<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410118/637205b09c7e80680e0b28cejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1118" height="531"/><figcaption>Kathmandu's dense settlement as seen from Halchok.</figcaption></figure>Owning a house is a mark of success in Nepal — much more so than elsewhere. And if that house is in Kathmandu Valley, then you have really made it.You might have a stable job and family, but unless you have a roof over your head that you own you are not settled by society standards. It could be a small house and the tiny plot, as long as it is yours.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15757#.YfSXGS2B2t8" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Owning a house</a> is part of our everyday conversation in households. There is always someone talking about how they are building their house, how there is no water coming out of an expensive bore well, how a neighbour built a multi-story structure and blocked out all the sunlight.Homes hold a special place in our society that very few other things can match and it is reflected in our numbers too.Nepal may lag in several economic and human development indicators, but when it comes to home ownership rates, it is far ahead of the rest. Some 85% of Nepali households live in homes they own. Proportinately, more people in Nepal own the houses they live in than in the US, UK, and Germany.Most other countries with higher home ownership rates than Nepal, such as Singapore and Russia, were able to achieve it due to their strong social housing programs. The fact that so many Nepali families own their <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6200#.YfSXGS2B2t8" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">own houses</a> with little governmental support is remarkable. Nepalis prize homes as their most important investment.But even with this high home ownership rate, thousands of new houses are built every year, feeding <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-vanishing-land/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the urban sprawl</a>. New apartments and housing projects come up to address demand.And yet, there are never enough houses to meet that growing demand. More and more cultivable agricultural land and green space are being turned into housing plots.Economically, it makes more sense for Nepalis to own their own house, even if it is at the very edge of the city. Unlike wealthier nations where buildings generally follow a standard national code for health and safety, most homes in Nepal function as isolated and self-sufficient units.Germany, for example, has laws that require housing units to have regular access to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/getting-our-shit-together/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">water and sewage</a>, Nepal has no such centralised directive. A house in a Berlin neighbourhood will have roughly the same level of access to water and garbage collection as the one next to it.A house in one Kathmandu neighbourhood may have a running water and sewage system, but only if the owner is able to drill for water and have a septic tank.In the US, if landlords build a house with cheap construction materials and endangers the lives of tenants, they can be taken to court and prosecuted. In Nepal tenants are completely dependent on the whims of the landlord.So, it makes sense that people would want to move into their own house where they can make their own choices rather than live under the tyranny of someone else.Even if the landlord is agreeable and the living environment acceptable, renting is not a long-term, financially sound solution. Given how the rents have soared in the cities, it makes more economic sense to build one’s own home.Houses in Nepal are not just places of shelter, but also of income. Owning a house doesn’t just save rental money it can also earn rental cash. In a country with very few mature investment opportunities, a home is a nest-egg. Many Nepali families sell off their homes in times of acute need: to send a family member abroad, pay hospital bills or marry off children.Homes become important at festival time, and Nepali culture places a lot of emphasis on communal gathering and cooking, all things that are more conducive in personally owned houses.Nepal has always had a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/ground-reality-of-landlessness-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">historical home-ownership culture</a>. Until very recently, most of Nepal’s population lived in rural areas where land is plentiful and houses are built with local materials. There were few constraints on building and owning a home. Houses were within the reach of many people, creating a cultural legacy towards home ownership that has persisted.Ultimately, there is a universal and innate desire to own your own home.  In archaeological remains all over the world, we see human settlements created with a meticulous level of care.From the earliest cave paintings, humans have been decorating and creating a material environment. Building technology may have advanced, but this fundamental human desire to elevate personal space from a place of rest to one with meaning has not changed.Homes are where we spend the most time, they are where we create memories. They are an extension of ourselves. How they are built and look end up becoming a reflection of how we think, act and behave. That is why we seek to permanently own this extension.By owning our own house, we give ourselves more freedom. In the end, home is where the heart is, and who would not want to own their own heart?Avani Adhikari is a student of Economics and Urban Planning in Singapore.

Avani Adhikari

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Home is where the heart is

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111011114/636ccd339c7e80680e08bc62jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1627"/><figcaption>Photo: PRATIBHA TULADHAR</figcaption></figure>There is never a perfect time to have children because there is always something happening in your life. Either they are too young or too old, they are not financially stable enough or ready for the responsibilities or want to travel.No one else but the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/all-in-mind/the-choice-of-women-to-have-or-not-to-have-baby-should-be-respected,547" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">woman should decide when it is the right time</a> for her to have children. Sometimes, telling a woman that there is never a right time may end up in her having children at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. Many of us know someone who decided to have a baby to save their marriage or due to societal pressure.“Women are born with a certain number of eggs and as women age, it is harder for women to conceive due to a decrease in the number considerably. Also, women may have a certain percentage of ‘abnormal’ eggs that when fertilised may result in miscarriages,” explains physician Sujan Rajbhandari Joshi. “It does become difficult for women to conceive after the age of 35, not saying that it is impossible or hopeless, but the probability of having a successful pregnancy is much higher at 25 or 30 compared to 35 or 40.”It is important to consider nature and biology when it comes to having children, although the magic of modern science has made many things possible. I know women who have had their first child at 40 and I know women who have been struggling to have children in their 20s— these experiences are subjective.Biologically speaking, a woman is physically healthy to bear children from her late teens to her early 20s. Fertility can also depend on age and genetics, so the sooner a woman can decide what she wants or does not want, the easier it is for her to work towards it.Preserving her fertility, or learning if she has any health issues such as polycystic ovarian syndrome, endometriosis or genetic history of reproductive issues, may affect her ability to get pregnant as discovered by many women. If you know you want children for sure but happen to be unsure when, it helps to know the best time to start <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/freezing-a-future-family-IVF-embryo-surrogacy,3881" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">freezing your eggs</a>.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWqYSl-8tFQThere are ways of having children in the late 30s and 40s, but it may be more expensive and difficult because fertility treatments and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/embryos-on-the-move,3162" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">In-Vitro Fertilisation</a> (IVF) may not always be successful. Another important factor is that if you have a male partner, his age will also affect his fertility and that may determine whether you can have kids.It is important to respect women’s privacy because some women may be trying to conceive without telling their family and friends, they may have suffered miscarriage or encountered unsuccessful IVF treatments. So telling them there is no right time, without even knowing what they have been through, would be cruel and hurtful. We can only plan and control so much about having a baby, the rest is up to chance.Also, it is important that you and your partner are on the same page about having and raising a baby, so you must consider if they want to be a parent too. The help and support of family do affect a woman’s ability to raise a child because affluent families have more resources to raise kids compared to someone from a low socioeconomic background.In Nepal, the pressure on women to have male children to continue to family lineage is just as great. Maya,32, is a successful working professional who has been married for five years. “I get pressure from my in-laws to have a child, preferably male. It makes me feel like everything I have done so far in life is inadequate. First it was the pressure to marry and now to have a child. Should I have a child for society if I have no desire to be a mother?” she questions.Are you willing to give up your spontaneous life of socialising to wake up in the middle of the night for a baby? Are you willing to give up the joys of being a mother to have a successful and happy career? There are sacrifices and losses on both sides and understanding what they entail would help a woman decide.If you did not want children for years and suddenly decide at 50 or 60 that you want to be a mother, you may be able to adopt a baby, but you must consider if it is in the best interest of the child. It is not enough to want to be a mother, but also important to be a good mother.Every decision related to having a baby has consequences. Factors, such as your age and fertility, financial stability, support of a partner, job, family, ambitions and how much are you willing to give up for what you want should be taken into account. This major decision can cause confusion and anxiety, and clash with other expectations.It is easy to allow society, parents, or your own biological clock to tell you that time is running out and feel guilt and shame for not wanting what a woman ‘should’ want. What other people say or what you read may influence your thoughts and views. But, you have to be honest with yourself, take the time to listen to your inner voice and do what you know is right for yourself.Anjana Rajbhandary writes this fortnightly Nepali Times column Life Time about socio-cultural issues, mental health and physical health.

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<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101136/636b74ef9c7e80680e0623bejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="910" height="607"/>Today is my 23rd day of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/a-nepali-in-beijing-during-coronavirus-scare/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">isolation in my apartment</a> in Shanghai, my 23rd day of living in solitude and not going outdoors, not speaking with anyone in person. This has been the longest silence of my life.When <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/why-nepal-must-watch-about-coronavirus-but-not-panic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">the coronavirus</a> first struck China, I entered a deep panic, as did next to everyone I knew. After some days of cloistered existence, however, the crisis started to show us its instructive side. In Chinese, the word for ‘crisis’, 危机, is composed of two characters, one representing danger and the other representing opportunity. Like the union of Yin and Yang, everything has two sides: there is opportunity behind every crisis, but it takes courage and wisdom to see it.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/a-nepali-in-beijing-during-coronavirus-scare/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A Nepali in Beijing during coronavirus scare</a>, Rastraraj BhandariOpportunity #1: To slow downChina has been on hyper mode for many years. GDP growth seems to be the single measure of success here and the country operates like a machine set at maximum speed. As an individual I am a part of that machine. I know it’s important to slow down to review and reflect, but I don’t have the courage to pull the brakes when the system around me is spinning crazily. This winter, the brakes of the system itself were pulled suddenly, by the coronavirus.The whole country ground to a halt. We had the longest holiday in history. Putting away anxieties about GDP growth and about climbing the social ladder, people stopped being cogs in a machine and returned to being human beings.My own experience has been that I have been able to ask myself what is truly important to me. I have started to read books not about productivity and how to get to the next level in my career, but about humanity and the meaning of life. No longer on autopilot, I have been able to step out of my programming and to live more consciously, to make more deliberate choices.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/why-nepal-must-watch-about-coronavirus-but-not-panic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Why Nepal must watch Coronavirus, but not panic</a>, Sameer M DixitOpportunity #2: To bond with familyIn the busy modern lives we live here in urban China, each of us always has our own agenda to follow, our own bucket list of things to do, our own personal ambitions to fulfill. Spending time with our elders perhaps does not even make it into the top five of our priorities. But the coronavirus cleared that obstacle for us. It brought us the unexpected gift of precious time with our families, time that many of us had not realized we had been missing.The voice of one friend of mine trembled as she shared with me her feelings after getting to spend two weeks with her parents. My friend is 55 and her parents are in their nineties. “It’s the first time in my life that I have been with them like this and I had never before this imagined myself connecting with them so deeply,” she said, “No rushes, no agenda, no to-do list, just spending time with them, listening to them, teaching them to meditate, sharing my world with them, and understanding their fears and joys. It felt like a life gift.”For a younger friend the shut-down was an opportunity to get to know his grandparents. “Like most Chinese families, my parents moved out of their hometown to a big city when I was four years old. I haven’t been back for years, but this year I got to spend extra time with them, hearing their stories from when they were young. For the first time, I got to know their full names and came to see them as human beings and not simply as a ‘grandma’ abstraction.”For another young friend, the virus scare recalibrated her relationship with her parents. “I have been very independent since college and enjoy the freedom of being on my own after years of restrictions. I used to call my parents only once a month. But because of the coronavirus I could not go home to celebrate Chinese New Year with them, and I also worried for their safety. The coronavirus made me reflect on my relationship with my family. I realised that I wanted to be in touch and to know more about what is happening in my parents’ lives.”Many others have shared with me such stories of “first times” with their families. When things slowed down, we came to recognize our human need to connect and to share with the ones we love. The virus shed light on the things that we take for granted and reminded us of how precious they are.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/coronavirus-outbreak-may-curb-wildlife-trafficking/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Covid-19 outbreak may curb wildlife trafficking</a>, Sonia AwaleOpportunity #3: CommunityModern life has trained us to live in isolation: to compete rather than collaborate, to be independent rather than interdependent, individualistic rather than community-minded. The crisis has taught us the opposite. Instead of thinking about personal achievement, in this moment of shared difficulty we have thought about how we can connect with others and make things happen together.Though most people are keeping indoors, online communities have been more active than ever. Numerous WeChat groups were created overnight, offering free online coaching, counseling, meditation, and all manner of nurturing support. Various organisations provided recordings of talks aimed at helping people relieve anxiety. Some groups offered simple online fireside sharing, which was healing for people and helped them stay connected.Once again, the crisis reminded us that we were human beings, not robots. And that human beings have a deep longing for love, belonging and connection, that these things matter more to us than career advancement or material gain.The evolution of personal awareness and consciousness, as we have seen happen in many ways during the coronavirus scare, leads to our being able to contribute to creating a better world. This is why I see the crisis as having a huge silver lining. May it be instructive and teach us to start the new decade in a reflective, fresh, and new way. Stay strong, China.I would like to share a poem written this week by a friend:In the days I was kept indoorsI saw myself startTo smell the scents of a flower To feel the rhythm of rain dropsTo see the light of sunriseTo see beauty in every small thing in lifeAlso, I reminded myself to start To see the truth as it itTo grow myself inwardsTo make a difference with my presenceTo speak to my heartTo love,  truly and authentically.Marcia Chen is a business professional based in Shanghai.

Covid-19: Both danger and opportunity

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101112/636b6fce9c7e80680e060043jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2481" height="1656"/><figcaption>Amitabha Bagchi reeives the DSC prize 2019 from Pradeep Kumar Gyawali, Minister for Foreign Affairs, at Nepal Literature Festival in Pokhara in December 2019</figcaption></figure>There is not much to add about Amitabha Bagchi’s Half  The Night Is Gone that has not already been said. The winner of this year’s <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/2019-shortlist-announced-for-dsc-prize/">DSC Prize for South Asian Literature</a>, awarded at the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-and-international-literature-festival/">Nepal Literature Festival in Pokhara</a> last month, the book has been readily deemed the ‘Great Indian Novel’ of our time.Bagchi sets most of his novel in Delhi, with parts in Agra and Banaras. Writing in pre-independence times, Dilli’s rich lore and the old ganga jamuni tehzeeb of North India is woven beautifully into the novel – with intercuts of a harder, less forgiving modern-day shown in letters between chapters.Bagchi carefully constructs his plot – a long winded ambitious tale that tells the story of two families and their men sprawling across generations. This story is told by the fictional, award-winning Hindi novelist, Vishwanath, who takes breaks to pen letters to his brother, his dead son’s girlfriend and his estranged wife.Goswami Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanas (an Awadhi retelling of Ramayana) undercuts the novel being written within the novel, with additional Sanskrit sloka, Hindi-Urdu couplets, and Qur’anic hadith referenced throughout, each with an English translation. Bagchi’s greatest feat is the way the quoted verses always add to the narrative, never distracting or pulling a reader away. As <a href="https://www.thehindu.com/books/waiting-for-the-monkeys-return-review-of-amitabha-bagchis-half-the-night-is-gone-by-shreevatsa-nevatia/article24714584.ece">The Hindu</a> put it, this is not an ‘Indian novel in English’, it is an Indian novel.The men Vishwanath writes about are deeply flawed and violent – they beat, rape and abandon their wives (stylistically depicted as ‘claiming their conjugal rights’) and yet, somehow, they are always portrayed as layered and interesting individuals. The writing is confusing, it is unclear if the framing of women as always youthful, inherently lustful and scheming is meant to highlight the predicament of women in Indian society or if Vishwanath is just a bad writer.Whatever the motivation, it is the novel's glaring fault. It is difficult to read  Omvati (She manages to get a name – something not every female character in the novel is granted) who is molested by her father in law, and as she stabs and wounds him in a ‘… a coruscating sweep that left her quivering. She felt arousal’.Later in the novel, her husband reaches for her and Omvati throws up again and again. In response, her husband beats and bribes her and ‘takes to visiting prostitutes’. There is never an effort to depict her inner feelings and trauma – only his frustration.Bagchi is a gifted storyteller, creating varied and interesting relationships between his characters both within their families and across them. Diwanchand, the younger son of Lala Motichand, is so devoted to Tulsida Ramcharitmanas, he leaves his inheritance, wife and child to dedicate his life to the work.Makhan Lal, Lala Motichand’s illegitimate child, is a Marx-loving schoolteacher who resents his father. Vishwanath is devastated by his son’s death in a road accident, and only in his grief does he begin to try and repair his relationships. It is only the caricatures of women that leave an unfortunate stain on the novel, a book that otherwise speaks to nostalgia, of interfaith harmony and complex family dynamics.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b6fd19c7e80680e060044jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="643">Half The Night Is GoneBy Amitabha BagchiJuggernaut, New Delhi, 2018320 pages    550 INRISBN:978-9386228703

A nostalgic Hindustani novel

<figure><img width="960" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f779c7e80680e056e2ejpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Bandana Timalsina reaches out to touch her husband‘s face one last time before his cremation at Pashupati in August. Kedar Timalsina hung himself at a seafood factory in Busan where he worked. Photos: Ki Mindo/ The Seoul Shinmun</figcaption></figure>For many Nepalis, it is dream to find work in Korea where they expect to earn many times more than in Nepal. Yet, there is a dark side to the Korean Dream: between 2009 to 2018, there were 143 deaths of Nepali workers in South Korean soil, and of them 43 were suicides.The 31% suicide rate is much higher than workers from other nationalities. Among Burmese workers, there was a total of 51 deaths and 4 involved suicide, from 2011 to August 2019. Suicides rate is relatively low among Vietnamese migrant workers with zero suicide out of the 14 deaths from 2017 to August 2019.Most of these deaths involved E-9 non-professional employment visa holders who had been employed at farms and factories that suffer a chronic labour shortage. While these tragic deaths repeat every year, the South Korean government does not have a clue why so many migrant workers make such an extreme choice."Nepali migrant workers who come to South Korea under the employment permit system tend to be highly educated," notes Seo Seonyoung, a Sociology researcher at Yonsei University. “Their families have great expectation for them, but as soon in Korea they find themselves at the lowest rung of the workforce ladder. The unbearable stress could eventually force them to commit suicide." <figure><img width="960" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f7a9c7e80680e056e2fjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>A mother holds the photograph of her son, who suffered from depression while working in South Korea, and died after he returned. There have been 43 suicides by Nepali workers in Korea between 2009-2018.</figcaption></figure>There are growing voices calling for a systematic improvement to end the vicious cycle. The South Korean government has been trying to improve ties as part of its 'New Southern Policy' to balance its need for migrant workers to address the shortfall of workers.There are now 2.42 million migrant workers in Korea, and the number has nearly doubled in the past 10 years. Local farms and factories cannot function without migrant workforces.Hong Sung Soo, Law professor at Sookmyung Women's University says: "Discrimination and xenophobia towards migrants are not only inappropriate, but also not clever at all if we consider our industrial and demographic reality."Labour rights groups and health activists have been trying to find out why there is such a high suicide rate among Nepali migrant workers in farms and factories in South Korea."It is not just a single factor, there is a web of complex reasons that trap migrant workers towards the extreme choice," explains Jeong Young-seob, Co-director of the group, Migrants Act.A field survey in August of 141 migrant workers from Nepal by the Seoul Shinmun newspaper, Green Hospital and the Migrants Trade Union showed that there were four main factors: gap between expectation and reality of working in Korea, lack of exit, high expectations from loved ones back home, and ruined relationships in Nepal.Great Expectations = Great DisappointmentsTo aspiring Nepali migrant workers, South Korea is a land of opportunity, where they hope to earn five to eight times more than in a job back home. Even highly educated young Nepalis apply for an E-9 visa to South Korea. But when they arrive, they often struggle with harsh labour conditions and discrimination. Of the respondents in the survey, 28% cited a gap between the reality of their work and the expectations they had. Like Surendra, 28, who has been working in a mushroom farm for three years. He has a degree from Tribhuvan University.He says: "Before I came here, I was excited about earning Rs300,000 a month, but I had no idea about working and living conditions. Back home we rarely experience working for 12 hours without any real break. I was not even learning any skills, it was simple manual labour.”The survey showed that 45.6% of the respondents worked more than 52 hours a week, and 19% said they worked 60 hours a week, and only 26% said they had a normal 5-day work week.No ExitAfter working in South Korea for 16 months, Nepali migrant worker Shrestha, 27, jumped from the rooftop of his company dorm in June 2017. He had been suffering from insomnia as he struggled to adjust to alternate day and night shifts. His suicide note said: ‘I have been seeing doctors for health problems and sleep disorders. It did not improve. I wanted to quit and find another job but the company did not allow it. I wanted to go back to Nepal to recover, but the company said no.’ The survey showed that 71% of respondents had tried to find a new job, and 36% of them said this was because of long working hours and dangerous conditions.Migrant workers who come to South Korea under the employment permit system are allowed to change workplaces up to three times within a three-year period. But it requires permission from their employers.Hard WorkNo matter how harsh and hostile the work environment in Korea, returning to Nepal is not an option for most. It was not easy for them to come to Korea in the first place, and they carry the weight of their family's expectations on their shoulders."If migrant workers go back, the villagers would criticise them for forsaking a great opportunity, people will laugh at their failure and brand them weak. Caught between a rock and a hard place, many Nepali migrant workers commit suicide," explained Udaya Rai, the Nepali head of the Migrants Trade Union.Ruined RelationshipsWhat sustains migrant workers despite harsh working conditions in Korea is love of families back home. However, when their relationship collapses, it leads to great emotional stress. Tej Bahadur Gurung, 29, had two friends who committed suicide due to family or relationship problems.Kham Gurung, 45, recalled: "I had to deal with a family issue while I was working non-stop in Korea, but I couldn't afford to go back. That really tormented me."Naivety and lack of exposure to the outside world among Nepali youth who need better jobs to take care of their families creates a problem, says Kapil B Dahal of the Department of Anthropology at Tribhuvan University in Kathmandu.Dahal says there have been no systematic study of suicides among Nepali migrant workers in Korea, or elsewhere. The Korean Ministry of Justice keeps a record of the deaths of migrant workers by country, but does not have data on the cause of death."Nepali migrant workers in the Middle East and Europe also commit suicides, yet the Nepal government and politicians do not do anything. Nepali migrant workers make a great contribution to the country's economy, but their health is overlooked and their suicides are ignored," Dahal says.The Nepal Embassy in Seoul offers counseling services for migrant workers, but Udaya Rai of the Migrant Trade Union questioned its effectiveness. "They are not interested in addressing these deaths and suicides, they fear the South Korean government might slash the quota for Nepalis if we start to speak up. That is why they stay silent and hurriedly send bodies back to Nepal." <figure><img width="960" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f7d9c7e80680e056e30jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Wrapped in cardboard, the coffin containing the remains of Kedar Timalsina arrives at Kathmandu airport in September.</figcaption></figure>Kedar Timalsina, 28 A coffin was rolled out of the arrival area of Kathmandu airport recently. Inside was the body of Kedar Timalsina who hanged himself on 20 July in Busan inside the warehouse of the seafood processing factory where he worked."This paper doesn't say anything about why Kedar killed himself," family members at Kathmandu airport said, examining his death certificate from South Korean police.Kedar’s family could not understand why he would kill himself. It had been only 25 days since his wife Bandana gave birth to their first son. "I even heard Kedar threw a big party in Korea to celebrate the birth of the baby. Why would such a man kill himself? It doesn't make any sense," said Bandana’s brother. Kedar had an aging mother who just turned 60, and would need his care more than before.What further frustrates the grieving family is the silence and indifference from both their government and the Korean authorities. For the Nepal Embassy in Seoul its responsibility was over after shipping the coffin to Kathmandu. South Korean police never investigated surveillance camera footage at the factory, or forensics on Kedar’s phone. <figure><img width="960" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f809c7e80680e056e31jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Bandana Timalsina with her son in her lap at their home in Dong Kharka village in September. The baby was only 25 days old when her father Kedar Timalsina took his own life while working at a factory in South Korea. </figcaption></figure>According to South Korean police, Kedar’s co-worker had told them he had recently purchased some land in Nepal, which turned out to be a fraud. Kedar’s family says that is not true because the land he bought two years ago had nearly doubled in price. None of Kedar’s personal belongings were returned to his family, and Korean police said the Embassy had told them the family did not want them back. The family said the Embassy had never contacted them about his belongings."We are responsible for confirming the identity and death certificate in order to promptly return the body back to family in Nepal. The Embassy does not send back items unless they are important," the Embassy of Nepal replied when asked about it.At the cremation site in Pashupati, Bandana wept as she caressed her husband’s face for the last time. “What do I do with our baby?” she cried. It took four hours for the fire to consume Kedar’s body, and with it his ‘Korean Dream’. <figure><img width="960" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f829c7e80680e056e32jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Maiya Gurung looks at a picture of her daughter with her husband Bal Bahadur Gurung, who committed suicide by jumping off a bridge in Seoul in June. After failing to secure a new job, Gurung was facing deportation back to Nepal. </figcaption></figure>Bal Bahadur Gurung, 32 "He really loved the children. These kids remind me of my husband every time I see them," said Maiya Gurung, 28, wiping tears with a tissue under her shades.Maiya's husband Bal Bahadur Gurung jumped off the Wolleung Bridge in Seoul, on 12 June, and died instantly after being hit by a passing vehicle. CCTV footage showed Bal Bahadur walking nervously back-and-forth over the bridge several times, hesitating. He had become an ‘unregistered’ migrant two days ago, and feared deportation.Bal Bahadur entered South Korea with a proper work visa in October 2017. In March, he left the company and registered himself at the Ministry of Labor to find another job. Migrant workers automatically lose their right to stay in the country if they fail to secure employment within three months. Bal Bahadur went back to Nepal to spend a short time with his family then returned to Korea, but had no luck finding a job within the three month deadline.Maiya Gurung came to South Korea to take her husband’s remains. Her neighbours tell her that her husband looked so happy when he was visiting Pokhara two months before his suicide. Shocked by his youngest son’s tragic death, Bal Bahadur’s father, a former soldier, is suffering from amnesia.Maiya’s seven-year-old daughter asks her: “Did Daddy die?”“No,” she replies, “your father has gone abroad to work." Maiya Gurung weeps as she tells us later, “I want to die, too. But when I think of these poor children, I can't." <figure><img width="720" height="960" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f859c7e80680e056e33jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Dhan Raj Ghale’s hand-written suicide note in English. He took his own life eight years ago in Korea after an altercation with a Mongolian worker.</figcaption></figure>Dhan Raj Ghale, 40 ‘I am enocent. I have no mistake. Company cheating me. I am no crazy […] company take my signiture [...] please investigation please’ This is the note left by Dhan Raj Ghale’s hand-written suicide note in English before he hanged himself in 2011 while working at a futon factory in Daegu City. Dhan even had a plane ticket booked to go back to Nepal.Upon seeing a Korean reporter in August in Pokhara, Dhan’s wife Man Maya Ghale, 48, and Dhan’s younger brother Bhim Raj Ghale, 36, recalled the events of eight years ago.Bhim said his older brother was a hard-working man who loved his family more than anything else in the world. “After seeing the letters, I thought Dhan must have been bullied at work,” Bhim recalled.Dhan also left another short letter written in Nepali: ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I once fought with another worker from Mongolia. I don’t know what that Mongolian guy told Korean people…’He also wrote twice to the manager of the company: ‘You don’t talk to me anymore. I don’t understand. Please tell me why.’ <figure><img width="960" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f879c7e80680e056e34jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Dhan Bahadur Ghale's brother Bhim with his suicide note at the family home in Pokhara in September.</figcaption></figure>The company, however, denied there was bullying, and that Dhan was never asked to sign any document. Dhan may have found Korea’s alternate day and night shifts difficult, and had been working night shifts for two months before his death. “My husband told me he could not sleep when he was working night shifts,” Man Maya recalled.Dhan’s daughter and son were ten and five at the time of their father’s death. Now they are in college and school. "I will never forgive those people who mistreated my father,” Dhan's son vows revenge, and the siblings have made joint promises to themselves they will never go overseas to work no matter what.Nevertheless, Man Maya and Bhim said they did not hate Koreans. “You see in South Korea, as well as in Nepal, there are good people and bad people. Sadly, my husband met bad people. I don’t want to blame all Koreans because of them. I just want those bad ones to be punished.”Some names have been changed.Ki Mindo is a reporter for The Seoul Shinmun key5088@seoul.or.kr These articles are reprinted under special arrangement with the Seoul Shinmun which published the <a href="https://www.seoul.co.kr/news/newsView.php?id=20191001500198">stories</a> in Korean on 23 September, 2019 as part of a Special Series titled 'The 2019 Migrant Report: Betrayed Korean Dreams'.More stories from Nepali Times on Nepalis in Korea:<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Korean-kafala-migrants-in-Korea,4025">Korea Kafala</a> by Om Astha Rai and Seulki Lee in Seoul<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Korea-treating-Nepali-migrant-workers-right,2813">Doing it the right way</a> by Seulki Lee<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/interview/interview-with-Korean-ambassador-Choi-Yong-Jin,2767">“Hope Nepal’s difficulties end soon” </a> Interview with Korean Ambassador hoe Yong Jin

Dead end of the Korean Dream

<figure><img width="1400" height="934" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a29569c7e80680e0458bejpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: SONIA AWALE</figcaption></figure>I'm not sure how to tell my story. There is so much pain inside me that I never get to share … I am terrified to voice them.” Originally from Chapagaun, Rupa Maharjan used to travel to Patan every day for work. Born in a poor farming family, she never went to school. So, getting a job even as a daily wage worker at a metal craft factory in the city meant a lot. <img width="430" height="210" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a29599c7e80680e0458bfjpeg.jpg" alt="">Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/3-4th-of-the-sky/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">3/4th of the sky</a>, Editorial<a style="font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 0.01em; background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-better-halves/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's better halves</a>, Anil Chitrakar <a style="letter-spacing: 0.15px; background-color: #ffffff; outline: 0px; font-weight: 600;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/staying-alive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Staying alive</a>, Sewa BhattaraiThis is also where she met Babu Ratna Maharjan. They were soon married and lived happily despite limited resources. But seven years later, Babu Ratna was diagnosed with brain tumour. His family had to sell a part of the ancestral land to pay for his treatment, but first they had to win a court battle against relatives.The money was soon gone, and so was Rupa’s husband. He was 30, she was 29 and her son Bishal was eight. She shared an old three-storey house in Kapinche Tole of Patan with her in-laws, two brothers-in-laws and their families. Half of Bishal’s school fees was sponsored by a monastery, but she had to work herself to the bone to pay the other half. Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-house-for-the-nepali-family/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The house for the Nepali family</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/surviving-the-aftermath/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Surviving the aftermath</a>, Sonam Choeyki Lama<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/staying-positive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Staying positive</a>, Sewa Bhattarai When earthquake struck on 25 April 2015, she and her son lost their home. But her husband’s oldest brother kindly decided to give her his share of the house, and with a Rs400,000 bank loan Rupa has started rebuilding. She was not eligible for the government’s reconstruction grant, as the design did not meet the standards set by the National Reconstruction Authority.Rupa is now 39, but her small, thin frame, tired eyes and wrinkled hands make her look frail. She shows a visitor around the building, which is still under construction four years after the earthquake. She shares a tiny bedroom with her son and the open kitchen is bare. “I will continue pushing myself for my son’s future, he is all I have got left, and I am all he has,” says Rupa. “I worry about being able to afford his higher studies because I still have to pay off my loans.” Rupa’s job at the metalcraft shop entails working with solvents to clean metal for gold plating, and this has given her allergies. The work is also not paying as much because Kathmandu’s handicraft industry is suffering due to cheap Chinese imports. Bishal is now 16 and will be taking his Secondary School Examination later this year. Unlike other boys his age at school who are exploring their interests and planning ahead for engineering and computer science studies, Bishal does not have big dreams and is considering to learn Chinese and become a tour guide."All I know is that I have to support my mom as soon as possible," says Bishal, who can barely bring himself to mention his father who could have guided him.  “My nephew has accepted the reality of our family and does not ever demand a thing,” said Rupa’s brother-in-law, Karma, 50. “I worry he won’t be able to continue his studies and that he will end up not having a choice in what does in life, just like us.”The next morning, it is just another day for Rupa Maharjan as she prepares a simple meal for her son before he goes off to attend extra tutorials to prepare for his exams. Then she is off to the workshop, where she will spend next eight hours bringing bronze figures of deities to life.

Sonia Awale

Making gods for a living

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a29619c7e80680e0458c4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1078"/><figcaption>Photo: BIKRAM RAI</figcaption></figure>At 65, Ishwori Bhandari is a happy-go-lucky woman. She has no family, no obligations, and lives alone. She recently went to India to attend the Kumbha Mela with a hundred other devotees from Nepal, and says god has given her a good life.But ask her about her sorrows, and her eyes well up. “Don’t ask me about that, it hurts me deeply,” she says. “I must ignore it and look only to the positive so that I can live.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a29649c7e80680e0458c5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="430" height="210">Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/3-4th-of-the-sky/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">3/4th of the sky</a>, Editorial<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-better-halves/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's better halves</a>, Anil Chitrakar<a style="letter-spacing: 0.15px; background-color: #ffffff; outline: 0px; font-weight: 600;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/staying-alive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Staying alive</a>, Sewa BhattaraiAfter her husband died 25 years ago, she fought a long legal battle for her husband’s share of ancestral property, but got only a small portion which she had to sell to pay the lawyers.Bhandari’s long and hard life was made worse by the 2015 earthquake. Her third brother-in-law helped her get joint ownership for the house she was living in. The earthquake destroyed that house, and she wanted to build a new one. But her brother-in-law died, and his wife refused to sign over the legal rights. Without it, Bhandari could not get the housing grant from the Nepal Reconstruction Authority (NRA).Read also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-house-for-the-nepali-family/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The house for the Nepali family</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/making-gods-for-a-living/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Making gods for a living</a>, Sonia Awale<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/surviving-the-aftermath/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Surviving the aftermath</a>, Sonam Choeyki LamaBhandari is among tens of thousands of single women who have been disenfranchised by a patriarchal system that gives men the advantage in property ownership.The earthquake made all this worse for single mothers and widows who needed land titles and house ownership certificates to get compensation. Single women like Ishwori Bhandari are particularly vulnerable because they cannot afford lawyers and have no family support.Four years after the earthquake, Bhandari lives in a small tin shed she has constructed beside her destroyed house. “It is very difficult to get through the winter and now the rains will come,” she says.Still, Bhandari calls herself fortunate to at least have a shed. She is much better off than the really poor earthquake survivors she has come across.“I saw one woman who did not even have a hut, she was living in a cave and could not walk,” says Bhandari, who helped the woman by referring her to social workers. “She blessed me, and it is because of that blessing I am able to live an independent life despite the misfortunes.”Bhandari suffered a heart attack after the strong aftershock on 12 May 2015 and is on expensive and lifelong medication. She had broken her left leg 20 years ago and walks with a limp because it swells from time to time.She says: “I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I want to live long and help others. I just wish my shed was warmer and did not leak.”

Staying positive

<figure><img width="1400" height="933" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a295a9c7e80680e0458c0jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: BIKRAM RAI</figcaption></figure>Pampha Nepali never learnt to read and write, and yet at age 50 uses a measurement tape to stitch blouses for her customers. It is that determination that led her to start building a house in Sitapaila two years after the earthquake, even though she had no money for it.Nepali lost her husband 17 years ago when her children were very young. She continued to live in their home, even though her in-laws tried to drive her out. She and the two children now live in a small plot even though her father-in-law refused to pass the property in her name, fearing she might run away with another man if he did.  <img width="430" height="210" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a295d9c7e80680e0458c1jpeg.jpg" alt="">Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/3-4th-of-the-sky/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">3/4th of the sky</a>, Editorial<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-better-halves/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's better halves</a>, Anil Chitrakar<a style="letter-spacing: 0.15px; background-color: #ffffff; outline: 0px; font-weight: 600;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/staying-alive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Staying alive</a>, Sewa Bhattarai When the earthquake destroyed their home, Pampha Nepali and her children built a little tin shed in the corner of the property and lived there for two years. She toiled in her tailoring shop 12 hours a day, never taking a break, to feed and educate her children.Ideally, Nepali would have signed an agreement with the NRA and got money from the government to build her home. But since the land deeds were not in her name, she was unable to do so. Instead, she took loans from friends and started construction. The money kept running out, and it took her 15 months for the structure, which still lacks a proper roof. Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/making-gods-for-a-living/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Making gods for a living</a>, Sonia Awale<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/surviving-the-aftermath/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Surviving the aftermath</a>, Sonam Choeyki Lama<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/staying-positive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Staying positive</a>, Sewa Bhattarai The family has a house to live in, but Pampha Nepali is now starting to worry about paying her loans. Her son just passed Grade 12 and decided to stop studying and start working to help out with expenses. Nepali also worries what will happen to the house when she is no longer around. Everyone knows that the land belongs to my husband and it is mine by right. So I have stayed there by force of will, even though my in-laws continue to ostracise me,” she says. “But I still don’t have the deeds, and they could throw out my children when I am gone.”

A house for the Nepali family

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aE07W6QOG6A&amp;feature=youtu.beIt has been four years, but for <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/2000-widows-of-Nepal-earthquake-need-special-attention,2503" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nanmaiju Prajapati</a> it seems like yesterday. She was preparing lunch for her family when their home in Sankhu on the northeastern edge of Kathmandu Valley started shaking violently.It was just before noon on Saturday 25 April, 2015. Prajapati immediately realised it was an earthquake and shouted at everyone to get out of the building.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a295d9c7e80680e0458c2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="430" height="210"/>Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/3-4th-of-the-sky/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">3/4th of the sky</a>, Editorial<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-better-halves/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's better halves</a>, Anil Chitrakar<a style="letter-spacing: 0.15px; background-color: #ffffff; outline: 0px; font-weight: 600;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/staying-alive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Staying alive</a>, Sewa BhattaraiShe was hit by falling bricks, but made it out. The rest of her family could not leave on time. Her husband, daughter, son-in-law and their two children were all killed. Only her son, Suraj, survived.There was a big roar as buildings in her neighbourhood collapsed in clouds of yellow dust. People were screaming, and there was a fearsome grinding sound from beneath the earth.Read also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-house-for-the-nepali-family/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The house for the Nepali family</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/making-gods-for-a-living/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Making gods for a living</a>, Sonia Awale<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/staying-positive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Staying positive</a>, Sewa BhattaraiPrajapati is now 50, and looked surprisingly composed as she recounted the horror of that day while she knitted a woolen sweater. After living for three years in a tin hut, she has managed to start rebuilding her house.Without her husband, no income, and having lost her land titles and other documents, it was a struggle to rebuild. But she sold her land, and with savings from her knitting work, she managed to put up concrete columns for her future home.“The government hasn’t given us much, so I had to put this together myself,” she says, gesturing at the unfinished first floor that is incomplete even after one year.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a295f9c7e80680e0458c3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="783">Prajapati says she is reminded of the impermanence of existence by the tragedy. “What do we do with money? We have to leave it all behind when we go, still we need money to survive and to rebuild,” she adds, knitting away.She has tried to get her surviving daughter-in-law, Anita, to also knit to augment the family income, but she says she doesn’t know how to. “Do I knit, or do I take care of the baby?” asks Anita.Prajapati says her son is sick, and cannot work. The house is incomplete but the money is finished and she has to earn by knitting. She says: “I have to do everything around here.”But as the memory of the earthquake and the death and destruction it caused begins to fade, and Nanmaiju Prajati starts coming to terms with the loss, another generation of the family is being raised. It is the baby that gives her hope for the future.

Surviving the aftermath

Fenerbahçe Beko won the Turkish Airlines EuroLeague finals in Abu Dhabi, held 23-25 May, defeating Monaco 81-70 in the final. Olympiacos, who defeated Panathinaikos 97-93, finished the series in third place. The Most Valuable Player (MVP) of the final match, Nigel Hayes-Davis from Fenerbahçe Beko, received a prize of 1,000,000 Miles&amp;Smiles from Turkish Airlines’ Chief Commercial Officer Ahmet Olmuştur. The carrier has been the title sponsor of the Turkish Airlines EuroLeague, a top tier tournament, since 2010.

Turkish Basketball

In the black and white photograph, General Wangdu smiles broadly in front of the dusty cactus garden in Kathmandu’s Annapurna Hotel. With an ill-fitting jacket and shaggy hair he looks benign enough, but this was the last leader of the Tibetan freedom fighters who led the resistance against the Chinese from their remote mountain hideouts in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/comings-and-goings-in-mustang">Mustang</a>. Five months later, Wangdu was dead. Snapped in March 1974, I had only recently arrived in Nepal. How did I meet this legendary fighter? Possibly with his devoted camp follower, Lynne Klapecki, and probably in the Om Restaurant near Freak Street which was the preferred <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/hippie-trail-nostalgia-in-kathmandu">hippie hang-out</a>. Om Lobsang and his brother Yeshe were <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/earthquake-brings-back-memories-of-camps-for-tibetan-refugees">refugees from East Tibet </a>whose cafe offered a friendly welcome and<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/momo-loco"> the best momos</a> - they became my in-laws after I married their eldest brother Tenzin, but that was a decade later.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_4573b34282b0f5395c007243d6bef12c7ba76bfd520419e994cdcea048d795a1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025052403054_4573b34282b0f5395c007243d6bef12c7ba76bfd520419e994cdcea048d795a1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1583" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>Photo: LISA CHOEGYAL</figcaption> </figure>  Wangdu’s English was enthusiastically rudimentary, but even riding around town with him on the back of an aging <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-s-new-motorbike-museum">motorbike</a>, he was a commanding presence. Always flanked by armed outriders, impressive scars marked his forearms and a pistol hung from the cord around his neck. A charismatic guerrilla leader, Wangdu was celebrated by his followers for his tough commitment and respected for his measured pragmatism. He seemed so young to have shouldered such a responsibility of command, leading hundreds of hardened <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/50-years-after-the%20raid-into-Tibet,1012#google_vignette">Khampa combatants </a>through what had been a particularly <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/heavy-snowfall-over-nepal-himalaya">brutal winter in Mustang</a>, the last bastion to hold out against the Chinese invasion of their Tibetan homeland.&nbsp; The freedom fighters of Tibet, known as the Chushi-Gangdruk, had emerged to resist the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/territorialism">Chinese takeover</a> of Tibet during the 1950s. Estimated to be 80,000-strong at the time of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-or-who-after-the-dalai-lama">the Dalai Lama</a>’s final escape to India in 1959, the sheer number of Chinese deployed into Tibet eventually forced the Chushi-Gangdruk to retreat to Mustang, From this high Himalayan stronghold, they continued cross-border raids on the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) throughout the 1960s.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_8a4a935ba25ae79dc3a63bb5c14626927020e5ec098093c45ccb9a5982e009fd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2025052403054_8a4a935ba25ae79dc3a63bb5c14626927020e5ec098093c45ccb9a5982e009fd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1114" height="676" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>Guerrillas known as the Chushi-Gangdruk emerged to resist the Chinese annexation of Tibet during the 1950s. Photo courtesy: MIKEL DUNHAM</figcaption> </figure>  Their Kathmandu base was a small discreet lodge in a back lane near Rani Pokhari. Sipping sweet tea from a blue mug with a chipped lid, I sat bemused in a corner of the Mustang Hotel room whilst Wangdu and his cohorts received a battered brown suitcase from their CIA connection, a tousle-haired American in a leather jacket. Heaved onto the dingy bedspread that covered the thin mattress, it was clicked open to reveal piles of neatly stacked dollar bills.&nbsp; I cannot think why Wangdu allowed me to witness this handover but I was clearly no threat, a newly arrived world traveller with no understanding of the stakes nor any Nepali or <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/tibetan-music-in-nepals-sacred-valley">Tibetan language</a>. Despite armed guards in the corridor,Wangdu radiated confidence and bravado, and there was a practiced familiarity to the tense transaction. This deadly dance for many years had been funded by the Americans, tolerated by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-kingdom-within-a-republic">Mustang’s residents</a>, and permitted by King Mahendra and the Nepali authorities who it suited to turn a blind eye.&nbsp; But Mahendra died in 1972, and times were changing. Richard Nixon’s ping-pong diplomacy thawed the cold war and signalled a fresh entente with China. Nepal’s yet-to-be-crowned <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/if-birendra-was-alive-nepal-could-still-be-a-monarchy">King Birendra </a>was under pressure to curb the irritating incursions against the PLA launched from the Nepali territory of Mustang. Keen to appease his northern neighbour, on several occasions the King summoned Wangdu for peace talks but, despite increasingly overwhelming odds, Wangdu refused to surrender.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_a8efd5cfb92cd997bd7cb74296a936fef46e2f7428f9cd642b03f1ac4ea11ecb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="2025052403054_a8efd5cfb92cd997bd7cb74296a936fef46e2f7428f9cd642b03f1ac4ea11ecb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1055" height="885" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>General Wangdu flanked by two Tibetan resistance fighters in Mustang in the 1970s. Photo courtesy: MIKEL DUNHAM</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_75969125a745847a2ef82b6fe8b9106c0b21a116d85b8efdf5d2ee89a347bb31.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="2025052403054_75969125a745847a2ef82b6fe8b9106c0b21a116d85b8efdf5d2ee89a347bb31" data-rendition-name="original" width="1044" height="792" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>King Birendra with General Wangdu (right in dark glasses) taken in 1974 possibly in Mustang after one of their few attempts at negotiation. Photo courtesy: RAJRNDRA KUNWAR</figcaption> </figure>  While I naively rode pillion around Kathmandu in the spring sunshine, Wangdu was in the midst of what turned out to be his final round of negotiations with the Nepal government. Refusing to cease hostilities with the Chinese, Wangdu must have suspected the cost of his decision, making his cheerful smile in the photograph all the more poignant and brave. It was only much later that I appreciated the significance of the moment. Wangdu had been sent to replace the first resistance leader in Mustang, Baba Gen Yeshe, a much derided corrupt character who stole money meant for his troops and exploited fleeing refugees by seizing their treasures. Baba Gen Yeshe never forgave Wangdu,and sought revenge in May 1974 by betraying him and his commanders to the Nepal authorities. Renewed Chinese incursions from the north, active PLA collusion with the Nepali forces under the new King, and treachery from within the Chushi-Gangdrukranks combined to seal their fate.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_e0987a7c90d76431b0d7d5e6115ebfe3dbda7ab939e5941e079c18d722e884c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="2025052403054_e0987a7c90d76431b0d7d5e6115ebfe3dbda7ab939e5941e079c18d722e884c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1400" height="769" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>British television journalists George Patterson and Adrian Cowell embedded themselves with Khampa guerrillas and accompanied them from Tsum Valley on a cross border raid on a Chinese Army convoy in 1964. Photo: ESSAYS ON NEPAL / SAM COWAN</figcaption> </figure>  Mikel Dunham, renowned author of Buddha’s Warriors, writes: ‘It is possible that Wangdu was waiting for some cue from the Dalai Lama’s government-in-exile in Dharamsala, India. It is equally possible – during that last, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-human-cost-of-nepal-s-yarsa-gold-rush?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR31-Cqw8oyIwMPzf_35e4Skr0ululJvLf3_vDkzHn-AYG2h8uPw2rqqErg_aem_tGVn5coY1-jA7fze_xqhew">desolate winter </a>– that he made the decision to go out in glory rather than admit defeat. Over the last fifteen years, Wangdu had experienced Tibet’s organized resistance being squeezed and shoved around by every conceivable outside force.&nbsp; First they had been pushed out of their own country by the PLA; then they had been refused sanction while on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/borderlines/nepal-india-trans-boundary-bonds?fbclid=IwAR0PpJ5zUEbwdug3g_U3ar6FUugngRY0S8Tl2v_7wqzrsHmXWcXsKjvL4t4">Indian soil</a>; then they were abandoned by the Americans because, apparently, Nixon wanted to make friends with Wangdu’s mortal enemies, the communists; then they had been betrayed by the vampiric Baba Gen Yeshe – a Tibetan and, even worse, a fellow Khampa; and now, finally Wangdu’s army was being evicted by the Nepalis. One thing was certain: Wangdu was a warrior. To imagine Wangdu simply giving up and settling down in the pacific squalor of a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/elderly-left-in-bhutan-refugee-camp">refugee camp </a>was unthinkable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_8fc1ffef4ae751628b90ae781b66e11e51e4fdde2787207c9042efbee345ce49.jpg" data-media-id="editor_20" data-image-id="2025052403054_8fc1ffef4ae751628b90ae781b66e11e51e4fdde2787207c9042efbee345ce49" data-rendition-name="original" width="500" height="746" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>The much derided Baba Gen Yeshe, the first Tibetan resistance leader in Mustang, who betrayed Wangdu for personal gain. Photo courtesy: MIKEL DUNHAM</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052403054_b1d833cdb00d3ac4416b844d8730475cd88c238caaaf8da69889a584eea229a3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_21" data-image-id="2025052403054_b1d833cdb00d3ac4416b844d8730475cd88c238caaaf8da69889a584eea229a3" data-rendition-name="original" width="500" height="656" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> <figcaption>Aditya SJB Rana of the Royal Nepal Army whose team ambushed Wangdu and his cohorts at the top of Tinker Pass in Darchula, West Nepal. Photo courtesy: GAUTAM SJB RANA</figcaption> </figure>  By August 1974 the game was up. Wangdu and six of his exhausted party were killed on their horses by <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7270">the Royal Nepal Army</a> on the brink of escape. The officer in charge, Aditya SJB Rana, cleverly predicted their route into India after they failed to silence a police radio in Yari. A carefully laid ambush trapped them near the summit of the Tinker Pass in Darchula,at 5,000 meters the highest military operation of its time. Wangdu’s body was helicoptered to Kathmandu, and a big show made of the royal Nepal victory.&nbsp; The Tibetan armed insurgency against China had reached its end.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250524030520_3ff9c6fc85a65bc9a2c3afe9736d9f5f9413de752e790a5d9dca0981ea94f9b4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_23" data-image-id="20250524030520_3ff9c6fc85a65bc9a2c3afe9736d9f5f9413de752e790a5d9dca0981ea94f9b4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The last days of the Khampa NT"> </figure>

The Last Days of the Khampa

Starting 17 September Turkish Airlines will fly daily to Seville, one of Spain’s major tourist draws. This is Turkish’s sixth destination in Spain after Madrid, Barcelona, Valencia, Malaga, and Bilbao. Seville is in the Andalusia region on Spain’s south coast with a rich Moor history. There are approximately 30,000 Nepalis living in Spain.&nbsp;

Turkish to Seville

The newly-formed Himalayan Art Council is set to launch Nepal’s National Art Protection Platform that seeks to preserve <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-history-of-heritage">Nepal’s unique cultural heritage </a>using<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/artificial-censorship"> AI-powered tools</a>. The Council seeks to safeguard <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-art-going-places">Nepali art works</a> from neglect, theft and counterfeiting as well as preserve existing artwork and celebrate living masters by giving them a cultural space to continue the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/sacred-survival">sacred art traditions</a>. "We are introducing a new digital platform designed to preserve, verify and elevate <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-new-generation-of-alternative-artists">Nepal’s art for generations to come,</a>” says a statement from the Council, adding that the digital platform will use AI told for authentication and blockchain to keep track of works of art. Artists can now be protected by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/ayo-ai?fbclid=IwAR1uwmTVq4gUB70ljfRezjzukD9ArWXPuMnUikopeQ8PoiZMjicToPSwhKE&amp;=1">AI tools</a> that detect forgeries, identify their work even when unsigned, and ensure they receive proper recognition and credit. The archives will be searchable with translated inscription and interactive guides. Says curator Meena Lama: “AI and blockchains are tools that give us the power to detect fakes and identify unsigned paintings and track every piece. With these tools we can restore trust, secure authorship and give artists the dignity they deserve.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250514170544_2ab58f6313c0458f75114a692b0016bd9efb3b59d5f8f07f0da72e1e37b82f53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250514170544_2ab58f6313c0458f75114a692b0016bd9efb3b59d5f8f07f0da72e1e37b82f53" data-rendition-name="original" width="1300" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Artwork at the Traditional Art Exhibition at Patan Museum."> <figcaption>Artwork at the Traditional Art Exhibition at Patan Museum.</figcaption> </figure>  The Council is also holding an exhibition of Nepali cultural masterpieces with 50 historical <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Buzz-the-art,671">thangka and paubha </a>by past masters and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/between-the-sacred-and-everyday">contemporary works by current artists</a>. This curated collection is a living tribute to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/when-yaks-go-so-does-culture">Himalayan culture</a> with economic depictions of deities, mandala and sacred narratives. The exhibition at <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/a-portal-into-patan-s-past-and-present">Patan Museum</a> also provides an opportunity to meet painters and custodians of art and culture. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/golden-deities">Golden deities</a>, Sewa Bhattarai ‘The exhibition is only the first step in a long journey to ensure that Nepali art is no just seen but fully understood, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Narratives-of-Faith-and-Memory-Remembering-the-Lost-Sculptures-of-Kathmandu-exhibition,987">protected and remembered</a>,’ the Council says. Artist Kailash K Shrestha of Artudio has spent decades promoting thankha and paubha traditions because of their beauty and devotional meaning. But he also says artists are underpaid, exploited and ignored. He adds, “AI and blockchain are not just buzzwords, they are powerful tools that can protect Nepal’s artists from fraud, verify authenticity and build a permanent record of provenance.” Traditional Art Exhibition Till 17 May Patan Museum

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