<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac6c9c7e80680e077f2fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="780"/><figcaption>Himani Tharu is so frustrated with her job as the only female mahout in a Bardia National Park elephant camp that she mustered the courage to speak to a journalist. Photo: MUKESH POKHREL</figcaption></figure>Himani Tharu may be the first female elephant mahout serving in Nepal's national parks, but her story is hardly inspirational.Instead, it exposes a system that is unable to welcome gender inclusivity. She faces double discrimination: first because she is a woman and second for belonging to an indigenous community.Harassed by her lower-level co-workers, and ignored by senior staff, Himani says she hopes no one will follow in her footsteps and become a female mahout.“I wouldn’t wish this much suffering upon anyone,” she says.Born on the outskirts of the Bardia National Park, Himani Tharu, 27, grew up close to elephant sanctuaries, and was familiar with both elephants and the people who cared for them.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/3-4th-of-the-sky/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">3/4th of the sky</a>, EditorialDespite that, Himani did not really want to become a mahout. She had plans to graduate from school and get a regular office job. But ten years ago, the Public Service Commission put out a notice for the position of a female mahout, and her family encouraged her to apply because it supposed to be a stable government job.Himani struggled to keep up with the demands of her new profession: she had to learn to take care of elephants, collect grass, take the elephants out to graze, constantly feed them, and clean up after them. She was also required to ride the elephants on the Nepal Army’s jungle patrols.She loved the elephants, especially a baby one, and made friends with them. It was her human co-workers who were unhelpful, disrespectful and ordered her around.“Sometimes they would leave me alone in the middle of the jungle and I would get lost. Other times they would lead my elephant into the river and leave it there,” she says.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-better-halves/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s better halves</a>, Anil ChitrakarAs the only female among 30 mahouts at the national park, she is often targetted for bullying and harassment, but there is no one she could talk to because of the park's hierarchy.“Had there been about three or four of us women, they would not have dared misbehave but I am the only woman,” says Himani, recalling how her colleagues would deliberately make loud obscene conversations when she was around. When she told them to stop, they scolded her instead.Himani faced constant attacks on her character and integrity. Every time she even spoke to a fellow-mahout or asked for help from a male co-worker, she would subject to vicious teasing.“One of the senior male mahouts used to help me, but after other men in the camp started associating us he was intimidated and stopped coming near me,” says Himani.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/betterforbalance/">#BalanceforBetter</a>, Namrata SharmaAll complaints to senior officers at the camp were ignored, and Himani felt there was no point reporting her colleagues anymore when they engaged in lewd conversation when she was around.The whole system is gender-blind. The elephant camp does not have separate quarters for women, and she has to sleep in a dorm with 15 other men. It is worse when she had to go on overnight jungle patrols in Bardia National Park.Fed up with the treatment and frustrated with her job, Himani mustered the courage to speak frankly to a journalist. She said she had packed up to quit her job many times, but was always persuaded by her relatives and friends to stick it out.She says: “I am determined to find another job, and finally resign during this lockdown. I have put up with everything for so long, I don’t know how long I can take this.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/epidemic-of-online-sexism/">Epidemic of online sexism</a>, Shusma Barali<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Online-violence-against-women,2915" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Online violence against women</a>, Sahina Shrestha

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Don’t follow my footsteps, says female mahout

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70779c7e80680e06007cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2422" height="1752"/><figcaption>Misty jeep drives in Chitwan National Park. Photo: Rufus Van Gruisen</figcaption></figure>It was our mother’s idea to do a family visit to Nepal to mark her 80th birthday. Although over the years everyone had been to visit in various combinations, the idea was for us Van Gruisens with spouses to all be together with our children, who in 2004 ranged from 17 to seven years old, resident as far apart as the US, UK, Australia, India and Nepal. A carbon footprint that created memories and forged cousinly bonds.The cold months suited school holidays and us five siblings getting time off our various work commitments. In all, 21 of us were gathered in Kathmandu before heading off to Chitwan then a trek in the Annapurna foothills followed by New Year at Tiger Mountain Pokhara Lodge. As well as Christmas and New Year, there were birthdays to celebrate, and palaces, temples, jungles and mountain villages to explore.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/dads-deception/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Dad's deception</a>, Lisa Choegyal<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b707b9c7e80680e06007djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2552" height="1672"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“We don’t do sightseeing, Mum,” my teenage boys warned, supported by the doting younger cousins. Nepal is one of the world’s best family destinations offering a range of real adventure experiences that appeals to all ages, something for everyone.The Tarai in winter can be one of the coldest places in Nepal. Thick tendrils of grey fog insinuate their way into your bones, through the thatch roofs and bamboo walls, stubbornly refusing to be burned off by the weak winter sun. After warming ourselves by the fireside, my boys led their tribe of clamouring cousins, willing uncles and eager aunts on chilly wildlife safaris, elephant camp visits, misty jeep drives, boat rides and forest walks.Rinchen’s 16th birthday party featured the statuary elephant dung cake as well as late night singing, Tharu dancing and animal impersonations on the mud floor of the tented camp Golghar. We fell asleep under heavy quilts to the sound of nightjars and a distant deer barking an alarm call.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-naturalist-elite/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's naturalist elite</a>, Lisa Choegyal<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-genesis-of-elephant-polo-in-chitwan/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The genesis of elephant polo in Chitwan</a>, Lisa ChoegyalAlways the keenest and most intrepid walker, our mother elected to miss the trek this time. On previous visits she had done most of Nepal’s main trekking routes, especially enraptured by the Everest region, and  in England she lived within reach of the Ridgeway with its ancient white horse carved into the chalk hills. My childhood had been punctuated with hearty Sunday afternoon walks through the ploughed fields and winter woodlands of Northumberland or, even worse, being dragged up Lake District peaks on day hikes to admire yet another view. It was only after I arrived in the Himalaya that I learned to love the rhythm and cadence of days spent travelling at the speed of my own two feet.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b707f9c7e80680e06007ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Our mother left us late last year. Actually, she would have preferred to have gone a couple of days earlier. “Why does dying take so long! I wish my brain would switch off,” she sighed impatiently. “You are so strong, and your time has not yet come.” Sarita, the Nepali nurse stroked her grey straying hair, something we were not permitted to do. Along with talking or laughing too loudly. “Well, I don’t want to be strong,” she said crossly.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70829c7e80680e06007fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Six weeks earlier I had been with her in the bleak flat landscape of Oxfordshire. “It was 80 years ago today that the Second World War started – 3 September 1939. So consumed with Brexit, no one seems to have noticed.” My mother was 94 and had taken to her bed. “I remember I was 14 and it was all rather an adventure. The air raid sirens rang out that first afternoon and we all sat in the kitchen which was supposed to be the safest place. That was the beginning.”Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.15px;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/a-house-in-budanilkantha/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A house in Budhanilkantha</a>, Lisa ChoegyalMy mother’s wartime career went on to define her. Like many women from that era she missed out on a proper education, and found excitement in opportunities offered by World War II. She worked in SOE (Special Operations Executive, secret stuff) based in Ceylon (as it was then), and later founded the Special Forces Club in London, located in a crescent behind Harrods and known by taxi drivers at the Spooks Club.We had all gathered from our various corners of the globe, around her high-tech bed in a pleasant beige room in an Oxford hospital. Outside the autumn trees ebbed into gold. At her insistence there were no tubes, no sighing machines, no medical clicks and beeps. “The British national health is very good at being born and dying, not so great in between” my sister with two medical daughters observed dryly.My other sister, who lives in India, kept vigil each night sleeping on the blue lino floor. “Very third world,” discerned the doctor with mild disapproval on one of his rounds, spotting the mattress propped against the wall. My sister was annoyed to have missed the actual moment of her death, around the midnight hour. Typically with minimum fuss, it must have been quiet and peaceful.Sangjay and Rinchen stood beside her bed, a little bleary after long flights. They were lucky to find her lucid and chatty on one of those last days. “We have left the world in such a mess and it will be up to you to sort it out and save us” she tells them, passing the baton of responsibility. “Our generation has so much to be blamed for.”Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/the-kathmandu-crowd/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Kathmandu Crowd</a>, Lisa Choegyal<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/the-kathmandu-crowd/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Survival Survivors</a>, Lisa Choegyal<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70859c7e80680e060080jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Even with her last energy she appreciates her Nepali nurses in Oxford, and asks about Kathmandu friends. Recalling the family trip and time spent walking in the Himalaya, a distant look comes into her luminous pale failing eyes. “What I would like is for my ashes to be scattered in the Nepal mountains – at Tengboche, amongst the forest and rhododendrons with those beautiful views. Sangjay, can you arrange it?”Thus, the Van Gruisens are committed to make their own intensely personal contribution to VNY2020 with another family visit of siblings and cousins later this year.

Lisa Choegyal

Nepal: a family’s destination

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a52269c7e80680e0522dcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448"/><figcaption>Chitlang Valley south of Kathmandu. All photos : Lisa Choegyal</figcaption></figure>Our second son Rinchen was only six weeks old when we bundled him into the red Range Rover in a cosy basket cot wedged in the back, surrounded by all the clobber required at that age, and headed for the Tarai.The roads were slow, with the vomit-marked buses and garishly painted trucks belching fumes as they strained up into the Kathmandu Valley, and made slower by two-year-old Sangjay fretting in his constrained car seat. I couldn’t wait to leave town, back to nature (back to work more like), and get away after all the baby focus of the past weeks.As an older mother in my late 30s, by the time Rinchen arrived the whole baby routine was a triumph of juggling unscheduled nappy changes, feeding, tiredness and joy. Sangjay delighted in his new little brother, but the simplest tasks of daily life – staying clean, dressed, fed and rested – seemed to take up all my energy and planning.We returned to Kathmandu with our new bundle of ‘limitless preciousness’, Rinchen’s name in Tibetan. Life in Alpine Cottage settled into a baby routine that I soon came to resent. Our tiny A-frame glass and wood home in Bansbari was nestled amidst a fig, mango and lychee orchard, full of sylvan charm but now bursting at the seams. Hodgson, the highly-strung street dog with a perpetually diseased, liver-coloured coat, named after the erudite 19th-century British resident by an optimistic anthropologist who rescued him from the gutter, accepted the new arrival with distracted disdain.In 1985 it had been only Hodgson and I sharing the house, rented for Rs4,000 a month from my laconic landlord Prem Singh, who lived with his family in the adjacent garden, lovingly tending flower beds whilst nurturing his trees and two young sons. It was a relief to have my own place after the hectic ‘staff house’ in Sanepa.Owning nothing but a few <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18273#.XUKd8fIzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tibetan carpets</a>, several paintings and a couple of mattresses, living at floor level on a heap of cushions suited the wood floors and huge window of the minute sitting room. Its cramped sleeping gallery had a pitched plywood ceiling and was accessed by a nifty spiral staircase, treacherous during night time bathroom visits. Hodgson and I were joined by my husband Tenzin in 1986, and not long after by Sangjay, born in January 1987. We had built a bedroom and new bathroom onto the back of the cottage, but the space still felt small and confined.The dog Hodgson famously slept through the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/past-disasters-foretold/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">1988 earthquake</a> that had us sloshing around in our newly acquired waterbed, a trendy addition to the house swapped for an antique Tibetan rug with an American friend from USAID.“How frightening it must have been in the middle of the night!” worried my mother on a faint telephone line from London. “I’m sure you rushed Sangjay outside to safety!” Five months pregnant with Rinchen I had struggled to extricate myself from the waves of the waterbed, Tenzin lurching helplessly beside me. Trusty Sunita had Sangjay safe, and the waterbed craze did not last long in an earthquake zone.Itching to get back to some distraction from the stifling baby scene, I occupied myself between feeds verifying National Geographic articles and editing travel brochures on the polished table in our miniature dining room. Sangjay had been an engrossing novelty, but the second baby turned out to be a more manageable routine. After a few weeks of domesticity, a work visit to check on Tiger Tops and the proposed Tiger Mountain Pokhara Lodge site presented itself as the perfect escape plan. Packing the car with the baby gear, we all set off for Chitwan.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a522a9c7e80680e0522ddjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Bhimphedi’s HattisarBumping through Valley potholes unrepaired since the previous monsoon, we passed the temple at Thankot that marks the start of the historic walking trail through the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15911#.XUKe5fIzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chitlang valley</a> to Bhimphedi, the lifeline linking Kathmandu to India that threads through villages past shrines, stupas, chaityas and patis.Prior to the Raj Path opening in 1956, this was the only route south to the outside world along which porters carried everything, including chandeliers and cars. For those rich enough to ride, Bhimphedi was where the ruling Ranas and other privileged travellers swapped their horses for elephants to navigate the Tarai. Winter was the only safe time to cross Nepal’s lowlands, rife with malaria and other notorious maladies that protected the kingdom from uninvited visitors.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a522f9c7e80680e0522dejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A few years ago, after some trouble locating the key, I found the old elephant stables in Bhimphedi, a strangely shaped Rana period building with lofty doors and tall brick walls on the edge of town near the river. The dusty old howdahs and faded decorations were recognisable from sepia hunting photographs of visiting viceroys and maharajahs. Stacked on racks above the elephant stalls were the rolls of white cloth that had been used by beaters to drive the tigers towards the waiting guns, the tweed-clad sportsmen safely perched on elephants.“No one ever comes here,” smiled the wrinkled old chowkidar sadly, motes of dust and straw caught by the sunbeam slanting through the high windows.Read Also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.15px;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-genesis-of-elephant-polo-in-chitwan/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The genesis of elephant polo in Chitwan,</a> Lisa Choegyal<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a52329c7e80680e0522dfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131156/636a52359c7e80680e0522e0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1060" height="1500"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Decaying but intact, encrusted with dirt and spotted with blood, these relics lay where they had been stacked at the end of a long day hunting in the jungle many decades ago. Closing my eyes I could almost hear the clatter of chains, the thump of saddles, murmurs of long-dead elephants, and ghosts of their keepers calling softly to each other.

Chitlang, Chitwan and Children

To increase tiger numbers, you need prey. Prey need grass. Grass needs water. The tiger may be at the top of the food chain, but its fate is linked to the deer population which in turn depends on the abundance of grass, and which in turn hinges on the availability of water. Nowhere else in Nepal today are these intricate linkages within an ecosystem as stark as in Bardia National Park, which has seen the population of its tigers increase dramatically from 18 in 2009 to nearly 87 today. With Chitwan National Park nearly saturated with tigers, it is largely because of Bardia’s success that Nepal is set to become the first tiger range country in the world to exceed the target of doubling its population of big cats by 2022. But, there are clouds on the horizon. An adult male tiger needs a vast territory of 100sq km to roam in, while a female needs about 20 sq km. And each individual needs to make at least one kill of a deer-sized animal a week. But the prey density in Bardia has declined sharply from 93 to 77 per sq km just in the last five years. This is due to an increasing tiger population, forest encroachment on former grasslands, the abundance of tall grass species which deter deer, as well as a falling ground water table due to global warming. <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/636935189c7e80680e03e035jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="627"></div> All this adds up to the tigers not getting enough prey. Tigers then venture outside the park to eat livestock, intensifying human-wildlife conflict and endangering conservation efforts. Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/habitat-destrcution-of-tiger-in-Tarai,3423" target="_blank">Allow tigers to roam freely</a>, Om Astha Rai <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/city-for-transshipment-of-wildlife,3424" target="_blank">Caught red handed with red pandas</a>, Smriti Basnet Today, Bardia National Park is at the forefront of research into restoring the predator-prey balance. Shyam Thapa of the Nepal Trust for Nature Conservation (NTNC) is studying a dozen especially designed research plots to find ways to encourage the growth of the kind of tender green shoots that the five species of deer in Bardia like to graze on. “There are no longer as many wild elephants, and no more gaur (wild ox), arna (wild buffalo) and nilgai (large antelope) that used to trample on the tall grass so the deer could feed,” Thapa explains. “The deer do not like the tall grass or the forest undergrowth because they need a field of vision to look out for predators.” <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/636935159c7e80680e03e034jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="800">Photo: BIKRAM RAI</div> Before and after satellite imagery of Bardia clearly show the grassland being overrun by spreading forest cover. Drought caused by climate change, as well as the reduced flow of &nbsp;water in the Geruwa channel of the Karnali River because of boulder mining and the Bheri-Babai diversion upstream have lowered the water table and reduced grass cover inside the park. A lower water table favours the growth of trees, not grass. “We are trying to see what are the factors that will make the kind of grass that the deer like to eat grow back, because this will increase the number of deer which will in turn allow the park to support a larger tiger population,” says botanist Laxmi Raj Joshi at the NTNC. Like Chitwan, Bardia used to be opened for a few weeks every winter to allow villagers to collect thatch grass inside the Park. This further reduced grass cover, disturbed wildlife and caused wild fires. Since most farmers now have tin roofs or cement houses, there is no longer a need to open the park for thatch collection. Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/conserving-Chitwan-National-Park,1106" target="_blank">Conservation matters</a>, Hum Gurung <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/planned-new-east-west-railroad-and-expressway-threaten-the-Chitwan-National-Park,1079" target="_blank">Tresspassing into nature</a>, Bhrikuti Rai and Sunir Pandey The Park has dug wells and installed solar-powered pumps to ensure that the favourite watering holes of the animals do not go dry. There are also plans to translocate arna, gaur and nilgai from other nature reserves to restore the original habitat and add larger prey for tigers. With these measures, conservationists believe that Bardia and the adjacent Banke National Parks can accommodate another 100 tigers. But for now, as tiger numbers increase and prey density declines, tigers are venturing outside the park to prey on livestock. Wild elephants also often raid crops and trample houses outside the park, increasing tension between the Park and people. In order to reduce conflict between villagers and wildlife, Bardia National Park is experimenting with more effective electrical fences that can stop bull elephants and tigers (see box). “The idea is to reduce human-wildlife conflict,” says Cas de Stopelaar of the Himalayan Tiger Foundation based in The Netherlands, which is supporting the research on fencing and grasslands. “The tiger is an umbrella species, if you protect the tiger you protect everything. The idea is to increase the food for the tiger by increasing the food for its prey.” Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12526#.W_-nmdszbIV" target="_blank">Conflict vs conservation</a>, Sophia Tamot <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Conservation-and-tourism-Chitwan-National-Park,2957" target="_blank">Conservation and tourism</a>, Kristjan Edwards <h2>No fence-sitting on conservation</h2> <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/636935189c7e80680e03e035jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="627"></div> The grainy night-time webcam video shows a tusker approaching an electrical fence designed to keep wildlife from raiding crops outside the Bardia National Park. There is a small spark as the elephant gets a shock on its trunk, and retreats. In another clip, the same elephant returns, and knowing that the wire is live, uses his tusk to knock down the cement pillar. Through trial and error, the smart elephant has learnt that neither its tusk, nor the cement pole conducts electricity, and has learnt to destroy the fence without touching the wires. In another instance that was not caught on camera, a bull elephant lifts a dead tree with its trunk and flings it across the electrified fence, and walks across. Humans and elephants are constantly trying to outwit each other here in one of the biggest sanctuaries for wild elephants in Nepal. “The elephants always surprise us with how creative they are,” says Kumar Khadka of the National Nature Conservation Trust (NTNC) whose team has now come up with a prototype fence design that protects the pillar as well with electrified wire tentacles. The elephants are attracted by bananas and other treats placed inside the fence and are monitored by movement-activated cameras at night. So far, humans are winning. But one never knows if the elephants will come up with an even more clever plan to demolish the fence. Cas de Stopelaar of the Himalayan Tiger Foundation explains the importance of the fence research: “As tiger and elephants numbers inside the park increase, they will go out of the park in search of food. Human-wildlife conflict will reduce the villagers’ interest in conservation. So we need to have enough food for the wildlife inside the park, and have a stronger fence.” Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/how-humans-can-live-with-wild-elephants%20,4179" target="_blank">How humans can live with wild elephants</a>, Sheren Shrestha and Gokarna Jung Thapa <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/more-rhinos-means-more-encounter,4045" target="_blank">More rhinos mean more encounters,</a> Alex Dudley

It's a jungle out there

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/6369351a9c7e80680e03e036jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>JUNGLE LAW: Kanchhi Lama lives in Parsa near the Indian border. She has fortified her goat shed, but still fears leopard attacks.</figcaption></figure>Parsa National Park has 18 adult tigers today, up from seven in 2013. In Chitwan, tiger numbers have increased from 91 to 93. In Banke National Park it went up from 4 to 21, and from 50 to 87 in Bardiya National Park.Across the border in India, there have been similar increases. Here in the Valmiki Tiger Reserve, the number of big cats has gone up, but the exact count will be known after an ongoing Indian tiger census is completed. There has been a similar increase in Katarniyaghat Wildlife Reserve bordering Nepal. However, greater tiger populations along the India-Nepal border have increased the threat of cross-border poaching and human-wildlife conflict.“Our conservation efforts will succeed only if we see Chitwan, Parsa and Valmiki Tiger Reserve not as separate territories but as a complex,” says Ajay Sinha, Range Officer of the Valmiki Tiger Reserve in Bihar. “We are collaborating with Nepal to ensure that we provide animals what they need, and do not duplicate efforts. We communicate almost on a daily basis, bypassing bureaucratic procedures that would take months.”Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=17191&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">It's a jungle out there</a>, Kunda Dixit<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=17109&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Naturally Nepal</a>, EditorialBoth India and Nepal are now getting communities on both sides of the border involved in conservation. The two governments, with the help of World Wildlife Fund (WWF), have installed solar-electric fences to stop animals from entering villages, distributed biogas and LPG gas to reduce use of firewood, promoted livestock management to reduce encroachment into forests, and formed Rapid Rescue Teams (RRT) and Community-Based Anti-Poaching Units (CBAPU).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/6369351e9c7e80680e03e037jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Last year, when several rhinos from Chitwan were swept into India by a flood, residents of Binwaliya village in Bihar rescued some and returned them to Nepal. Recalls one of the villagers, Sanjay Kumar: “The rhino was in the field, and we called the Forest Department which tranquilised it and sent it back. Previously, if we saw wild animals in our villages, we would try to shoo it away, injure it, or even kill it.”Since Nepal committed to doubling its tiger numbers, it began habitat management, protection, and community engagement, many of which have to be implemented side by side with India. Along the border in Chitwan and Parsa alongside India’s Valmiki Tiger Reserve in India, there are Nepal Army guard posts every 5-10 kilometers to stop cross-border poaching. All three sanctuaries have worked together to improve grasslands to attract prey for the growing number of tigers.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-tigers-now-number-235/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal tigers now number 235</a><a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/how-many-tigers-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">How many tigers in Nepal?</a>, Kunda DixitWhere forests have depleted along the Nepal India border, local communities have helped rehabilitate many forest corridors.  Shikaribas corridor in Parsa and Khata corridor in Bardia have been extremely important in facilitating the movement of animal and growing their numbers. “Animals need not just food, but also open space for movement, and sheltered space for cover,” explains Bharat Gotame of WWF Nepal. “Tigers can travel 300 km over two days in serach of prey, and elephants have migratory routes. So, their habitat should not be fragmented.”But the impact of such fragmentation is already visible in Nepal, where the East-West Highway cuts through the Banke and Bardia National Parks and Shuklaphanta Wildlife Reserve. Last year alone, Bardia National Park lost over 60 wild animals to road kill, most of them deer. The new feeder roads that run parallel to the Indian border dissects the Chitwan-Parsa-Valmiki Complex.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171140/636935219c7e80680e03e038jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="667">“We need Smart Green Infrastructure with under and overpasses so that increasing connectivity does not endanger wildlife,” says Warden Ashok Bhandari at Bardia National Park.Haribhadra Acharya at Parsa National Park agrees, adding that since tigers are at the top of the food chain, more tigers means a healthier eco-system. “A healthy population of tigers means that there is also a healthy population of deer and other prey, and the variety of plants that these herbivores feed on,” Acharya explains.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/sun-striped-shadows/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sun striped shadows</a>, Lisa Choegyal <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/clouded-future-for-the-clouded-leopard/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Clouded future for the Clouded Leopard</a>, Yadav GhimireyThe success of trans-boundary conservation and the increase in wildlife has brought another, more immediate threat to the very communities that protect them. Human-wildlife conflict has increased as wild elephants, wild boar and monkeys regularly raid farms. Leopards and tigers kill livestock and even humans. Parsa National Park has attempted to solve this problem by relocating two villages that were inside the park. However, several villages that line the Indian border and are sandwiched between forests of India and Nepal, are threatened by wildlife.One of them is Kanchhi Lama of Subarnapur at the edge of the Parsa National Park, who has fortified her goat shed with metal nets to protect animals from leopards. But she adds: “We hear leopards growling at night, and we are scared to go out.”In the west, the Khata Corridor provides the only link between Bardia National Park and India’s Katarniyaghat Wildlife Reserve, and several villages have regular encounters with tigers and elephants. Bhagraiya has 70 households and is surrounded by forests on three sides, and some villagers say it is now getting too dangerous to live there, and would like to be relocated.Laxmi Chand of Bhagraiya village survived an encounter with a leopard in her goat-shed recently, and says: “We have stopped planting crops in our fields near the forest. What is the point? Wild animals will destroy it all.”Read also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2018/02/07/no-tiger-no-mountain/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">No tiger, no mountain</a>, Kunda Dixit <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/So-far-so-good/Tigerman-tiger,930" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tigerman</a>, Lisa Choegyal

Nature without borders

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171136/636934c19c7e80680e03e014jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="1067"/><figcaption>Kunda Dixit</figcaption></figure>Across the world, human societies are suffering a growing nature deficit. The march of consumerism and economic globalisation has come at an enormous cost to the local and global environment. Much of the change is irreversible on a civilisational timescale: rivers destroyed by dams, landscapes mutilated, a cascade of extinctions and climate collapse.Nature is valueless, it cannot have a price tag. Our culture and religion regards nature as sacred. Nature matters to us because of its emotional value, and the health benefits of being amidst it cannot be measured in dollars and cents.But modern economics puts a monetary value to nature. It can be bought and sold without factoring in its intrinsic value. We are not required to calculate the cost of its destruction when evaluating its worth. An Environmental Impact Assessment of a project tries to calculate the impact to nature of infrastructure or development projects. There are attempts to post a cash value to ‘natural capital’ and ‘ecosystem services’, but these are narrow attempts to measure something immeasurable and priceless.The crisis of the anthropocene is rooted in governments, businesses and sections of the public regarding nature as free and limitless. This is why native forests have been logged until there is nothing left, smoke and emissions are pumped into the air and filled with toxins, river beds are mined, and the earth is warming because we are burning all this fossil carbon.This issue of Nepali Times carries a Special Package on nature conservation in the Tarai national parks. The results of the tiger census this year showed the encouraging result that Nepal was the first country to attain the target of doubling its tiger population four years ahead of schedule. The number of tigers has jumped from 200 four years ago to 235, with most of the increase in Bardia National Park.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=17191&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">It's a jungle out there</a>, Kunda Dixit<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=17216&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nature without borders</a>, Sewa BhattaraiTigers had nearly disappeared in Bardia after the Nepal Army was pulled out of anti-poaching duty during the conflict. But numbers there have soared from 18 ten years ago to 87 today. This is a phenomenal achievement.The reason tigers are important is because they are at the top of the food chain and protecting them protects everything else in the ecosystem. But as our stories on page 14-15 indicate, predator-prey imbalance can throw nature off kilter.The problem in Bardia is that while the tiger population has increased, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/how-many-tigers-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">there has been a serious decline in prey density</a> and this presents a danger to the new tigers. Predators then venture outside the park to attack livestock, thus weakening the villagers’ support for nature conservation.Nepal’s tiger range spans the open border with India, which means wildlife moves freely back and forth. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-tigers-now-number-235/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The resurgence of tiger numbers in nature reserves</a> on both sides of the border have increased the problem of human-wildlife conflict as well as attracted cross border poachers.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/crying-wolf/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Crying wolf</a>, Ryan Davy<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17514#.W_-2ANszbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal's year of the leopard</a>, Shahani SinghThe success of tiger conservation was achieved through India-Nepal cooperation, and the new challenges must also be addressed jointly. Grass palatable to deer species are not so common because of the water table going down because of the flow of the Karnali River being diverted by boulder mining upstream. This has benefited trees, but not grass.Climate change has also made monsoon rains erratic. Large herbivores used to trample on the tall grass and allow deer to get to the tender shoots underneath, but Bardia’s once thriving populations of arna, gaur and nilgai have disappeared. Tiger numbers can be increased further if there is enough of the right type of grass.Tigers need prey, prey need grasslands, grass needs moisture, but humans have tampered with the water. The web of life links everything in an ecosystem together, and we need to understand this for nature conservation.Nature has intrinsic value, even though governments may try to give it economic value. For Nepal, nature must be valued also because biodiversity represents our national identity and our sense of self-worth. Nature should not just be protected in national parks. Our urban deserts need to be rewilded as well.Read also:<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Preying%20on%20the%20predator,387" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Preying on the predator</a>, Priya Joshi<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17515#.W_-2WNszbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Once there was a leopard</a>, Nirmal Ghosh<h2>10 years ago this week</h2>Nepali Times issue #426 of 21-28 November 2008 carried a column by Debi Sunar, the mother of Maina Sunar, 14, who was raped and killed at the Panchkhal barracks of the Royal Nepal Army. She lamented that neither the Army nor the Maoists were prepared to tell her the truth. Her quest for justice for Maina remains unfulfilled to this day. Excerpt:‘I had thought that I would get justice when the Maoists came to power. But now I see that they are too busy with their own vested interests. No Maoist leader or cadre has ever spoken to me after they got into government. I don’t understand how they could just forget about the victims of the conflict so soon.Not just the Maoists, many human rights activists and journalists have also taken advantage of my tragedy. They take hours and hours of footage of me and then they sell my suffering. The army also promised compensation, but I didn’t go to the Kavre district office because my struggle was not for money.I wanted to take the guilty to court to have them tried and then awarded damages.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/426" data-elementor-open-lightbox=""></a><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171136/636934c49c7e80680e03e015jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="509" height="796">

Naturally Nepal

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

Four international names in architecture, Shigeru Ban, Rem Koolhaas, Tadao Ando and Louis Isadore Kahn, all left their mark in Nepal. But despite their best intentions, the ambitious designs fizzled out. Ban, Koolhaas and Ando won Pritzkers, the best known international award for architecture, and Kahn could have won it had the prize been given in his lifetime. But their designs fell short of transforming Nepali architecture and did not help inspire local architects.&nbsp; Why were these four ‘starchitects’ unable to pull off their Nepal projects and enrich the country with exemplary contemporary designs? The failure, especially the violation of Kahn’s design, also raises larger questions about how much contemporary architecture is valued in Nepal.&nbsp; Whereas Sri Lanka had Geoffrey Bawa and Bangladesh had Mazharul Islam, the pioneers of contemporary architecture in Nepal have had far less public appreciation. One wonders if Nepali architecture only refers to the monuments and heritage of the past. Nepal does have examples of outstanding modern architecture such as the &nbsp;पाङ्रे घर ‘Wheel House’ and खुट्टे घर &nbsp;‘House on Legs’ by Shankar Nath Rimal in the 1960s. These are the best examples of how some Nepali designers successfully tailored modern architecture to the Nepali context.&nbsp; Ten years ago, Nepal had three architecture magazines, SPACES, praXis and Business Architecture, but none of these survived. This newspaper has prominently covered contemporary architecture, and the built environment, but these are exceptions in Nepal’s media. There have been a few encouraging signs. The 2024 exhibition Modern Encounters in Architecture in Kathmandu Valley (1945-1985) at the Taragaon Museum had many visitors and its accompanying book is a seminal document.&nbsp; In 2023, the Mountain Architecture Dialogue (MAD) that focused on examples of good-practice sustainable contemporary architecture for the mountainous terrains of Nepal was a packed event with over 300 young architects, engineers, environmentalists and architecture students. <h2>Shigeru Ban</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_8bb8dde080c5698c2585966bef27ce4c08e4ee488d3432b2caac98b9de762dfe.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024122003128_8bb8dde080c5698c2585966bef27ce4c08e4ee488d3432b2caac98b9de762dfe" data-rendition-name="original" width="990" height="1074" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  Shigeru Ban had already built a name for himself in post-disaster construction when he came to Nepal following the 2015 earthquakes in which 500,000 people lost their homes. The basic design and its 3D-rendered images were reviewed in upbeat articles on DOMUS, Architectural Review, Dezeen, and Arch Daily.&nbsp; But his signature cardboard tubes could not handle the monsoon and the roof structure had to be re-designed with timber. Only two shelters were completed in Sindupalchok, and only one of them still stands at the Hyatt Regency grounds today, as Ban’s souvenir to Nepal.&nbsp; <h2>Rem Koolhaas</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_58afec9b57accfa38327af0936648c6eb2f2e11ff18f1af8ca27383dc57dc222.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024122003128_58afec9b57accfa38327af0936648c6eb2f2e11ff18f1af8ca27383dc57dc222" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="722" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  The designs of Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas have a specific signature: bold shapes and an intriguing architectural typology that challenges standard building blocks. Some designs even seem to defy gravity, like the CCTV headquarters in Beijing: an angular, continuous geometry of glass and steel.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_a18dc8a8d6b97bc6fa9d590036cf374f9dc3709c699fe5c5787304bbd05cb17d.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241220031216_a18dc8a8d6b97bc6fa9d590036cf374f9dc3709c699fe5c5787304bbd05cb17d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1812" height="1168" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Rem Koolhaas' design for Ullen's School in Khumaltar.</figcaption> </figure>  Koolhaas was commissioned by Belgian billionaire Guy Ullens to design a new building for Ullens School in Khumaltar. The most prominent feature is its vertical glass block staircase. Some interior spaces have lowered windowsills, which provide ample views and daylight. But the school building has gone unremarked in Nepal. <h2>Tadao Ando</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031212_cc16bd6feb8be07a7198285b847a45d2126dc3a479e0cc7370331861fc544675.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241220031212_cc16bd6feb8be07a7198285b847a45d2126dc3a479e0cc7370331861fc544675" data-rendition-name="original" width="626" height="628" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> </figure>  Doctors providing aid to victims of the Great Hanshin earthquake in 1995 in Japan requested Tadao Ando, who had donated his Pritzker money to the victims, to also make a design for a hospital in Butwal.&nbsp; Ando’s contribution would be pro-bono and the construction was funded by the Hanshin Earthquake victims and by the popular Japanese newspaper Mainichi, as a tribute to Nepali doctors. The first block that Ando designed for the Siddhartha Children and Women’s Hospital (SCWH) was the out-patient department. He quickly realised that he would not be able to pull off structures with his typical style of smooth-finished, high-quality concrete.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_73ec0950d52320277ccc81d4a66fa6aa6acb38141e7b7633683e4cf8179dc579.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241220031216_73ec0950d52320277ccc81d4a66fa6aa6acb38141e7b7633683e4cf8179dc579" data-rendition-name="original" width="1594" height="958" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Tadao Ando's Siddhartha Children and Women Hospital in Butwal.</figcaption> </figure>  Ando wrote in the online architectural catalog Architectuul, that the two main problems with the project were costs and the availability of local technology. ‘It became a facility that has a slightly different expression from the buildings I have completed so far,’ he wrote. He designed a colonnade for the west façade that would provide shelter from harsh sunlight, and the exposed brick walls were locally manufactured bricks.&nbsp; The hospital is characterised by modernist cuboidal massing, but the outer brick façades now appear unintentionally badly weathered by monsoons. The interiors lack both sufficient natural light and natural ventilation. <h2>Louis I Kahn</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122003128_612e199d62fb3e72b6b8f6a936b0fa0451d8c0aa3d831c071320bf423ee3d67f.png" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2024122003128_612e199d62fb3e72b6b8f6a936b0fa0451d8c0aa3d831c071320bf423ee3d67f" data-rendition-name="original" width="694" height="926" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal NT"> </figure>  American architect Louis I Kahn had experience of projects in South Asia, and several were under construction when he died suddenly in 1974. Amongst these were the National Assembly complex in Dhaka, the Indian Institute of Management in Ahmedabad and the Family Planning and Maternal Child Welfare Centre in Kathmandu.&nbsp; Kahn had started the USAID funded project in Nepal by developing a master plan for the government institutional zone in Kathmandu, which included a building for the Health Ministry. The building’s façade in exposed brick has deeply recessed vertical windows for shading.&nbsp; The balancing of accentuated horizontal lines in the brickwork with the verticality of the larger composition is the work of a master. The brick walls rise up into punctured parapet walls at the roof level. These square apertures ‘frame the sky’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241220031216_69c2e4972dbe38773e0a3a3f1129485c9c87033ee84cd454e24ae0dc772d05cf.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241220031216_69c2e4972dbe38773e0a3a3f1129485c9c87033ee84cd454e24ae0dc772d05cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1924" height="1242" loading="lazy" alt="Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal"> <figcaption>Louis Kahn's plan for the Ministry of Health.</figcaption> </figure>  When Kahn died, only the eastern half of the building was finished. The Western part was never built and Nepal’s bureaucrats decided that without paint, the exposed brick façade was not finished. Then in 1995, citing roof leakage and a space crunch, the Health Ministry added a floor.&nbsp; The frames-to-the-sky in the roof parapet were converted into windows and topped off with a sloping roof of corrugated steel sheets, whose only virtue was that it was cost-effective.&nbsp; Kahn’s orthogonal composition, which clean horizontal and vertical lines, was desecrated despite a public outcry and legal challenges from architects and cultural organisations. A version of this article was first published in HIMAL Southasian. Illustrations by Varun S Bapu.

Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal

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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