremarkable, lacking the fashion sense of the stylish Dharan people of the day. He seemed like a tired, middle-aged man by the end of class, covered in chalk dust. He was easily overlooked until he spoke English because his English was impossible to ignore.
This man was dealing with a significant issue. He wanted to teach English in English, while we students preferred learning English in Nepali. His pronunciation was different from other English teachers, causing students to struggle to understand him. They started calling him Thoo Sir because they heard ‘to’ (/tu:/) as ‘thoo’ (ठू), but no one knows who first started this nickname or when it began. No one knew where he acquired his accent from, either.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/class-differences">Class differences</a>, Rabin Giri
Every morning, the bus would drop him off at Ghopali Tol from Dharan around 9AM, and he would walk 12 minutes to school from there. Students would have to interact with him in English or listen to a kind of English they could not understand.
I had heard his infamous nickname long before I attended Thulo School, the only secondary school in the village, after passing out from the primary Sano School.
He never inflicted any physical punishment on us, however his frustration was harder to handle. He would say things that friends could use to mock and tease fellow classmates.
Students would dread his presence in the classroom because unlike other teachers who would read slowly and explain in Nepali, he insisted on speaking English correctly and would not let us off the hook until we did so as well.
I only had him as a teacher in my Grade 10 class, and I remember being late on the very first day. "Mai commin, Sir?" I asked from the door.
"Ask properly," he replied, without even looking at me.
I asked again, but he continued cleaning the blackboard without paying any attention to me.
"Sir, Mai commin?" I changed the word order.
"Repeat after me," he instructed. That day, I learnt for the first time that 'Mai commin' was actually 'May I come in?'
"You don't even know basic English? Silly girl!" he said, and of course, my friends teased me for a long time about that.
His dissatisfaction with a student’s pronunciation silenced the class. While I was usually vocal and asked questions in other subjects, I could not utter a word in his class for fear of being ridiculed again.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/lowest-common-denominator">Lowest common denominator</a>, Editorial
I would formulate questions in my mind but struggle to voice them. Sometimes, I would start in English and end up speaking in Nepali, which would upset him even more.
He would not engage in conversations in Nepali, preferring to explain things in English. His excessive use of English gave us all chronic headache.
One day, in the middle of class, I asked in Nepali, "Thoo Sir, my pad is leaking. I will go home, change, and come back in five minutes."
"What did you just say?" he asked in English, lowering his reading glasses, revealing a pair of tired eyes, and a bruise on the bridge of his nose caused by the weight of the frame.
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/that-time-of-the-month">Sanitary napkins</a> were not yet available, so we sisters would have to run to my nearby home to use one of our mother's old cotton saris as pads. But these were not absorbent enough for heavy bleeding. There was no door or roof in the school toilet, making it impossible to change at school.
I never felt embarrassed about asking to be excused, and neither the teachers nor students used to make a big deal out of it. Since he had responded to my Nepali, I assumed his 'WHAT?' was in response to my request to go home to change my pad.
I repeated my request, this time to assure him that I would return in exactly five minutes. But his "What did you just call me?" was actually about my publicly addressing him as “Thoo Sir”.&nbsp;
My bench-mate Bishal tried to warn me to keep quiet. But I continued, "Thoo sir. Everyone calls you Thoo sir behind your back. Don't you know?"
"I know but no one said it to my face before."
Quickly correcting myself, I said, "BB Sir, please allow me to go home. I won't address you as Thoo Sir anymore."
"Thoo Sir again," he chuckled, lightly tapping my head with the book in his hand. "Go on, run!"
All these years later, I realised that it took a lot of effort for him to respond the way he did. Unlike other teachers who only focused on the top students, he would treat all students equally, change the seating arrangement, shifting students from the front to the back.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and yugeshwor Koirala
After leaving school and moving to Kathmandu, I began learning English and found the language fascinating. It took years to overcome my hesitation, but I eventually understood why Thoo Sir insisted on teaching English in English. I wished he had been more creative in making us appreciate the language and understand its importance.
We used to believe that Thoo Sir had the best English in the world and was forcing fluency on us when all we needed was 32 marks to pass. There was not much interest in learning English in those days.
Thoo Sir was ahead of his time in grasping the importance of a global language. He knew there was a world beyond our village of Madhesha and the SLC exams. He was not interested in our exam marks, he only wished us to understand English in English. And today, I am glad we had Thoo Sir as our English teacher.
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Her previous column was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/the-thappad">Thappad.</a>
&nbsp;

"Mai commin, Sir?"

This piece is not about Tapasi Pannu’s Bollywood movie, Thappad. But the echo of that slap from childhood still echoes in my ear.&nbsp;
It was the first and only time my father ever laid a hand on me. It could happen again, since Nepali parents have a tendency to believe that no matter how old you are, you are always a child. They can hit you even in your 30s.&nbsp;
My father, a retired high school principal, seldom raised his voice at us while we were growing up. His silence and stern gaze were nevertheless frightening to us youngsters, and struck fear in our hearts.&nbsp;
As children, we never dared speak to him directly. Our mother acted as an intermediary, even in trivial matters like buying a ball-point pen for Rs4.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepali-students-underperform">Why do so many Nepali students underperform?</a>, Anita Shrestha
This was the 1990s, and we all excelled in studies. We were disciplined children who never uttered a curse word. We respect our elders. We were the epitome of well-behaved children.
So imagine our shock when I was subjected to physical punishment from my father for the first time. And it all had to do with my use, or misuse, of the English language.
We started learning English in Grade 4. I had topped not only my &nbsp;class, but the entire school. I could recite what was on any page in my text book. I had a photographic memory.&nbsp;
I excelled not only in academics, but also in General Knowledge. I could rattle off all the countries of South Asia and their capitals and heads of state.&nbsp;
My sister and I were the only two students in our class who had mastered the multiplication table up to 20. One day, our primary school principal announced that only students who knew the table up to 20 could go home, while the rest had to stay back and keep learning until they did. My sister and I found ourselves waiting until evening for our classmates to catch up.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality">After quantity, Nepal's education need quality</a>, Prakriti Kandel
I was 9, and also starting to learn to spell simple English words. I took immense pride in my progress because my grandfather did as well. However, it wasn't enough for my father.
That day, I was doing my English homework, while my father and his colleagues were engrossed in a political conversation. One of his colleagues suddenly asked, "Which grade are you in?"
"Fourth," I replied proudly.
He continued, "What is your roll number?" (Ah, the roll number, a prestigious measure of talent in those times.)
"One," I answered confidently.
He then asked me to recite the multiplication tables for 7, 9, 13, 17, and 19. Which I did, and I noticed my father’s eyes gleaming with pride.
My father’s other friend was also interested and asked me what I was writing.&nbsp;
When I responded “English”, he asked me to write out the lowercase alphabet — widely regarded as the more challenging aspect of English writing. I guess he was trying to confirm if I truly deserved the Roll Number 1 position.&nbsp;
To everyone's surprise, I swiftly wrote out the lower case alphabets from a-z. Satisfied, he was about to return to the political conversation when my father abruptly asked me, "Can you spell 'dog' for Uncle?"
“I can,” I said. “D-O-G,”
"And how about 'god'?" my father pressed on. I spelled god, and everyone was impressed.
Then my father asked me to spell ‘bag’. In those days, children attending <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/ministry-of-education-gets-an-f">government schools</a> in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-marginalised-on-the-margins">rural Madhes</a> had to carry our books cradled in our left hands. Sometimes, they held the books tightly against their chest with both hands, like parents carrying a child.&nbsp;
School bags were fancy and rare. Only private school students had bags. You could be sure a student carrying a school bag, wearing shoes and a tie would be attending a private school.&nbsp;
I had never carried a school bag, and did not know how to spell it. I looked up at the ceiling and squirmed, and my father’s eyes widened. The lines on his forehead showed disappointment.&nbsp;
It must have been less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. The more time I took, the more they saw me as unworthy of having Roll Number 1. To escape my predicament, I blurted out: “B-O-G."&nbsp;
That was it. My father rose from his stool and slapped me on my face. No one stopped him. His colleagues tried to console me by urging me to study harder.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and Yugeshwor Koirala
I was in shock. I had never imagined that my father would ever hit me. The slap did not just hurt me physically, but left a deep emotional scar. I fell ill with a fever that evening, and everyone knew the reason.
No one said a word to my father. My grandfather consoled me, but said that I needed to study even more diligently. As if I had not been studying diligently before.&nbsp;
I have hated the English language ever since. I never dedicated myself to learning English properly in class. And I hated English even more after we had Thoo (ठू) Sir. But that is a story for some other time.

Anbika Giri

The Thappad

Flipping through the pages of the government textbook for Grade 7 Nepali, one comes across this baffling paragraph which would be funny if it were not so serious:&nbsp; An elderly couple live in a village. They bear a son in their old age whom they name Balram. When Balram grows up to be a young man, the couple decide to get him married. The wedding is a grand affair. Balram’s wife is exceptionally beautiful and his parents are ecstatic about having found such a beautiful buhari. However, the sasura, curious about her intellect and disposition, decides to test her. So he calls her in and asks her, ‘Buhari, can you tell me how much you think we spent on your wedding?’ Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memoring gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and Yugeshwor Koirala Red flags go up all over that paragraph that serves as the story's exposition. But wait, things get even more interesting:&nbsp; &nbsp;The buhari replies, ‘I think you must have spent only about 2-3 manas of rice grains’. Offended by these words, the sasura retorts as he fumes with anger, ‘Your wedding cost me a fortune, and you’re saying 2-3 manas of rice grains is all that was spent? You make it seem like I incurred no expenses’. In what sounds like a line lifted right off of a hammy Indian daily soap, the sasura then goes on to say, ‘I don’t even want to look at your face anymore. Go back to your parents’ house right away! There is no place in my home for a buhari like you’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230925090916_76578a0ecf3c35d2bdeff79022ed048c5bcfeed57a9cfd4b618c5d33c62f2783.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230925090916_76578a0ecf3c35d2bdeff79022ed048c5bcfeed57a9cfd4b618c5d33c62f2783" data-rendition-name="original" width="1311" height="463" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali textbooks"> <figcaption>The story in the government textbook for Grade 7 Nepali.</figcaption> </figure>  Although aghast at her father-in-law’s response, the buhari does not utter a word. The dad-in-law, on the other hand, is determined to send her off to her parents’ house. The two then embark on a journey to the buhari’s parental home. As the plot thickens, it is revealed that the buhari has a special ability, thanks to which she can communicate with animals. Along the way, the sasura-buhari hear a wolf howling. The sasura does not think much of it, but the buhari knows exactly what the wolf is ‘saying’. The wolf's words translated are too bizarre to ideate. It says, ‘There is a corpse buried right here. If someone were to dig it up, I could feed on it. There’s a diamond ring on one of its fingers. I’d give the ring to whoever digs up the corpse for me’. Upon hearing this, the buhari thinks to herself, ‘If only I could lay my hands on that ring. My sasura will never believe me if I tell him about this. Oh, what a fix I am in!’ Soon, the sasura-buhari decide to make a pit stop under the shade of a banyan tree, and the sasura dozes off as he rests. The buhari then sneaks off to the spot where the wolf had been howling and starts to dig. Unsurprisingly, she unearths the corpse, presents it to the wolf, and takes the diamond ring on the body's finger. Not only are readers confounded by the sheer absurdity of the plot of this 'story', but it must be hard for young Grade 7 readers (or even their teachers) to shake off the macabre mental image it projects in the mind. Aside from a blatant disregard for the concept of dignified treatment of the dead, this story actually presents grave robbing as a perfectly acceptable thing to do.&nbsp; This is not all. The buhari then goes on to dig up some more valuables after a crow tips her off. The sasura is delighted to have come upon so much wealth because of the buhari. Subsequently, she also hands the diamond ring to the sasura and tells him all about how she found it. As you may have guessed, the sasura is now in awe of the buhari and regrets ever having doubted her. Having had a change of heart, he decides not to take the buhari back to her parental home. &nbsp; The story drags on as the sasura continues to ask the buhari random questions to test her wit till he is convinced of her ‘intelligence’ and ends with the sasura ‘entrusting’ the buhari with all his household responsibilities as he is finally impressed with her. What is a student to learn from the protagonist’s attitude towards his daughter-in-law? Will the story leave a child assuming it appropriate for a man to ask his daughter-in-law how much he must have spent on her wedding? Will a child be able to question why such an enquiry on the part of the father-in-law is even relevant? Will a seventh grader who reads the story consider it a man’s prerogative to ‘send his daughter-in-law off’ to her parents the minute he feels offended? What is a girl child to make of the portrayal of the buhari in the story? Are they to think that there is nothing wrong with assuming that a man is entitled to ‘test’ whether his daughter-in-law is good enough for the household?  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230925090920_7a8bef87e71b1ce652247b916eaa4d0e1addfb882b53dcbfad2bf39c5693805c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230925090920_7a8bef87e71b1ce652247b916eaa4d0e1addfb882b53dcbfad2bf39c5693805c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="500" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali textbooks"> <figcaption>Government textbook for Grade 7 Nepali.</figcaption> </figure>  Is it only after she proves her ‘worth’ that a woman is acceptable to her marital family, even if that means digging up graves to bring in wealth? Oh, by the way, where was the woman’s husband while all of this transpired? Even if the author who wrote this story thought it would be an appropriate example to teach children they should not be too quick to judge a person, didn’t a single person who reviewed this story to decide whether it should be part of the school curriculum find the details in the story in the slightest bit objectionable?&nbsp; It is worth noting here that the line-up of authors and reviewers featured in the preface of the textbook in question is predominantly male and all from the dominant ethnic group. Perhaps objections were raised to the content of the book, but they were overruled? Either way, this and many other examples warrant a closer assessment of the government’s school curriculum development system, particularly the process of reviewing and screening content to ensure it is conducive to children’s overall social and emotional development in addition to helping enhance creative and analytical skills. It is crucial for those who design Nepal's school curricula to be mindful that the content of textbooks can solidify gender and social stereotypes in young minds and shape how people perceive and interact in society. If we are to envisage a future free of gender bias and social inequality for Nepal, school textbooks may be a good place to start. &nbsp;&nbsp; Sudeshna Thapa is a human rights lawyer and researcher. thapa.sudeshna@gmail.com

The Exceptional Buhari

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

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