For a long time, I believed that being able to speak, read, and understand English meant having the power of knowledge. In hindsight, I also realise that if learning English was simply like picking up another language, my journey would have been much smoother and definitely more enjoyable.&nbsp;
I took pride in learning Maithili from my mother and Tharu from my father’s workplace, and those experiences were both fun and fulfilling.
Previous episodes of this column, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi">Angrezi</a>, explain how I struggled with self-doubt, feelings of inferiority, and low self-esteem because of my deficient English language. When I came to the capital, I realised that English held a different significance in this city.&nbsp;
In <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/the-thappad">my village in Sunsari</a>, it was often seen as a way to show off. In Kathmandu, it represented much more than that: it was a source of power, a means of access, and a gateway to opportunities.
During my first visit to Kathmandu in the late 1990s, I listened to a relative unleashing every possible curse word she knew in English to her sister-in-law. That outburst was triggered by the sister-in-law reporting her brother for domestic violence.&nbsp;
I found the sister-in-law to be incredibly courageous in taking that stand. It was also the first time I heard English being spoken among family members within a home, which surprised me. But this family was considered intelligent simply because its members could speak English. Even though I was only 13 at the time, I couldn’t help but question how someone who believed that domestic violence should be hushed up could be considered smart.&nbsp;
When I came to Kathmandu for my Bachelor’s I encountered a few individuals who enjoyed <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/leonardo-and-drew">discussing English films</a>, books, and music, and felt out of place and had little to contribute to the conversations.&nbsp;
At times, I would pretend to engage, while other times I would make excuses to leave early. I also attempted to learn more about the books and films being discussed, but it was exhausting. Despite my silence, I realised that they had information, but lacked deeper understanding.&nbsp;
They seemed captivated by popular music and literature, yet did not grasp the underlying messages those songs and books conveyed. Throughout my nearly year-long <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/from-humiliation-to-humility">work experience at a school library</a>, I remembered there was only one parent who visited. Not a single parent inquired about the types of books their children were reading or what genres excited their interest.&nbsp;
Their primary concern revolved around their child’s English proficiency. Many expressed frustration over their children’s struggle with the language, feeling embarrassed when their children could not communicate effectively in front of relatives and friends.&nbsp;
I recall Wangdi Sir saying that a school is not a language institute. A child may struggle with English, but they may excel in other subjects like science and math. Unfortunately, he struggled to persuade parents who had invested thousands in the hope that their children achieved fluency that it was not that important.&nbsp;
I encountered similar attitudes among parents across the country over the years. Many had moved from rural areas to cities, working tirelessly abroad to afford to send their children to English medium schools. There was also a noticeable bias, as families often prioritised sending sons to these more expensive schools and not their girls.
No wonder, society considers those who can speak English as intelligent, smart, or even a genius. To be sure, mastery of the English language can unlock a wealth of knowledge and provide opportunities for employment worldwide.&nbsp;
However, many do not understand that simply speaking English is not equal to intelligence, if one lacks access to enriching content in literature, art, music, or film. Ultimately, it is an individual’s upbringing, socialisation, choices, and the guidance they receive that plays a crucial role in knowledge and wisdom through English.&nbsp;
The English language is often misinterpreted as a sign of knowledge, not just in Nepal but in other developing countries where education is sometimes prioritised for language skills over true learning.
Ramesh Kumar, an economic journalist with Himalkhabar.com, recently shared on X that Nepali press releases from the World Bank and UN agencies in Kathmandu read like they were Google translated. He noted that hiring communications officers should not solely depend on their proficiency in English, they should also be skilled in the local language.&nbsp;
Relying on Google Translate or AI without understanding the context can lead to lots of embarrassing misunderstandings. Ultimately, all languages serve as tools for expression, but the messages conveyed can vary greatly.
My 5-year-old niece was already speaking English fluently even before she started pre-school. She lives in the village with my parents, where English is rarely spoken unless absolutely necessary. Yet, she picked up the language as if she had grown up in an English-speaking environment.&nbsp;
How did this happen? The secret was her love for cartoons, which she only watches in English. She has been learning both Nepali and English simultaneously, much like I did with Nepali and Maithili. I often wonder how her understanding of being a person, a woman, and a citizen will develop.&nbsp;
Language alone will not shape those identities. I hope we, as Nepalis, can grasp this concept. I also wish that our education system would instill in our children the values of humanity, equality, diversity, and not consider someone ‘civilised’ just because they can rattle off some English.
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.

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English is not the be-all and end-all

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

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171148/636937ae9c7e80680e03fe53jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1000"/>If you enjoyed Mohammed Hanif’s A Case of Exploding Mangoes, it will have prepared you for another scathing satire from the Pakistani novelist on the senselessness of war, the hypocrisy of those who wage them, and the bleeding heart humanitarian contractors who rake it in to mop things up.Red Birds brims with razor sharp verbiage and a plot embedded with glaring absurdities of the perpetual war machine of the military-industrial complex. There is a whiff of Heller in Hanif: the only difference with Catch-22 is that the murderous technology of modern warfare is 60 years more advanced, and America is bombing mud huts in the desert with laser-guided smart ordnance, and not dropping dumb bombs from B-25s.As they turn the pages, readers fly through skies full of flak, eruptions of Hanifisms:‘First they bomb our house, then they take away my son, and now they are here to make us feel all right.’‘If I didn’t take out homes, who would provide shelter? If I didn’t obliterate cities, who would build refugee camps? Where would all the world’s empathy go?’‘They bomb us from the skies, then they work hard to cure our stress … I get PTSD, she gets a per diem in US dollars.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171152/636937b19c7e80680e03fe54jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="200" height="174"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171152/636937b29c7e80680e03fe55jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="667"><figcaption>Red Birds by Mohammed Hanif Bloomsbury, 2018 INR599, 283 pages</figcaption></figure>This is writing that forces the reader to confront the brutal reality of wars waged by remote control, linking the trigger on the joystick to guts spilling forth, bubbles in pools of blood of the dead and dying. All this far from the oval offices where policies are made, or even from the glass cockpits from which pilots launch video-game missiles at crosshairs on the screen.Major Ellie is one such pilot who crashes in the desert of what sounds and smells like the Afpak border, and fortuitously right next to a ‘fugee camp’ where most of the action in the rest of the book takes place with protagonists like young Momo and his dog, Mutt. The other character (and what a character she is) is a caricature of a USAID worker Lady Flowerbody who is there to do good, and offer bandaid to people her own country has bombed to smithereens. Her developmentese is very similar to the lingo of the lords of poverty we are familiar with in Nepal as well: ‘I am conducting a survey on post-conflict resolution strategies that involve local histories and folklore … to use this community as a laboratory for testing my hypothesis about how our collective memories are actually our cultural capital … ’While the backdrop in A Case of Exploding Mangoes was about Gen Zia of Pakistan who was ostensibly killed by bombs hidden in a fruit crate in the cockpit of his C-130, the setting for Red Birds can be from Timbuktoo to Quetta and everywhere in between where the American military is waging Third World Wars against tiny white figures in real-time infrared satellite imagery.Red Birds lays bares the hypocrisy of not just America’s ‘war on terror’ and the obliteration of countries, peoples, societies. It is also a sad reminder of what the Russians have done in Syria, the Saudis in Yemen, or for that matter what conquerors have done throughout inhuman history.Hanif used to be an air force pilot, and shows us that it is not just history that is a farce. So is the unfolding present.

In Mohammed Hanif’s crosshairs

It was pure drama: the political transition in Madhes unfolded by the dawn’s early light. At around 4AM on Monday, Province Head Sumitra Subedi Bhandari quietly departed Janakpur saying she was headed to Kathmandu for health reasons.&nbsp;
Outgoing Chief Minister Jitendra Sonal, whose coalition had begun to unravel, even saw her off, asking supporters to clear the road for her motorcade.
But an hour later, instead of continuing on to the capital, Bhandari stopped in Bardibas on the East-West Highway. There, as the sun started rising over the misty plains, she administered the oath of office to Saroj Kumar Yadav of the CPN-UML, invoking Article 168(3) of the Constitution.&nbsp;
Bhandari is also a member of the CPN-UML. The provision she invoked is typically used only after coalitions fail under Article 168(2), and the timing and location of the swearing-in have since drawn scrutiny.
Bhandari was subsequently relieved of her duties, and former National Planning Commission member Surendra Labh Karna was sworn in as the new Madhes province head on Tuesday.
Sonal had formed his government barely a month ago, with the backing of 56 provincial lawmakers but it became evident he would not secure the 54 votes needed to survive a confidence motion.&nbsp;
Several lawmakers in his coalition publicly signalled they would abstain. Still, the seven-party alliance that opposed Yadav’s appointment argues that the Province Head, who is the highest constitutional rank in the provincial structure, acted prematurely and under pressure from central UML party command.&nbsp;
A coalition of seven parties, including the Nepali Congress (NC), had been urging the Province Head to invite them to form a new government under Article 168(2). At the same time, the UML, which had been holding demonstrations outside the Province Head’s office in Janakpur, was calling for the formation of a minority government under Article 168(3).
The alliance of the seven parties that included the NC and Maoist Centre took to the streets. By mid-morning, protests had escalated outside Madhes Bhawan with cadre vandalising both the Chief Minister’s office and the Province Head’s office.
This was the third government in Madhes to fall since the 2022 provincial elections, and it follows a similar pattern. The previous Chief Minister Satish Kumar Singh of the Janamat Party, resigned before a scheduled confidence vote after losing the support of his own party and others including NC and LSP.&nbsp;
His resignation unfolded amid nationwide GenZ protests against corruption, demanding accountability and reform. The recurring instability points to a structural tension in Nepal’s federalism.&nbsp;
Provincial politics remain closely tied to alliances shaped in Kathmandu. The withdrawal of support by parties like the NC and Maoist Centre in provinces often reflects national-level calculations rather than provincial priorities.
As a result, the Provincial Assembly is repeatedly consumed by survival of the coalition instead of governance. Development work stalls. Budget execution slows. Public frustration grows. In a province that was at the forefront of the movement for federalism to counter what is seen as neglect, apathy and discrimination by Kathmandu, the sense that the system may not delivering on its promise is becoming increasingly pronounced.
If federalism is to be strengthened, provincial governments must be able to function with a degree of autonomy that currently exists more in principle than in practice. Otherwise, the perception that federalism is costly, unstable, and ineffective will continue to expand, providing fertile ground for anti-federal sentiment that is already gaining traction.
Earlier examples such as the NC General Secretary Bishwo Prakash Sharma in January calling for a new government in Madhes led by his party demonstrates how the central party leadership deliberately intervenes in provincial affairs. His remarks came during campaigns for bi-elections in Madhes when former CM Singh had been in office for six months only.&nbsp;
Likewise, in early June 2024, the federal coalition in Kathmandu shifted from a Maoist Centre and NC to form a new alliance between the NC &nbsp;and the UML. Within a day, coalition negotiations in Madhes changed to mirror this.
UML leaders publicly stated: “The issues at the federal and provincial levels will be resolved together.” This indicated that the realignment in Madhes followed national party decisions rather than provincial deliberation.
The events that unfolded in Madhes are a reminder that federalism in Nepal is still in transition, and that its success depends on political actors honouring the constitutional framework.

Chronic instability in the Madhes

This is the 73rd episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. I don’t remember playing with dolls as a little girl. There is not much to remember from my childhood.&nbsp; My responsibilities began at a very young age, as I had two younger brothers to take care of. I was born in Sarlahi, but we moved around quite a bit as my father was in the government and got transferred frequently.&nbsp; From Rasuwa to Dang, from Nepalgunj to Kathmandu. I struggled to adjust in Kathmandu because I joined Grade 9 in the middle of the term. The education was different and fellow students also did not support me initially. But over time, I adjusted and made friends. I did not dream of becoming a nurse. It was by accident. I wanted to pursue medicine, but failed the entrance exam by a few marks. I did not want to lose a year, so decided to take up microbiology instead.&nbsp; I got married after my undergraduate, and my husband encouraged me to take up something more technical like nursing or engineering instead of Masters in Microbiology. As my quantitative background was weak, I chose nursing. I felt like I was born to be a nurse. Juggling my married life and studies was difficult. My teachers would often ask me why I am falling behind. It was not easy, but I managed and took up a full-time job as a nurse. There are challenges being a nurse in Nepal. You are overworked, underpaid, there is lack of appreciation. Superiors can be overbearing. These problems persist. But the bright spot is that you get to serve fellow Nepalis, and be close to your family.&nbsp; Just like I had no intention initially of becoming a nurse, I had no intention of migrating overseas. But life had different plans for me. After my baby boy was born, I noticed that something was off. Even at nine months he had not started crawling or sitting. As a nurse I knew something was wrong, and I took him for check-ups. He tested negative for down syndrome, but he had a heart defect.&nbsp; The cardiologist recommended that I take him to India where he was diagnosed with Williams Syndrome, a rare genetic condition that affects 1 in 10,000 people. It delayed his development. I looked for therapy. It was either not effective, or too expensive. Some schools also refused to admit him, and it drove me to tears.&nbsp; My family members overseas in the UK, US told me to emigrate as there were better facilities for differently abled children. So I decided to apply to the UK. Luckily just then there were calls for candidates under the Nepal-UK government-to-government pilot scheme for 100 nurses. Only 40 met the criteria, and I was one of them.&nbsp; I still remember the day I received the news on the day of my puja. There were people around me, and they told me that it was the result of my fasting and devotion on that auspicious day. Perhaps it was. Life was taking a new turn, and I was happy. I made it to the UK in February 2024 without paying a single paisa to any broker. The G2G scheme was unique as we were treated with dignity and valued for our skills: they covered costs for the ticket and visa, reimbursed us for exams we had taken and costs involved in the preparation and testing of the Objective Structured Clinical Examination were also covered.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071148_dc5a0d0ea3024b34a4f2735754f8eb67a650bc7f61b98c75d589676c65b02a0c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251106071148_dc5a0d0ea3024b34a4f2735754f8eb67a650bc7f61b98c75d589676c65b02a0c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Nurses NT"> </figure>  It was of course difficult to leave my son behind. But I was doing it for his future. I had the option of taking him from the start, but it was a new place and I wanted to be well-settled and knowledgeable about the options available for him before bringing him along. As I packed, he would ask me to take him with me in my suitcase. It did not seem like he was affected by my departure, and it was only later that his teachers said that he would express his feelings more openly at school. He just did not know how to tell me he missed me, and he would tell teachers he was worried I had forgotten him if we did not speak for a day.&nbsp; He missed me, and that realisation made me emotional. But I had to carry on. Life in the UK was difficult in the beginning. Even so, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Fortunately I had cooperative staff who patiently answered my questions. I think I would have been irritated if I were in their place. But they did not seem to mind, and their support and guidance made it easy for me to adjust to the new work environment. APPRECIATION I still struggle to understand the accent of my English patients, and have ask the matron for help. They compliment me on my English, but I can speak better than I understand. The good thing about working in the UK is that you are appreciated for your work, which can be motivating. Sometimes, after a long day’s work you get a message from your supervisor acknowledging your work with a thank you. That’s enough to erase your tiredness.&nbsp; So far I have received 32 WOW nominations which are acknowledgements from patients for a job well done. It can be motivating, especially in the beginning. The main difference between the Alpana who first left Kathmandu for the UK and the Alpana now is that I am a much more confident person. What makes a good nurse? Skills, knowledge and qualifications are of course a given. But mostly, you need humanity. A smiling face. The way you communicate. Your empathy. These attributes can already solve many problems that patients are facing. This is my second time back home in the last 20 months. And this time, I have arranged for my son’s visa. I will go back after Tihar with my son and husband.&nbsp; I am happy, but also a little nervous about what awaits us. What kind of school will I put him in? Will it really be different from schools here? Will his needs be addressed? Will it be like here, or will he be able to adjust?&nbsp; But I am determined to make it work. Success for me would be if he adjusted well and there is a change in his condition. He still cannot recognise alphabets and read words like kids in his age group. Hopefully he will get learning support in the UK. He also has a knack for music, and this is common among individuals with Williams Syndrome. His ears perk up when he hears music, and he takes part in musical events at school. He still does not recognise letters &nbsp;but he uses voice commands to search for guitar videos on YouTube. I will enrol him in music classes, and help him develop this gift. For now, I worry how he will behave on his long flight. He has a short attention span and gets restless. He is also very social and will want to speak with everyone around him, and might irritate fellow passengers.&nbsp; I have already started trying to make him understand that he will need to behave on the flight. He nods in agreement. Let’s see how it goes. &nbsp;

“I felt like I was born to be a nurse”

A month after September’s GenZ movement in Nepal, nurses working in private hospitals took to the streets demanding better work conditions, and salaries equal to what government nurses are paid.&nbsp;
The strike started at Pokhara’s Manipal Teaching Hospital before spreading nationwide, and nurses working at government hospitals joined in.&nbsp;
Nurses at private hospitals are forced to work for far less than Nepal’s minimum monthly wage of Rs19,550 — without overtime, breaks, and other benefits and under physically and mentally taxing conditions. This is driving many qualified nurses to emigrate.
For newly-appointed Health Minister Sudha Sharma Gautam in the interim government, the strike became her first order of business. She met representatives of the Nursing Association of Nepal (NAN), the protesting nurses, and others from the health sector.&nbsp;
An agreement was reached under which private hospitals and medical colleges will pay nurses a minimum monthly salary of Rs34,730. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
“It is a shame that nurses have been working under such exploitative conditions all this time” says Radha Adhikari, at the School of Health and Life Sciences of the University of the West of Scotland. “The agreement is basic, and there is a long way to go to improve their working conditions. But it is a start.”
NAN chair Chandrakala Sharma has said the ministry’s task force to look into working conditions will also look into facilities for nurses in government hospitals.&nbsp;
“We are committed to solidifying the wage agreement by amending relevant laws within this month,” Sharma said in a video posted by NAN on Facebook. “Our movement is not over, we are still protesting and &nbsp;following up with the Ministry.”
NAN issued an ultimatum to the government to implement the agreements within 48 hours. That deadline has now lapsed and the nurses are back on strike. Many of those protesting now accuse NAN of betraying them.
Jyoti Ranabhat of the Nurses Struggle Committee was present in the meeting, but refused to sign the agreement. “It did not address what we were demanding, we will now go it alone into Plan B,” she tells Nepali Times.&nbsp;
Previous grievances of the nurses did result in similar agreements, but private hospitals failed to comply with government’s past directives — most recently the minimum salary and benefit determined by the state in December 2024.&nbsp;
The Nepal Nursing Council says there are 126,580 registered nurses, specialists, midwives, and Auxiliary Nurse Midwife (ANM) professionals in Nepal. Yet, nursing positions at hospitals remain vacant.&nbsp;
The reason for understaffing is a mass emigration of medical professionals, including nurses. Nursing student enrollment is also declining and there is disinterest in a profession that does not afford health workers quality of life, respect, or dignity.
“Our fight is not with the private sector, it is by definition profit-oriented, our grievance is with the state,” says Ranabhat. “The government is responsible to provide us dignity, respect, and fair pay.”&nbsp;
GREENER PASTURES
Poor pay and working conditions are driving doctors and nurses abroad in large numbers in recent years. Many have simply quit the profession, leading to a shortfall in medical professionals. 

The shortage of nurses is a global phenomenon, and countries like the US, UK and Australia have compensated for their own shortage by offering jobs from countries like the Philippines, India and Nepal.&nbsp;
Nepal Nursing Council data shows that outmigration of nurses rose sharply after 2002, and an estimated &nbsp;20,000-45,000 nurses have left since.
“The state’s denial, derision, and disregard of nurses has caused resentment and disillusionment in the community, driving nurses out,” says Ranabhat. “Ultimately, Nepalis will pay the price when there are no nurses left here.”
Many Nepali nurses who have gone abroad are happy with the respect and quality of life in their jobs abroad. But many others face exploitative recruiters in Nepal and employers abroad. Nursing consultancies have mushroomed as nursing colleges struggle to meet demand.&nbsp;
Adhikari herself worked at United Mission Hospital Tansen before moving to the UK 30 years ago, and remembers that working conditions then were much better for nurses.&nbsp;
“Nepal’s health sector has gone downhill since privatisation,” she states. “Medical colleges are only concerned with supplying doctors and nurses internationally, because that is what makes money.”
But once Nepal’s nurses are abroad, there is no guarantee that they will have jobs in the nursing sector. Many find themselves working outside their field of expertise, in hospitality or sales.&nbsp;
“Nepal has become a production hub for nurses, and Nepali nurses have become products for export,” adds Ranabhat. &nbsp;“People might think this will add to remittances, but no one is thinking about what will happen to Nepal’s health sector.”&nbsp;
For many, nursing has become a way out of Nepal rather than a vocation. In 2022, the government signed an agreement with the UK to send Nepali nurses to work there at zero cost, with benefits and protection equal to UK nurses.&nbsp;
The pilot phase was expected to recruit 100 nurses, and applications opened in July 2023, with 45 nurses said to be selected by Britain’s NHF representatives by the end of 2023. Forty-one of them obtained labour permits.&nbsp;
They may be treated well, but the reality of working in the international health sector is not as straightforward.
Radha Adhikari told us from Scotland: “Market saturation, exploitation, discrimination based on race, gender, and foreignness prevent nurses from finding the right, respectful jobs even here. Ultimately, migration cannot be sustainable for Nepal’s nurses.”

Nepal haemorrhaging nurses

Prime Minister Juddha Shamsher Rana built the NJJR probably to transport logs cut on his forested birta land north of Janakpur to sell in India. The 2’6” narrow-gauge railway extended north from Jaynagar, India 29km to Janakpur and another 22km to Bhutaha/Bijalpura, cost 680,000 Indian rupees to build, and opened for business December 1937. The Nepali engineer in charge of construction was Capt Tilak Bahadur Rayamajhi, who in 1908 was one of the first Nepalis to receive a civil engineering degree in India.&nbsp; After 1950, the line from Janakpur to Bhutaha had little commercial value and was out of service. Until the late 1970s, there were no proper motorable roads connecting Dhanusha and Mahottari Districts with India. The NJJR was the only transportation alternative for people who had to otherwise go on foot, bicycle or ox carts to India.&nbsp; The NJJR also played an important role in religious tourism, as hundreds of thousands Indian pilgrims visited Janakpur annually to participate in the Bibaha Panchami, Rama Navami, and Janaki Navami. For the Bihari peasant bound for Janaki Mandir in 1955, sitting on the roof of a slow-moving train was a luxury compared to trudging 29km on foot from the Indian border. The first manager of the NJJR in Janakpur was Lt Hem Bahadur Gadtaula-Chhetri. The general manager from 1942-58 was Rekha Bahadur Rayamajhi of Bhojpur, posted at the railway’s main office at Jaynagar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_971118917423dec021d89591fe5fef4f7218698595773f6006b4d50c5c57cf94.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251106071140_971118917423dec021d89591fe5fef4f7218698595773f6006b4d50c5c57cf94" data-rendition-name="original" width="1014" height="680" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>A steam train excursion for foreigners in 1999. The last steam excursion on the Janakpur Railway ran in 2006. Photo: GORDON EDGAR</figcaption> </figure>  Rama and Seeta, the railway’s first two appropriately named locomotives, were built in Berlin in 1936. In view of the rising power of Adolf Hitler’s Germany at that time, was Prime Minister Juddha trying to cultivate the Third Reich in hopes of reducing Nepal’s virtually total dependence on British India?&nbsp; In 1939 Adolf Hitler gifted a Mercedes-Benz 230 Pullman Landaulet to Juddha as a way to convince him not to let the British use their Gurkha regiments against Germany in World War II. The car had to be disassembled and carried over the mountains to Kathmandu and reassembled.&nbsp; The Nepali Congress-led campaign against Rana rule received considerable support in Janakpur and the eastern Tarai. In December 1951, King Tribhuvan rode the NJJR from Jaynagar to Janakpur, and thousands thronged to catch sight of a king of whom they had heard but never seen. As operations on the Nepali Government Railway came to an end, its European-made engines were transferred to the NJJR. King Mahendra ordered two more locomotives named Chandra and Surya for the NJJR in 1962. They were built in Leeds and traveled from Liverpool to Calcutta to Jaynagar to begin their service.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_55e4b768ef0ae7682dec8092169bbedc070656d46d9d0a80039fd960a23ae335.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251106071140_55e4b768ef0ae7682dec8092169bbedc070656d46d9d0a80039fd960a23ae335" data-rendition-name="original" width="2144" height="1399" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Inside the Nepal Janakpur Jayanagar Railway workshop at Khajuri. By the early 2000s, management was unable to control rising payroll and administrative costs nor secure adequate funds for the railway. Photo: GEOFF WARREN</figcaption> </figure>  The NJJR was renamed Janakpur Railway (JR) in 1965 and became the Nepal Railway Company in 2004. Unlike most government-owned enterprises in Nepal of that era, the JR and Nepal Government Railway operated at a profit for many years. In 1947, its total income was 225,000 Indian rupees, with a profit exceeding 100,000 rupees.&nbsp; In FY1974/75, the railway had revenues of 2.6 million rupees and a profit of 443,000 rupees. It is unclear if depreciation expenses were accounted for. Only from the mid-1980s did the railway begin to lose money. The NJJR did a booming passenger business. Ridership increased from 197,000 in 1960/61 to 1.4 million in 1977/78. Revenue increased from 770,000 rupees in 1966/67 to 2.6 million rupees in 1974/75. Yet warning signs appeared in the 1970s that the railway was living on borrowed time.&nbsp; &nbsp;A foreign consultant conducted a comprehensive study of the railway in 1975 and concluded that ‘the entire railway is very old and worn out, and unless a total rehabilitation’ of the railway was undertaken, it would ‘be forced to close in a very short time’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_240ed714ee4cb369005439a3fb982d6142fd028e7cf6b0c0338519a8abc6afd4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251106071140_240ed714ee4cb369005439a3fb982d6142fd028e7cf6b0c0338519a8abc6afd4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1387" height="784" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>A second class ticket issued in 2004 costing Rs7.25 between Janakpurdham to Jaynagar. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  CHUGGING ALONG An investment of two million rupees resulted in some improvements between 1976 and 1979 but rolling stock and most infrastructure were neglected for another 15 years. Yet somehow the JR’s trains kept chugging along for the next 42 years, often late, with service frequently suspended due to floods.&nbsp; Nearly every year, monsoon rains swept away some of the 135 bridges and tracks and embankments. An RSS News Agency bulletin in August 1975 noted that parts of Janakpur were ‘under 2.5 feet of water’, and the railway tracks near Khajuri were covered by four feet of water.&nbsp; The Jaynagar line was damaged in many places by the swollen Jaladi, Kamala and Jamuni Rivers. Trains to Bijalpura were suspended. For each week railway service was suspended a loss of 75,000 rupees resulted.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251108131132_4a189fa9999b50037f1774b183e62e2caad6177f594ba57a28d93bd674644163.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251108131132_4a189fa9999b50037f1774b183e62e2caad6177f594ba57a28d93bd674644163" data-rendition-name="original" width="1202" height="770" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR MAP"> </figure>  There were also accidents. Trains made only two or three roundtrips daily between Jaynagar and Janakpur and ran at slow speeds, so there were few passenger fatalities, but there were frequent derailments due to the worn rails and overloaded carriages. A RSS report in 1976 said a train derailed near Mahinathpur, and some passengers riding on the roof fell off and were injured. ‘Such accidents occur because the coaches are not regularly maintained and repaired. The speed of the train has been reduced from 12 to 8 miles per hour, since the old and rickety coaches rattle and sway from side to side if driven too fast. The trains take an incredible 4 to 5 hours to cover 28 kilometres,’ the report noted. Gangs of dacoits occasionally boarded trains and robbed passengers. Another RSS report in December 1972 said ‘Six dacoits armed with guns and revolvers looted 13 railway passengers travelling from Janakpurdham to Jaynagar [last] Sunday. The [loot] included wrist watches, gold rings, currency notes and other paraphernalia of the passengers…The dacoits raided third-class bogie number 2 soon after the train started from Khajuri station. The dacoits after plundering the passengers jumped down from the running train about two miles from the Nepal-India border [and fled into India.]’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_de60de1d7fdd0a9d29f19440ed68d773f754c10ef01a8c7e3385097eab6a8419.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251106071140_de60de1d7fdd0a9d29f19440ed68d773f754c10ef01a8c7e3385097eab6a8419" data-rendition-name="original" width="1498" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Narrow-gauge tracks in Jayanagar in India going north toward Nepal. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  Strikes and political protests also stopped the train from time to time. From the early 2000s Maoist and Tarai-based groups enforced stoppages with threats and intimidation that closed schools, shops, government offices, and brought transport services to a halt. Six minor political parties organised a strike in Janakpur in May 2001. Agitators stopped a train near Janakpur and pelted it with stones, breaking windows and injuring the driver. The railway came to a standstill in May 2004 after Maoists set fire to the Mahinathpur station. During February-March 2006, the Maoists obstructed rail service six times. A cylinder bomb exploded inside a train near Parbaha station in May 2009 injuring 30 passengers. Between 1993-2003, the railway had nine general managers who had influence with Kathmandu’s political and bureaucratic elites, but none of whom knew much about railways. Management was unable to control rising payroll and administrative costs nor secure adequate funds for the railway.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_df754214acd19eaab3b56ceaa0d96f0b66f9f0f8fd29fb4a533d860f627f483f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251106071140_df754214acd19eaab3b56ceaa0d96f0b66f9f0f8fd29fb4a533d860f627f483f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1140" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Coal was unavailable, so Seetaa-Ram, the railway’s first two locomotives, burnt wood for fuel. Photo: BASIL ROBERTS</figcaption> </figure>  Revenue ‘leakage’ was significant, as perhaps twenty percent of the passengers rode without tickets. Railway staff was bloated, in 1996 there were 340 on the payroll, many of them with political connections who needed jobs. Safety measures for railway operations were non-existent.&nbsp; There were no performance reviews, no criteria for promotion, and no training opportunities for workers to improve their skills. But the locals continued to ride their beloved railway. For 56 years, the Janakpur Railway received no foreign assistance, not even one rupee of foreign aid. That changed in 1994 when the Indian government provided two used diesel locomotives and 12 used coaches. Two years later, India supplied two more engines and 12 more coaches and promised some upgrades.&nbsp; This gave the railway a new lease on life, but the road network in the eastern Tarai had expanded,making the railway redundant. It also did not connect with the East-West Highway, the major transportation artery across the Tarai, nor could it seamlessly interconnect with India’s broad-gauge rail network at Jaynagar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251106071140_7a52a3c5a3fe4e6320135d90632dcfcee6085a32637a3f71e1e644c5e8d3b19f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251106071140_7a52a3c5a3fe4e6320135d90632dcfcee6085a32637a3f71e1e644c5e8d3b19f" data-rendition-name="original" width="3239" height="1429" loading="lazy" alt="NJJR Dan Edwards NT"> <figcaption>Pashupati, Nepal's first locomotive, in retirement at Khajuri in 1996. Photo: FUZZ JORDAN</figcaption> </figure>  The railway carried no goods, all cargo traffic migrated to trucks. During the 1980s and 1990s, British and European train spotters traveled to India to ride its few remaining steam locomotives, including those of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway. Some took a side trip to Jaynagar where they, without Nepal visas, were thrilled to ride a train to Janakpur without encountering a border check post or immigration officials. Other visa-complying tour groups arranged steam trains for 60,000 rupees or more.&nbsp; The last steam excursion ran in 2006, and after that, foreign interest in the railway evaporated. Cascading financial losses and government indifference coupled with irregular, unreliable service finished on the Janakpur Railway.&nbsp; Seventy-six years of remarkable narrow-gauge railroading in Nepal ended not with a bang but a whimper on January 20, 2014. Sic transit gloria. Dan Edwards was a Peace Corps volunteer in 1966 and is the author of several books on Nepal. This is the third instalment in a new limited series in Nepali Times on the historic transportation infrastructures of Nepal.