The 2015 earthquakes in Central Nepal that killed over 9,000 people had many lessons for us, most important of which was the need to be prepared for future disasters. After all, it was not a question of if there would be another quake, but when. And sure enough, it came with the 6.4 Jajarkot earthquake of 3 November. At least 160 people were killed outright, buried under the rubble of their fragile homes. Dozens more have died of cold and diseases since. After the 2015 disaster, there was a general consensus about putting safety measures into place: building seismic-resistant structures, retrofitting public buildings, and the need for emergency preparedness. Prior to this, there was no such understanding at the political level, within government or the public. Another big lesson learned was how a separate institution, independent from the regular government structure, can more effectively carry out reconstruction, post-disaster. Reconstruction was fraught with challenges, political interference being the foremost. But the National Reconstruction Authority (NRA) coordinated effectively between internal and external assistance, and helped to carry out the process successfully. The NRA was also crucial in managing resources, setting guidelines, and developing a single goal-oriented approach that would incorporate everyone from the public to the Prime Minister. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/grief-stricken-survivors-are-cold-and-hungry">Grief-stricken survivors are cold and hungry</a>, Sagar Budathoki But we did more than rebuild the houses. What was achieved was technology transfer on a massive scale, including knowledge about safe building even for mud-mortar, stone and wooden structures. It also showed us how to make cash distribution transparent and take it directly to the people with zero-tolerance for corruption. We created a National Consultative Council for all the political parties to work together as well as the bureaucracy, private sector, and civil society. At the district level, a mechanism was put in place for MPs and representatives from all three levels to collaborate. There were vertical and horizontal links between all levels. The NRA was superseded by the National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA) in 2019 which has since put forward plans to make Nepal a disaster resilient country by 2030. Blueprints, frameworks and maps have been created for earthquake and flood preparedness and relief. They were submitted to the government, but it has been filed away with no action taken. As soon as the reconstruction work was complete, it seems we forgot about disaster preparedness. And so, when the Jajarkot earthquake struck, we were unprepared again. We cannot prevent or predict earthquakes, but we sure can prepare. Even so, all we seem to be capable of is to react after a disaster hits. More than 60,000 houses were partially or completely damaged in the Bajhang, Doti, and Jajarkot earthquakes that have struck in the past year. Most of the partially damaged houses have to be demolished. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/in-a-disastrous-state">In a disastrous state</a>, Sonia Awale  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231124081136_7326ad8a1402b30c2a9698697e9922a4dc54d5ad84a5bc0dc1a68e3d2da66c3f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231124081136_7326ad8a1402b30c2a9698697e9922a4dc54d5ad84a5bc0dc1a68e3d2da66c3f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1499" loading="lazy" alt="2023 Western Nepal earthquake NT"></figure>  The NDRRMA allocates Rs400,000 in subsidy for houses to be rebuilt in the mountains. This adds up to Rs24 billion, and if we add other expenses including technical assistance, technology transfer and others, the total comes to Rs30 billion. But if we had followed the preparedness plan, we could have retrofitted and made houses across Nepal safer at a lower cost. They could have withstood a moderate earthquake like the one in Jajarkot and the casualties would have been much lighter. What we had proposed was a safety steel rod in every mud-mortar house, retrofitting and Rs100,000 to the owner so that the structure is safe from earthquakes as well as water and fire disasters. In fact, 300,000 houses across the country could have been retrofitted with just Rs30 billion with the government providing the initial Rs100,000 in subsidy for people to reinforce their concrete homes. The World Bank was ready to invest $10 million to survey the state of houses across the country for retrofitting, but it never took off. Reconstruction of the structures damaged by the Jajarkot earthquake will now proceed. The good news is that after the 2015 earthquake, we now have experience and expertise in doing that. We also have local governments, unlike the last time. They will be at the frontlines of reconstruction and resettlement. NDRRMA can provide strategic guidelines, gather resources, coordinate and train human resources, monitor the reconstruction work carried out through the local and state levels, and give policy directions. This exercise in turn will capacitate all three structures of government, and in the long term, all three levels of the government will be better equipped to deal with disasters. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/rebuilding-resilience-7-years-later">Rebuilding resilience 7 years later</a>, Anil Pokharel It is an opportunity to put our federal structure to good use, empower local leaders, resolve doubts about the system, coordinate the three levels of government and mobilise the support of the international community. Shelter is the topmost priority following any disaster, especially now that winter has set in on the western mountains. Survivors need relief materials including money for temporary housing. We need to identify beneficiaries, distribute grants by establishing a banking system, develop human resources and other frameworks. Only after that do we start reconstruction. Experts, government agencies and local representatives should coordinate with all levels of government to determine the role and share the work. Initiatives should be taken now in terms of raising resources. We have created a framework for dealing with disasters at the national level in the form of the Disaster Resilience Framework.Similarly, provinces and local levels should also create theirs. The framework has five elements: 1. Provide financial and technical support to make homes and schools safer through local governments. 2. Assess the damage and estimate the amount needed. 3. Put the Disaster Management Act into operation at all three levels of government. 4. Look at disaster insurance instead of just doling out money to people to rebuild. The government can pay the premium for the poorest families 5. Establish emergency centres with relief stockpiles at the federal, provincial and local levels. The Far West and Karnali provinces are underserved. Reconstruction, if done intelligently, is also an opportunity to uplift these areas economically. Disaster preparedness should be integrated into the education system so young Nepalis know that the country is disaster-prone and it is best to be prepared. Disasters do not kill people but poorly built structures do-- local levels should carry out risk assessment while developing land use plans. Most of all, what is needed now is the readiness to implement the blueprints, frameworks, experience and knowledge that we gleaned after 2015. Otherwise this tragedy will also be in vain. Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/epicentre-of-two-disasters-in-west-nepal"> Epicentre of two disasters in West Nepal</a>, Sonia Awale

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Learning from Jajarkot what we didn't after 2015

From his village in Bajura in western Nepal, the Indian border is much closer than Kathmandu, so that is where Manbir Sanjyal &nbsp;has been going to find work since he was much younger. &nbsp;&nbsp; India is referred to here as कालापहाड, beyond the black mountains. And hundreds of thousands of Nepalis, especially from western Nepal, have for many decades crossed over to work as apple pickers, porters, domestic help or security guards in India.&nbsp; Sanjyal worked in Kumaon, Garhwal, Delhi, Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh for years, and eventually he returned to Bajura. Kathmandu may be 800km away, but with better connectivity Sanjyal and many like him do not have to be migrant workers in India — they can be migrant workers in the capital. Sanjyal, now 59, moved to Kathmandu six months ago after farming in Bajura became insufficient to feed his family. He rented a farm in Panga at the western edge of the Valley and grows vegetables to sell in the market. He is doing so well, he plans to get into dairy farming as well. &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/multimedia/weaving-the-fabric-of-a-new-life">Weaving the fabric of a new life</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230722060748_e38f52fd434eebc0c25c2262b646bf3bbec8c3f837dbf132dfb798cb4db56d10.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230722060748_e38f52fd434eebc0c25c2262b646bf3bbec8c3f837dbf132dfb798cb4db56d10" data-rendition-name="original" width="700" height="500" loading="lazy" alt="Bajura"> </figure>  “When we were young we toiled in India, now our grandchildren can make a living growing food in our own country,” says Sanjyal, looking out from his greenhouse. “In addition, the grandchildren can get better education and health care here.” Sanjyal’s son Jeevan completed high school in Bajura, and wants to go to college in Kathmandu. Bajura ranks lowest among Nepal’s 77 districts in the human development index. Poverty and poor harvests are endemic in the district because of lack of state support for irrigation. This makes Karnali Province the most food deficit part of Nepal with one of the highest rates of stunting and wasting among children. &nbsp;&nbsp; News of Sanjyal’s success has reached his village in Bajura and inspired other families to also make a move to Kathmandu. Lali Prasad Pandey came to Kathmandu after hearing about his sister’s successful commercial vegetable farming business in Kirtipur. He had worked in Qatar for three years before returning home to Saunegaun in Bajura, where he attempted unsuccessfully to make a living farming.&nbsp; “I did make some money during my time overseas, but it was not enough to cover costs of healthcare or my children’s education,” he says. Pandey has been a vegetable farmer in Kirtipur for six years now, and his neighbours are also farmers from far-western districts like Bajura, Humla, Jumla, Kalikot, Mugu, and Rukum-West.&nbsp; Like Sanjyal, Pandey has set up greenhouses to grow seasonal vegetables and finds a ready market in Kathmandu, even though over the years the profit margin has fallen.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/multimedia/mothers-of-sarlahi">Mothers of Sarlahi</a>, Marty Logan  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230722030744_5aa5cc9d9f5f7b88eee46980d523617c9060d1fd268d4620f39acc7177f3e893.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20230722030744_5aa5cc9d9f5f7b88eee46980d523617c9060d1fd268d4620f39acc7177f3e893" data-rendition-name="original" width="5002" height="3335" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's little Bajura"> </figure>  So, Pandey recently bought four cows to diversify his business, and sells milk door-to-door at Rs100 per litre. The cows also provide fertiliser for his vegetable farming business.&nbsp; “Dairy farming is like having a salaried government job,” Pandey jokes, referring to the secure income it provides.&nbsp; But the extra work also means he and his wife have to work 24/7 on the farm, and there is no time to go home to Bajura. Coming to Kathmandu was a good move, and Pandey has been able to send his children to better schools, and he is happy he does not have to be separated from his family any more.&nbsp; Tilakhuni BK was Pandey’s neighbour in Bajura, and also came to Kathmandu hearing about the favourable business environment and schooling for the children. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/biodynamic-agripreneurs">Biodynamic agrepreneurs</a>, Sanjib Chaudhary <div class="embed-block"><div><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%;"><iframe src="//cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fembed%2FYgoOEmwX8HI&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> But Tilakhuni has not been as successful with her farm in Kirtipur. Her family invested Rs200,000 on the greenhouses and terraces, but then came the Covid lockdowns. She had to sell her cows, and her husband had to go to Saudi Arabia to supplement their income.&nbsp; Tilakhuni was bargaining with a customer on the phone, and when she hung up complained that she would do all right if she could deal directly with buyers more often. But the middlemen take away most of her margin. &nbsp; While Tilakhuni sells her greenhouse tomatoes at Rs15/kg, middlemen sell them to city wholesalers for Rs50. “We do all the work, but get none of the benefits, no matter how hard we work,” she says.&nbsp; Despite this, life in Kathmandu Valley is still better than in her village Bajura. She says, “I may not be earning as much as I expected, but I am happy with what I have. Whatever hardship we face here is nothing compared to the struggles we had in the village.” Tilakhuni’s priority is that the children get quality education in the city. Her brother, children, and nephew attend school in Kirtipur. Her eldest son has completed his SEE exam, and her daughter is currently in middle school.&nbsp; “The quality of education in the city is much better than that in the village,” says BK’s daughter Ramita. “We get an English medium education here and this improves our chances of going abroad in future.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/down-in-sherpa-s-farm">Down in Sherpa's farm</a>, Sonia Awale  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230722030748_0114ba51ea101b8ca2ab64801df994f199d241e84f5dccc516a5d11ebadd7e30.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20230722030748_0114ba51ea101b8ca2ab64801df994f199d241e84f5dccc516a5d11ebadd7e30" data-rendition-name="original" width="5002" height="3335" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's little Bajura"> </figure>  Hearing about Tilakhuni’s work also convinced Deepa BK to move to Kirtipur four months ago. Deepa currently helps Tilakhuni on her farm but is actively thinking of leasing her own vegetable farm. &nbsp; “I came here so that my children do not have to suffer and grow up the way that I did,” says Deepa. “There is no future for the children back home.”&nbsp; Her husband currently works in India, and is now making preparations to move to Kathmandu. Health care is another reason the Bajura families all migrated to Kathmandu, and for a feeling of home, they all live near each other in Kirtipur and Panga.&nbsp; Tilakhuni BK and her husband were both unable to get medical treatment for their ailments in India, but found health care to be better and more accessible in Kathmandu.&nbsp; Manbir Sanjyal requires regular dialysis, but the facility is not available at the Bajura District Hospital in Martadi. So he moved to Kathmandu, but says the state is not fulfilling its responsibility to provide healthcare in rural areas. Lali Prasad Pandey agrees: “Hospitals in Bajura do not meet even basic needs. If the state had made these services available in our home district, we would not have had to move here.”&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/multimedia/my-children-shouldnt-be-farmers">“My children shouldn't be farmers”</a>, Anita Bhetwal

Kathmandu’s Little Bajura

<figure><img width="1050" height="626" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110911110/636b7a779c7e80680e064761jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Nepalis crossing the border into the country through the Gauriphanta checkpost in Dhangadi, Far Western Nepal. Photos: DINESH KHABAR</figcaption></figure>A week before Nepal declared a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-covid-19-lockdown-extended-till-7-april/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">nationwide lockdown</a> to prevent imported COVID-19 cases, close to half a million Nepali migrant workers from India crossed the border into the country without any screening.  Another 1.5 million people left Kathmandu Valley for their home districts as the government announced that all long-distance buses would stop plying after 6AM on 17 March.Tens of thousands of Nepali workers driven out of their jobs in Indian cities are still trapped across the border in India – prevented from returning to their own country as the government tries to decide where to quarantine them.Darchula police records show that 128, 022 people entered Nepal before the border was sealed, there now hundreds camping out on the banks of the Mahakali River. Health desks at border checkpoints were equipped only with thermometers. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/enlisting-female-health-volunteers-to-fight-covid-19/">Enlisting female health volunteers to fight COVID-19</a>, Ramu Sapkota and Mukesh Pokhrel“It is easier to track people travelling by air, since they are fewer and the airport has the equipment for thermal screening,” says Sher Bahadur Pun, infectious disease specialist at the Sukraraj Tropical and Infectious Disease Hospital in Kathmandu. “Local governments should not waste any time to track down such individuals and place them under quarantine immediately.”But that is easier said than done. The Health Ministry has not even been able to carry out contact tracing of the four Nepalis who flew into Kathmandu from the Gulf and Europe in March who have tested positive for coronavirus. Local governments in rural Nepal have no record of people who have come home, and are just starting to collect information of recent returnees.  <img width="640" height="295" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110911110/636b7a799c7e80680e064762jpeg.jpg" alt="">“If anyone is infected here, it is going to be a disaster. All we have are thermometers,” says Padam Giri, mayor of the Budhinanda municipality in Bajura, one of the remotest districts in northwestern Nepal. Four individuals who returned to Sunchhahari from India recently have been placed in isolation. Of the 46 people who arrived in Bajura from Mahendranagar after the lockdown, 16 are currently in quarantine at the district headquarters in Martadi.Adds vice-chair of the Sunchhahari Rural Municipality in Rolpa Pabitra Gharti Magar: “So far no one has shown any symptoms, but if anyone did, we do not even have test kits.” The mountainous districts of western Nepal are considered to be the most vulnerable because every family has at least one worker in India who has now returned. It was also western Nepal which was worst hit in Nepal by the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the 1990s as migrant males brought the disease home and spread it to their wives.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-workers-overseas-toil-through-the-pandemic/">Nepali workers overseas toil through the pandemic</a>, Upasana KhadkaMahendra Bahadur Shah, chair of the Barekot Rural Municipality in Jajarkot admits that they failed to keep records of people returning from India because they did not initially take the pandemic seriously. Many migrant workers who entered Nepal though the Gaidachauki checkpoint before it was closed are from Bajhang, Doti, Baitadi and Dadeldhura districts.Historically neglected by the central government in Kathmandu, western Nepal has chronic suffered food shortages and epidemics. People from the region make up the highest number of returnees. Even though only one case of the novel coronavirus has been confirmed in the region and is in hospital in Dhangadi, public health experts say the virus is out there. <img width="640" height="372" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110911110/636b7a7b9c7e80680e064763jpeg.jpg" alt="">“Hundreds of thousands of people have returned to western Nepal from Maharastra, Delhi and Bihar, which are the hardest-hit COVID-19 states in India. The one case in Dhangadi is only the tip of the iceberg,” says Bikash Gauchan, medical director at Bayalpata Hospital in Achham.Bayalpata has set up a fever clinic, and 10 isolation beds have been added. The hospital has a stock of 20 precious personal protection equipment, and is producing masks locally for staff. Municipalities, district police offices and hospitals are all on red alert for a possible outbreak of COVID-19 in the region. Adds Gauchan: “We have a few ventilators in the entire western Nepal, and a limited stock of oxygen. We will not be able to do anything if the situation is to turn for worse, but if we contact traced and isolated possibly infected people we might be able to buy some time.” Back in Kathmandu, Sher Bahadur Pun at the Teku hospital says the returnees might have already had extensive interaction with their family members and hence need to be isolated and placed under home quarantine."Even if only one person is infected, who may or may not have a symptom, there is a high chance that the pandemic will spread across the village where there is a lack of reliable healthcare services and people are not aware that they need visit the doctor even if they have a slight fever,” Pun says.Among the general public, there is now a sense of panic, and migrant returnees are being stigmatised, turning villagers against each other. Even people who die of other causes are rumoured to have died of the coronavirus. Public health experts want greater public awareness, physical distancing and expanding the so far limited testing for COVID-19.Warns Pun: “If the coronavirus has entered the country unchecked through the border, then we could have a ticking time bomb in our hands.”

Returnees may be taking coronavirus to rural Nepal

Nepal’s month-long cricket carnival ended on a sunny Saturday in Kathmandu with a final game in which the Lumbini Lions dominated the Sudurpaschim Royals with both bat and ball.&nbsp; The Royals were bowled out for an embarrassing 85, thanks to Namibian Ruben Trumplemann’s three wickets for three runs, and captain Rohit Paudel’s hat-trick in the eleventh over. Only opener Ishan Pandey’s 33 run-innings was of any note.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="909" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1345" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  The Lions came out with virtually no pressure on them, and Dinesh Adhikari’s 42 off 13 including 27 off the first over bowled by Dipendra Singh Airee won the match. Rohit Paudel came in to finish the match calmly, with 11 overs to spare, scoring two stylish fours and a six before holing out with the Lions on 83.&nbsp; The Lions took comically long to get the final two runs to win the game, losing one more wicket. But it was merely a matter of time, and a single ended the Royal’s misery.&nbsp; As dusk fell, the big fluffy lion mascot was on the field dapping up the Lions as red fireworks went off and Lumbini fans leaped from their seats in the packed stands.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  This capped off an incredible run from the Lions who had finished dead last in NPL Season 1, and had only one win and three losses after four games. They won the remaining three, finishing fourth, barely qualifying.&nbsp; This meant that they had to play an eliminator last week against the Kathmandu Gorkhas and then a qualifier against the popular Biratnagar Kings, whose squad included Sandeep Lamichhane, Faf du Plessis, and Martin Guptill. They won both in style. For the Royals, however, this was the second disappointing final in a row after being the best team in the group stage in both seasons of the NPL. National team batsman Binod Bhandari had had an excellent tournament for the Royals, but was in tears at having come this far again and fallen short.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  Despite the final being disappointingly less action-packed for the neutral viewer, the final marked the second successful execution of the NPL. The addition of seats and floodlights at the TU Cricket Stadium overlooking Kathmandu made evening games possible and improved the experience for fans.&nbsp; The floodlights also made for some gorgeous photography as the sun set behind Chandragiri, illuminating the Himalaya to the north in gradually fading shades of orange.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Adam Rossington’s 323 runs, including a century, and Sandeep Lamichhane’s 17 wickets were the standout individual performances across the tournament in the past month.&nbsp; The tournament brought out characters much loved by the vociferous crowd, including ‘Taklu’ Irish commentator Andrew Leonard who worked in a Dhaka Topi, British presenter Jess Crowe who donned a Sari for the final, and Chitwan Rhinos’ charismatic mascot Mr Gaida who entertained the crowd with enthusiastic nonstop dancing.&nbsp; The tournament was such a draw that the university grounds looked like a carnival with food and merchandise stalls. The capacity 10,000 stadium drew such a crowd that Kathmandu streets were relatively quiet on Saturday with people also watching the game live on tv at home.&nbsp; Kathmandu’s residents were genuinely delighted at being able to talk about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cricket-carnival">a Nepali cricket tournament</a>, and not about the Indian or English Premier Leagues. And while everyone appreciated the cricket no matter who was playing, fans showed up for their provinces in loud numbers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  The organisers having proven themselves, future NPLs may need more stadiums in other provinces, even better overseas players.&nbsp; Sambhav Sirohiya of the Kathmandu Media Group ambitiously tweeted that he believes that the league could already become the second most valuable franchise cricket league NEXT SEASON, especially if the government would loosen up its regulations of advertising, especially that of alcohol. Nepali cricketers and fans are now better prepared for the T20 World Cup in India and Sri Lanka in February, with the experience of playing in the NPL and with the access to world-class cricket talent and seeing how they go about excelling at the sport.&nbsp;

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th 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. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

People like myself were too young during the decade of the Maoist War to remember its horrors. We often wonder what life was truly like back then. Perhaps the closest we have come to experiencing a national crisis of that scale – with the protests, violence, curfews, and political maneuvering – was the GenZ movement in September. How did people cope? What did they fear? What was it like in the cities and &nbsp;villages? How was it that the king still held so much power? What motivated the guerrillas? And, how did &nbsp;ordinary people adjust and endure the war? My curiosity about the war that ended 20 years ago &nbsp;was met with a rollercoaster of emotions with Monica Rana’s debut novel, The Paths We Choose. The novel is not a retelling of events from the vantage of leaders, rebels. It is not about the violence, but a carefully curated perspective of ordinary people caught up in it. It is a glimpse into how the war altered or defined their paths. This is the 'People’s War' from the people’s own perspective. Readers are immediately invested into the lives of two central characters, the sister duo, Sumnima and Rita. The elder radiating from the beginning with her brave and cunning aura, and the latter, more timid and obedient, much of her time absorbed in awe of her sister. The writer’s language flows as effortlessly as the sisters’ strides up the hills to steal mangoes from Dhire Dai’s trees, only to race back down to Rato Mato, carrying us through their journey into adolescence. Amidst the rolling hills, mango trees, life is filled with laughter, adventures, and everyday banter, scenes so serene that they carry an unsettling calm that hints at what lies ahead. Village life is not all painted in romantic hues. The stark reality of poverty, subsistence, and contrast with the comfort of city living are never far away. Amidst these reminders, there runs a humbling truth: happiness once rested on small things, not on the material excess that define urban life. As the pages turn, the title begins to resonate: two sisters, once bound by the same bloodline, shared dreams, and the same roof, are caught in the crosshairs of war and forced onto separate paths. One by choice, and the other by necessity. The story unfolds with the seasons: the relentless monsoon rains, the scorching heat of summer, and a liberating winter that carries bittersweet truths. The year is 2001, as the insurgency intensifies. Against this backdrop, the cousins’ lives diverge. Sumnima is drawn into the rebels’ ranks to 'fight for equality and freedom', while Rita is uprooted, carried across distances, and placed in Seto Bangala as a helping hand among the higher-ups, in her family’s desperate attempt to secure her a better life after their village is reduced to a 'ghost city' by violent attacks. There are betrayals and beginnings, high palaces and humble hills, royals and rurals, identity and ideology, loss and lament, distance and discovery. Through upheavals, tears, and struggles, one thing remains constant: both sisters wonder about the other. They care. They long to reconnect. They hold fast to the dream they once shared to open a guesthouse in their village someday. A dream to simply live with no fear. To be free. To be happy. And, to be together. The writing illuminates vital themes: innocent people caught up in strife, the vast chasm of class from royals dining on silver plates to villagers back home hiding their last grain to save it from looters. And discrimination so stark it was as if people carried labels on their foreheads, marked by caste, skin colour, and gender. The sisters eventually reunite, but their journey is not an easy one, and what lies ahead is far from the future either of them once imagined. One might romanticise it as fate, or might recoil at the harsh reality Monica Rana lays bare: it is often the innocent who bear the heaviest burdens of war. Civilians are trapped between warring sides, enduring hunger, displacement, and violence through no fault of their own. Wars continue to rage across the world. Though the novel does not particularly focus on exposing the horrifying depths of war crimes, it remains a timeless reminder of what the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish once said: “The war will end, and leaders will shake hands. The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son. And those children will keep waiting for their hero father. I don’t know who sold our homeland, but I saw who paid the price.” &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The paths we choose book review"> </figure>