<figure><img width="1592" height="1236" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5ae9c7e80680e07bc19jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Memorial painting to honour the conservation heroes, showing Kangchenjunga, Ghunsa village and the tail of the helicopter disappearing into a cloud.</figcaption></figure>That night in Taplejung, we sang and danced to the tune of Sorha Barse Umera Ma. It was my conservation guru Chandra Gurung’s favourite song, and one he sang during many occasions. That song still brings back memories of the night 15 years ago as I sing it in every staff retreat to pay tribute to my mentor. The pain of loss is still palpable.We celebrated, but it was short-lived. Little did I know that 24 hours later I would be hiking all night with Ang Phuri Sherpa and a rescue team to Ghunsa to find the crash site, after bad weather forced our search helicopter to drop us in Pholey.    <figure><img width="640" height="485" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5b19c7e80680e07bc1ajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img width="640" height="479" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5b49c7e80680e07bc1bjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img width="640" height="830" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5b89c7e80680e07bc1cjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>It had been rainy in Ghunsa on 23 September 2006, as the Mi-8 helicopter took off and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12536#.X2lxfi0w0Wp" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D12536%23.X2lxfi0w0Wp&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1600834563133000&amp;usg=AFQjCNG9uQ7yXtrsOngM5mc0o9mK47-57Q">disappeared into the clouds</a>. I was supposed to be on it, but had to make space for the dignitaries who had come for the handover ceremony of the Kangchenjunga Conservation Area (KCA) to the community.  <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13985#.X2jR2C0w0Wo" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D13985%23.X2jR2C0w0Wo&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1600834563133000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEOO3FuIvqs0IS3N7A5tTwMbpM6wQ">Twenty-four people died</a> in that tragedy this week 15 years ago, among them Nepal’s conservation heroes: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12572#.X2mNRxAzaUk">Harka Gurung</a>, veteran geographer and planner; <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16569#.X2mNeBAzaUk">Chandra Gurung</a> who designed the model of using tourism income to pay for conservation; <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12581#.X2mPNhAzaUk">Mingma Norbu Sherpa</a>, who helped establish the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/municipalities-want-to-manage-annapurna/">Annapurna Conservation Area</a>; <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10375#.X2mO9RAzaUk">Tirthman Maskey</a>, who paved the way for people and parks to coexist. Nepal also lost Forest Minister Gopal Rai, Secretary Damodar Parajuli, and Director Generals Sharad K Rai and Narayan P Paudel. Also on board was the first Chair of the KCA Management Committee, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12574#.X2mPlxAzaUk">Dawa Tshering Sherpa.</a>The shock of the deaths posed a pressing question: were Nepal’s achievements in conservation now in jeopardy? The model of participatory conservation pioneered in Nepal was an example to the world, but could the path-breaking work of these visionaries be sustained? <figure><img width="1012" height="1092" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5ba9c7e80680e07bc1djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Fifteen years on, looking at the accomplishments since, we can proudly say that the country has honoured those leading lights of Nepal’s conservation movement by carrying on their work, and come out even stronger. We have witnessed a remarkable shift in various facets of conservation in Nepal: from the recovery of species numbers to the expansion of protected areas systems with growing participation of people from all walks of life.  <figure><img width="1444" height="964" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5bd9c7e80680e07bc1ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Nepal’s tiger population has crossed 235, indicating a dramatic increase from 121 in 2009. The number of rhinos increased from 435 in 2008 to 645 in 2015, with zero rhino poaching for the first time since 2011. Snow leopard conservation and research has advanced, with Nepal now holding the fifth largest population among 12 snow leopard range states.  There have been similar successes among other species, including blue sheep, Himalayan tahr, gaur and gharial. The species recovery of rhinos, blackbuck, wild water buffalo in their former ranges are other important milestones of our conservation journey.  After KAC, Nepal has added three more protected area systems: Gauri-Shankar Conservation Area, Api Nampa Conservation Area, Banke National Park – covering 4,632square km across two landscapes, Kailash and Chitwan-Annapurna. These conservation initiatives have placed emphasis on ensuring equal benefits to communities promoting a harmonious existence between humans and wildlife. The community-based conservation initiatives have been critical in protecting species as well as ensuring a sustainable future for people living in and near wilderness areas.   While the sudden loss of so many professionals put a dent on Nepal’s environmental movement, their legacy has continued with a new generation of committed specialists who were trained and mentored by them. This new crop of young conservationists received scholarships established in the memory of the pioneers who died 15 years ago. They have gone on to do exemplary field work, and are now in key decision-making positions in Nepal to guide future conservation efforts.  <figure><img width="640" height="428" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5c09c7e80680e07bc1fjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img width="640" height="428" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5c39c7e80680e07bc20jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/go-eat-to-kanchenjunga">Kangchenjunga</a> itself, the KCA has led by example for 15 years, presenting a strong case for participatory conservation where the local community is entrusted with the stewardship of the natural and culture resources of the<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/tracing-past-glacial-floods-in-kangchenjunga/"> region below the world’s third-highest mountain. </a>The concept of participatory conservation has been around since mid-1980s after Mingma Sherpa and Chandra Gurung first introduced it in the Annapurna Conservation Area followed by the Manaslu Conservation Area. Now, the KCA has gained recognition across Asia as an exemplary model in championing this approach. There were a slew of underlying factors that laid the basis for KCA’s success – primary among them were concrete legal, institutional and financial mechanisms.The KCA project was launched in March 1998 by the government in partnership with WWF Nepal to address both the livelihood needs of local people and biodiversity conservation. In the lead-up to the handover of this protected area in 2006, numerous legal and policy instruments were put in place, including conservation area management regulations and plans. A community-based Kangchenjunga Conservation Area Management Council (KCAMC) was formed, and entrusted with running the KCA with full authority to take care of the region’s natural resources. A community-based women’s group was also formed and trained, and now has 33% representation in KCAMC. We can take this as an example of how integrating communities into conservation efforts can yield multipronged benefits. To date, 35 mother’s groups have provided 206 scholarships to socio-economically excluded girls, many of whom have grown up to be professionals working at KCA and elsewhere.  <figure><img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5c69c7e80680e07bc21jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5c99c7e80680e07bc22jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>For conservationists, the handover of KCA in 2006 was a significant milestone, it also ended up being an unimaginable tragedy and setback. Merely 12 hours after celebrating the transfer to the community in Taplejung, and soon after taking off from Ghunsa, the helicopter carrying Nepal’s top conservationists flew into a cliff hidden by cloud. Ever since, 23 September has been marked as Nepal’s National Conservation Day in memory of these Conservation Heroes.Chungla Sherpa, a former scholarship recipient and now a ranger at the Forest Research and Training Center in Pokhara says, “<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D17700&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1600834563133000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGvuk9RrrOEW-r4HMvCVLrTdmKY0Q">The Mingma Norbu Sherpa Memorial Scholarship</a> had a profound impact on my life. It built my future, and I hope that I will be able to follow the footsteps of the conservation heroes who made this possible. I hope that I can someday give back to others.” <figure><img width="640" height="800" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5cc9c7e80680e07bc23jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The leaders continue to make a positive impact on Nepal and the world long after their departure. We may have lost our heroes on that fateful day, but their work has carried on through a new generation which was given the opportunity for the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/out-of-the-ashes/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/out-of-the-ashes/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1600834563133000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEGjAKCnYGoX4DlTmPwHwtk8ixzdQ">best conservation education</a> through <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18587" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D18587&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1600834563133000&amp;usg=AFQjCNG5J15BsMLu9gHX-qebEeGjPCmELg">scholarships created in their memory</a>. I feel fortunate and grateful to have been one of them. Now, we need to <a href="https://wwf.panda.org/wwf_news/?174861/Conserveation-Heroes-remembered" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://wwf.panda.org/wwf_news/?174861/Conserveation-Heroes-remembered&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1600834563133000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHuF4uHclPRUQbPiD7B9PpcazTDjA">pass the torch to yet another generation</a> to help preserve our natural heritage, just like our predecessors once did. Fifteen years down the line, Nepal has taken great strides in conservation despite the tragedy, and despite facing multiple challenges since.  Let us mark this day with a renewed commitment to the goals set by our conservation pioneers, so we can overcome obstacles that lie ahead as we grapple with the pandemic and its aftermath. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/11-day-trek-is-now-a-days-drive-in-nepal/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/11-day-trek-is-now-a-days-drive-in-nepal/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1600834563133000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHnCe3SmMkuGzBulo3cotjccIyIHQ">Ghana S Gurung</a> is the Country Representative of WWF in Nepal and Snow Leopard Champion for the Global WWF Network. The views expressed here are personal.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151112/636bb5ce9c7e80680e07bc24jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="146">

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Remembering Nepal’s conservation heroes

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811114/636a29959c7e80680e0458d7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>A memorial in Taplejung dedicated to Nepal's top conservationists and officers who lost their lives in the 2006 Ghunsa crash. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>Those of us concerned with conservation in Nepal remember exactly where we were on 23 September 2006 when news hit about the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18587#.XIX368kza70">missing helicopter</a> that disappeared into the clouds above Ghunsa.I was at my desk overlooking a deceptively calm and normal Kathmandu Valley, my stomach churning as the fearful facts unfolded. Details of the disaster took two full days to be corroborated, but it gradually emerged that all <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12536#.XIX4Kckza70">24 people had died</a> in the far eastern corner of the country when the chopper collided with cliffs above the village and crashed in flames, wiping out most of Nepal’s conservation leaders including a government minister, the Finnish charge d’affairs and Russian pilots.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18587#.XIYCISIzaUl" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Their souls march on</a>, Bhrikuti Rai and Stuti Sharma<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12575#.XIYCHSIzaUl" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Friends and colleagues</a> “Yes I’m so sorry, yes, I’ll be sure to let you know when we hear anything.” Bad news travels and with a sinking heart I was fielding landline queries from all over the world. Gazing through the window I prayed the story would end differently, the icy fingers of disbelief, the terrible finality of the words: “No survivors.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811114/636a29989c7e80680e0458d8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5472" height="2403"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-last-journey/">tragedy at Pathibara</a> on 27 February was horribly similar, although these days news travels fast and the dreadful details were quick to be confirmed. This time it was tourism leaders who vanished into a blizzard and exploded into the crags, leaving a sickening void in Nepal’s hospitality and aviation industry. Along with technical personnel, we lost two fine men -- an inspirational minister, and Nepal’s most visionary and courageous tourism entrepreneur.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-last-journey/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Last journey</a>, Ramesh Kumar and Gopral Gartaula<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-power-and-pull-of-pathibhara/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The power and pull of Pathibhara</a>, Sewa BhattaraiLast week WWF’s Ghana Shyam Gurung reflected on the trauma: "This loss brought back my memory of 2006. No one should challenge weather."  In 2006 most of the incinerated bodies were unrecognisable in their seats and crumbled into ashes to the touch, Ghana had told me. Only Mingma Norbu Sherpa was thrown clear on impact, lying as though asleep on the ground a short distance from the burnt-out wreckage.Once Ghana’s rescue team was eventually able to access the area, hampered by driving rain and wind, it was late the day after the crash before they reached the site after a four-hour climb in the dark, and another day passed before news filtered through to us in Kathmandu.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811114/636a299c9c7e80680e0458d9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Ghana should have boarded that fated helicopter but was off-loaded to wait in Taplejung to save weight. The Kangchenjunga Conservation Area had been handed over to local indigenous managers the previous day, and the passengers consisted of the cream of Nepal’s conservation community, WWF staff and international supporters. It should have been a celebration of yet another success in the history of Nepal’s innovative protected areas.It was hard to accept the chill reality that they were not coming back. Never again would we be infected by Chandra Gurung’s restless energy, enjoy Tirthaman Maskey’s environmental zeal, admire Harka Gurung’s measured thoughtful responses, or appreciate Mingma Norbu Sherpa’s calm focussed determination – all dedicated to making a difference to the environment, development and wildlife conservation.One of those telephone calls came from <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2011/02/15/%E0%A4%AA%E0%A5%8D%E0%A4%AF%E0%A4%BE%E0%A4%9F-%E0%A4%97%E0%A5%81%E0%A4%B0%E0%A5%81%E0%A4%B2%E0%A4%BE%E0%A4%88-%E0%A4%A8%E0%A5%87%E0%A4%AA%E0%A4%BE%E0%A4%B2%E0%A4%95%E0%A5%8B-%E0%A4%AE%E0%A4%BE-2/">Lincoln University</a> in <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-Kiwi,421">New Zealand</a> where so many of Nepal’s natural resource practitioners had received their education. <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18151#.XIX5Lckza70">Professor David Simmons’</a> voice was shrill with shock at the loss of so many friends: “I’ve talked to my colleagues and we want to offer a national park scholarship in memory of Mingma Norbu, one of our distinguished alumni, to help rebuild the conservation capacity in Nepal following the loss of so many highly skilled specialists.”Born in Khumbu and a star pupil at Sir Edmund Hillary’s Khumjung School, Mingma (pictured right) had studied at <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-Kiwi,421">Lincoln</a> before initiating the Annapurna Conservation Area Project, and creating WWF programs in Nepal and Bhutan. At the time of the accident he was WWF Director of Conservation based in Washington DC with a global brief.The grief was so great that the memorial event filled the Nepal International Convention Centre with associates and relatives rushing from all over the world. It was startling to see the 24 framed photographs displayed on stage, garlanded with marigolds and katas, each person prematurely leaving a life unlived.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811114/636a299f9c7e80680e0458dajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="430" height="640"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The gathering was an emotional haze of shocked faces and empty eyes, stunned friends and shattered families struggling to cope with their loss.Lingering on the broad steps in the autumn sunshine after the prayers and speeches, there was much talk of tributes and memorials. Seeped in sadness, perhaps it helped us to feel that in some small way these snatched lives would not be wasted or forgotten.I shared the idea of the scholarship in Mingma’s memory with some trepidation at such a raw and delicate time, but his family agreed with gratitude, Ghana Gurung and other Lincoln graduates gave their support, and Sir Ed’s Himalayan Trust pledged the first airfares from Nepal to New Zealand. The concept took shape, criteria evolved, and before long WWF had committed to cover the annual living expenses and <a href="http://www.theghf.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Greater Himalayas Foundation</a> took over the travel costs.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811114/636a29a19c7e80680e0458dbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3446" height="2768"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Thus out of the ashes above Ghunsa, the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700#.XIX41ckza70">Mingma Norbu Sherpa Memorial Scholarship</a> (MNSMS) was born and has flourished. In 2007 we selected the first two recipients, Anu and Salina, and since then a collection of remarkable candidates have studied natural resource management and tourism in New Zealand, returning to a range of roles throughout government, NGOs and private sector. The MNSMS arrangement has been extended to 2027, by which time twenty young Nepali men and women will have had the chance to follow in Mingma’s footsteps and bring back their conservation knowledge to benefit Nepal.This week with heavy hearts the religious rites for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/economy-ecology-of-nijgad-airport/">Minister Rabindra Adhikari</a> were completed in seven days instead of 13 “so that we can get on with his work”. Weary with sorrow amidst the incense and chanting, Ang Tshiring Sherpa’s family committed to continue his philanthropic work with a new foundation to honour Nepal’s self-effacing tourism magnate.

Lisa Choegyal

Out of the ashes

We often see ourselves reflected in the other. For someone who grew up in Kathmandu Valley in the eighties and nineties, this maxim comes alive with an even greater force. Nepal’s media ecosystem was dismal, the school curriculum was narrow and did not provide opportunities for creative expression. Perhaps that is why I became obsessed with MTV videos and Bollywood films. I saw my developing self reflected in these story-lines and razzmatazz. When the media and education system do not engage the public and reflect myriad interests, aspirations and lifestyles of the population, citizens get detached and disconnected from their roots. I left for America for further studies, and was somewhat determined to never return to Nepal. It was a country full of potholes and black-outs. But foreigners have been fascinated with our country for decades. In the early 19th century, Francis Buchanan-Hamilton led a pioneering expedition and documented more than a thousand species of plants native to the region. Almost a century later, in 1905, Frenchman Sylvan Levi published ‘the first attempt to produce a comprehensive study of Nepal’, drawing on not just indigenous but available Chinese and European sources as well. After Nepal opened up in the 1950s, different kinds of foreigners have traveled here -- most notably, cold-war era spies disguised as diplomats, and later came the hippies. I returned to Nepal in 2013 and was primarily struck by two major demographics - the artists and the expats. Energised by the recent revolution, the creatives were making vibrant, powerful works. The expats, on the other hand, demonstrated a different way to navigate life in Kathmandu Valley. These two groups of people re-introduced Nepal to me and I began seeing my country and my hometown with a renewed perspective. Which is why one particular image from Giovanna Caruso’s ongoing show at the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank">Kalā</a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank"> Salon</a> curated by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/facades-and-flowers-from-nepal-to-italy" target="_blank">Sophia L Pandé</a> instantly caught my attention -- rather, it called out to me, as if it was composed for me, framing a key moment from my own life. Its title is, coincidentally, 2013. Like most of her other works, the pen-and-ink drawing is punctuated by an explosion of watercolour: a woman standing confidently in front of a Newa-style house, a leg arched up, as if she is fixing a strap around an ankle before stepping out on an adventure. The watercolour depicts a rainbow streaming out of a pot through a second-floor window. The rest of the details are rendered in realism – clusters of garlic and onion hanging to dry from the rafters, and further down a stack of corn. There are towels drying, even an old water pump.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="art review Kala Salon"> </figure>  When I walked over to this artwork with Caruso, she chuckled, “Ah, this work is a celebration of my 30 years in Nepal.” It was while trying to calm a restless group of students during her teaching days in Italy that Caruso first came across an iconic image of Kathmandu Darbar Square. She had found an old box of slides and while projecting images from the Himalaya to engage her students, the artist was determined to travel to Nepal. The first flat she rented was close to the square and the view from her rooftop was the same as the one she had encountered inside her classroom. She has been traveling to Nepal every year since. Some of her favourite drawings depict Khokana in morning fog. From 1993-2006, she drew murals at Ram Mandir and Pashupatinath, asking sadhus to guide her and correct her depictions. Caruso received a classical education, which means she was trained to focus on perspective and geometry while capturing mainly portraits and still lives. She is influenced by M C Escher and his explorations of mathematics and symmetry. No wonder she finds the Darbar Square architecture so compelling. She also names as inspiration Gustave Dore, whose style is different from Escher’s and I can see how she has fused these influences in her body of work: Escher’s austerity complimented and slightly dislodged by Dore’s comics and caricatures. “Before starting, the painting needs to be complete in my mind,” she explains as we pass a series of portraits titled Saraswati, Lakshmi, Kali Dancing, and Durga dominated by a roaring tiger. “These are all real people, I ask my friends and family members to sit for me.” The Kali in the drawing has the artist’s fiery copper red hair and she is dancing, surrounded by various men with flowing hair. The artist seems to have experimented here, drawing the revelers from above, and indulging in playful abandon. Depictions of Nepal are often in danger of being exoticised. But Caruso is familiar with her subjects, knows our alleys and temples intimately. Her colours and compositions are passionate and dense. In an essay, Anirudh S Chari writes the artist’s work is splashed with rapturous energy and most drawings have a carnivalesque element. ‘Kali Dancing’ illustrates this idea perfectly in that she has turned Kali’s usual fearsome portrayal on its head by depicting and embracing another feminine principle - the capacity to celebrate and create joy. Apart from drawing inspiration from Hindu goddesses and Nepal’s multi-colored rituals, Caruso has also drawn the Sumerian Ianna and Lillith and the Egyptian Nut. She enjoys drawing Nataraja, and says it is because “Shiva is a good husband”. We stand another painting titled 100 Days a Lion. “There is a saying in Italian, Better one day as a lion than a hundred days as a sheep, but I thought why not 100 Days a Lion?” This sentiment captures this nomadic artist’s spirit spanning four decades, in which she has captured urban energy as well as the sacred imagery of ‘life diaries on canvas’. From Venezia to Kathmandu and Journeys In Between Giovanna Caruso The Kalā Salon Chhaya Centre Mall, Thamel Till 12 December 10am- 8pm

Looking at Nepal from Venice

The COP30 climate summit in Brazil ended this week <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/cop30-to-cop31">without tangible commitment</a> from countries to reduce fossil fuel emissions. Its impact will be felt halfway around the planet here in Mustang which is already seeing weather extremes.&nbsp; Geographically, Mustang is on the Tibetan Plateau, north of the main Himalayan chain. It is in the rainshadow, and a high altitude desert. Winter snow has failed for eight of the past ten years, unseasonal blizzards, and frequent glacial collapse leading to floods. The Kali Gandaki Corridor follows one of the deepest gorges in the world between Annapurna and Dhaulagiri, the world’s seventh and tenth highest peaks. Lush pine forests cover the southern flanks of these mountains, but within a few kilometers the vegetation undergoes a dramatic change to a landscape of red, brown and grey cliffs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_c66ade5e32d20530003abba893869426d75b42d10e4725c28361d738b402721f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251129021144_c66ade5e32d20530003abba893869426d75b42d10e4725c28361d738b402721f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  It gets more arid the more north you go. Snow and rain in Upper Mustang used to fall mostly in winter, but now there are cloudbursts and blizzards at other times of the year.&nbsp; In the ancient walled city of Lo Manthang, elderly men have gathered at a local tea shop to drink the salted butter tea. Some sip home-made liquor infused with medicinal herbs.&nbsp; The sun has set, the temperature plummets, and the wind howls outside. Everyone agrees it does not snow like it used to any more. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/comings-and-goings-in-mustang">Comings and goings in Mustang</a>, Shrijan Pandey  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_ffaabf00a533984cadf160b2e56734cddb6f64d1a660401417d2982a3818f161.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251129021144_ffaabf00a533984cadf160b2e56734cddb6f64d1a660401417d2982a3818f161" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> <figcaption>The flat mud roofs are leaking because rain is now falling where there used to be snow.</figcaption> </figure>  “The weather has changed drastically over the years,” says Lopsang Tsomfel Bista, Chair of the Lo Dekhar Municipality. “It doesn’t snow in winter, and it falls when it is not supposed to.”&nbsp; Lack of snow means that in spring, the pastures where nomadic herders graze their yaks and goats do not have enough grass. Previously, winter snow on the meadows would seep slowly into the soil with the spring thaw, bringing out fresh grass shoots. &nbsp; In recent years, even if there is winter precipitation, it falls as rain. The soil is not able to soak in rain as efficiently, and torrential downpours increase the risk of soil erosion and floods.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_93ca69bec63577c5f6cbff8db809c11bce2d8fe01469d3374c20a6f20a7c93f1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251129021144_93ca69bec63577c5f6cbff8db809c11bce2d8fe01469d3374c20a6f20a7c93f1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  “There used to be up to 1,500 mountain goats in every village, but now they have stopped keeping livestock,” says Bista. This is due to lack of grass and new lowland diseases moving up the mountains. Mustang has lost 28% of its population between the census in 2011 and 2021, and outmigration also means there are fewer people left to carry on a pastoral lifestyle.&nbsp; “Herders have asked for vet services in their communities because there are new insect-borne diseases,” says Yangchen Dolker Gurung of the Lo Gyalpo Jigme Foundation. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/winds-of-change-sweep-mustang">Winds of change sweep Mustang</a>, Jagannath Adhikari  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_902593732af83db5792128be5a3bd87c00e0c62ff894afa4c98bffde64e96d26.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251129021144_902593732af83db5792128be5a3bd87c00e0c62ff894afa4c98bffde64e96d26" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> <figcaption>The mud walls of monasteries and homes are crumbling because of unseasonal rainfall. </figcaption> </figure>  Mustang is flanked to the east and west by mountains that rise up to 6,000m, and glaciers on their slopes are melting fast, turning into lakes. With the rising temperature, the risk of Glacier Lakes Outburst Floods (GLOFs) has also risen.&nbsp; At the rate global average temperatures are rising, scientists say that the Himalaya will lose up to two-thirds of the remaining ice caps. When glaciers melt, it not just raises the risk from GLOFs but also affects water supply downstream.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025112903114_1a6af68965ded5f23897a623bec2e2bed0da4c6663f0af5b5bf79883f2a11c9f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2025112903114_1a6af68965ded5f23897a623bec2e2bed0da4c6663f0af5b5bf79883f2a11c9f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1022" height="767" loading="lazy" alt="Mustang map NT"> </figure>  FLOODS Ringzin Sangbo Gurung in Chumjung village recalls the devastation caused by a GLOF on 8 July this year that swept away a newly inaugurated bridge. The floodplain is now strewn with boulders and sand brought down by the flood which caused damage worth Rs28 million. The flood also damaged the irrigation canals that feed riverside farms where locals grew potato, buckwheat, millet and spinach. Nyima Wangmo Gurung runs a homestay in Nyamdok village, and says: “We don’t have water when we need it. And there is too much when we don’t need it.”&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mustang-forced-to-adapt-to-climate-crisis">Mustang forced to adapt to climate c</a><a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mustang-forced-to-adapt-to-climate-crisis">risis</a>, Ronan Wallace and Yungdrung Tsewang Gurung  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_7ae98274ea20e910311ec4431ba0aa3ecd9fe92caaed029a33c185198b33d0d2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20251129021144_7ae98274ea20e910311ec4431ba0aa3ecd9fe92caaed029a33c185198b33d0d2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  With warming temperatures, farmers in Mustang are growing lowland vegetables which was not possible before in plastic greenhouses. The farms depended on snowmelt in spring to irrigate their fields, but there is less snow to melt in past years. “The last heavy snowfall in winter was about eight years ago, since then we have got little or no snow,” says Tashi Norbu Gurung, Chair of Lo Manthang Rural Municipality. “This affects farmers during the April planting season.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_010e09f4e9335f39c62f4d6027489c86423b3d10ddfb83558820f6a7a56a477b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20251129021144_010e09f4e9335f39c62f4d6027489c86423b3d10ddfb83558820f6a7a56a477b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  It is not just lack of snowfall that is a problem. Springs have gone dry, and some villages like Dhey have been forced to relocate because life became &nbsp;impossible without water.&nbsp; Villagers of Samjung also <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/climate-migration-is-already-happening">migrated</a> to Namashung, near a river when water sources dried up. But now the new settlements are threatened by GLOFs. Karma Gurung, who runs a lodge in Choser, remembers the big flood of 35 years ago which swept away farms and covered them with debris. There have been more frequent, but destructive floods since then in Kagbeni, Lubra and other valleys. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mixed-blessings-in-mustang">Mixed blessings in Mustang</a>, Mukesh Pokhrel  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_da2212bc1ad49c17d126e24bbd92d3fca18e3e6bdd58ac61df14c962deb2edcd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="20251129021144_da2212bc1ad49c17d126e24bbd92d3fca18e3e6bdd58ac61df14c962deb2edcd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  MUD WALLS Because snowfall has been replaced by rain, Mustang’s traditional mud-wall architecture is now in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/leaky-roofs-on-the-roof-of-the-world">danger of collapsing</a>. The homes here are closely packed, have flat roofs stacked with juniper branches for firewood. With rain in place of snow, the roofs now leak.&nbsp; Women in Thinkar village say their walls are falling apart. Some homes have collapsed, and families forced to move out. Yangchen Dolker Gurung of the Lo Gyalpo Jigme Foundation says locals need plastic sheets, cement walls and corrugated roofs to cope with the rain.&nbsp; But this would mean that Mustang’s villages would lose their traditional architecture style.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_59c475cdde3bee8d03ed05e9038c0cf36f1acd31e3d3596f145469e5b4404d9d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="20251129021144_59c475cdde3bee8d03ed05e9038c0cf36f1acd31e3d3596f145469e5b4404d9d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  The ancient 1.5m thick mud walls around Lo Manthang built 600 years ago, the king’s palace, and monasteries are also at risk. “Changes in precipitation patterns, altering the intensity, frequency, and timing of rainfall and snowfall, have damaged traditional and cultural infrastructure, particularly mud-built private and public buildings as well as religious and heritage sites,” explains Bhawani Pandey at the Lo Gyalpo Jigme Foundation. “With the rain, and because the monuments and stupas are made from mud, they have eroded. There is leakage, and the monuments are in a dilapidated condition.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-smarter-himalayan-infrastructure/" target="_blank">Climate-smarter Himalayan infrastructure</a>, Sonia Awale  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_dfc8c93a0a8619893f0d97076d1f9cbba3818e1cc716a903ff9908dbb8939ef6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_18" data-image-id="20251129021144_dfc8c93a0a8619893f0d97076d1f9cbba3818e1cc716a903ff9908dbb8939ef6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  The Lo Manthang Rural Municipality along with Lo Gyalpo Jigme Foundation, are working on a Local Adaptation Plan of Action and the Disaster Preparedness and Response Plan, which the Nepal government has made mandatory for every municipality. “We took a bottom-up approach and collected data from each village, they know best the impact of climate change and what their needs are,” says Yangchen Gurung. To address the hazards of climate change, local communities and municipalities are adapting through their own resources, without waiting for outside help to improve water conservation, control soil erosion and protect from flood.&nbsp; Says Pandey, “We are returning to conserving traditional drought-resistant crop varieties, organic pest and disease control, cultivating high-value crops and fruits, and practicing sustainable pasture management through rotational grazing. We have also developed new building codes for homes that incorporate water-resistant coating for mud roofs and walls.” &nbsp; Additional Reporting by Tashi Wangyal. &nbsp;

Too little snow, too much rain

It is quite a feat for just two actors on a darkened stage to hold an audience spellbound for more than one hour. Yet, ‘के? Us.’ at Kausi Theatre does just that. It is a thought-provoking but baffling work that leaves the audience questioning reality, the recurring metaphors in this intriguing and powerful dark comedy haunting us for days afterwards.&nbsp; The unsettling sound of deep breathing mingles with percussive drumming and a driving guitar that pulsates amidst a red glow, dimly illuminating shadowy structures charred by fire. A door leads to what is later revealed to be the ancestral home of two brothers which is ‘under renovation’. One of the brothers Ashim (Bijaya Tamrakar) lives in Nepal caring for a supposedly comatose mother who is only depicted by a tree draped with red LED lights that circulate arterial blood corpuscles. Visiting him is a long-lost brother Aaryan (Eelum Dixit) who has returned (deported?) from America.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The stage is littered with scattered paper trash, a run-down motorcycle chassis, a tattered sofa, and beat-up table and chairs. The stage is set for a sinister plot. Are the characters to be punished in perdition?&nbsp; It does not take long for the audience to grasp that this is an apocalyptic Nepal that, following absurdist traditions, could exist at any time in the future or the present day <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/election-vs-escalation">post-GenZ protest state</a>. Ashim and Aaryan Adhikari have reunited after 15 years. Ashim, the younger brother, has been burdened with the responsibility of taking care of their brain-dead mother. Aaryan, returns after having migrated to the US, where he married, had children, divorced, and lost everything. He has been at “minus 20 and is now back to zero”.&nbsp; The brothers have intense back-and-forths that expose their cynicism, the conversation tangentially alluding to Nepal’s unstable political landscape, migration, an economy in shambles, aging population, alcoholism and other mental health issues. Even the sibling argument about the relative merits of momos and burgers seems metaphorical. The stagecraft uses lighting and sound effects brilliantly, transporting the audience to a surreal world in which Tamrakar and Dixit improvise their lines — no two shows are exactly the same, although the overall plotline has continuity.&nbsp; In the first scene, Aaryan approaches the house tentatively, creeping rodent-like, and carrying a briefcase and an old-fashioned lantern. And at the end, Ashim screams, “I am chaos.” Is this the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Choas play review"> </figure>  At one point Aaryan seems perturbed by the sound of protest outside (the Gen Z movement?) and the taut atmosphere grips the audience with fear, shock, and apprehension of the recent death and destruction.&nbsp; Throughout the play there is the sound of breathing, as if through a ventilator, a thumping heartbeat, the morbid buzzing of flies and the glowing red LED veins -- signifying the presence of the comatose Aama. She is featured in a prologue-esque home video at the start of the play in which she reminisces about her two sons and rues her failing memory.&nbsp; The sound of breathing gets accentuated each time a brother gets closer to the tree, and it seems to fuel Ashim’s belief that Aama may be brain-dead but she is still among them. This play can go as deep as each individual in the audience wants it to go.&nbsp; The silenced, comatose mother could be Nepali Aama muted by an entrenched patriarchy. Or, she could be the symbol of a helpless country while her children fight over the ruins of what is left. The cake cutting is a delightfully Shakespearean subplot where we wonder if one of the brothers is going to poison, or knife, the other. The message is clear: how can we move forward if it is brother against brother? The stairs signify political transition (elections, constitutional change, new coalitions) promising upward movement, but eventually lead to falls, leaving the nation exactly where it started, or worse. The mother’s terminal illness evokes an ailing state apparatus, hollowed out by corruption and deep-seated social decay. Yet the brothers cling to an irrational hope — instead of confronting the harsh truth and pursuing radical solutions, suggesting a blind faith in the mother.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The brothers are lost. Aaryan climbs up stairs that lead nowhere, Ashim holds on to unrealistic hope that somehow Aama will get better. Tamrakar and Dixit deliver powerful performances, even more remarkable for the fact that they are improvising their lines as they go along. When Aaryan breaks a wall and directly addresses the audience, spectators turn from being passive observers to active participants (‘the society’). The audience then become oglers in this drama, suddenly made self-aware of our role as the scrutinising, cavilling voyeurs that society represents. There is some discomfort of being watched and judged.&nbsp; By asking his brother what he is afraid of while pointing at the audience, Aaryan suggests that the brother's (and perhaps the character's core) fear is not just of the house, or the mother's illness, but of external judgment and societal censure. After the stage goes dark, the applause takes some time. Audience members shuffle out in silence, minds reeling from the collective soul-searching they have just participated in.&nbsp; After ‘के? Us.’ the din at Teku intersection outside sounds different as we wait for our Pathao ride below the खरी tree where <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Shukra+Raj+Shastri&amp;client=safari&amp;sca_esv=75e8315709cd5118&amp;rls=en&amp;sxsrf=AE3TifMJhwukjdBBT0n4QcQWe8IYSaEVsw%3A1764648053799&amp;ei=dWQuaYbIMOy94-EPn4ygyAE&amp;ved=2ahUKEwiU1ciogp6RAxXq3TQHHeo9LBIQgK4QegQIARAB&amp;uact=5&amp;oq=nepal+tree+where+martyrs+were+hanged&amp;gs_lp=Egxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAiJG5lcGFsIHRyZWUgd2hlcmUgbWFydHlycyB3ZXJlIGhhbmdlZDIIECEYoAEYwwRIug5QAFiNC3AAeAGQAQCYAc4BoAHrCKoBBTAuNS4xuAEDyAEA-AEBmAIDoALlBMICBRAAGO8FmAMA4gMFEgExIECSBwUwLjEuMqAHzw-yBwUwLjEuMrgH5QTCBwcwLjIuMC4xyAcM&amp;sclient=gws-wiz-serp&amp;mstk=AUtExfCLIneLVW3SFBzxBc964wFcTJ936tcAPSDcvNKljck0PIqDJddMZ_t8Pg610M98MCx14aNdnyLHs9QM0jWLhI7JYmkPhugX1ZHfSQvdCHZE9E5m2_ZQY5Jr893UcGjQfpabtA_C48NfB9Pg56uYMOmTtEBEcGuvz3d96Qaifyb86sI8mAkrRNo_367cv_xmFjLZ55iQkfHtORuOvZSUkIdMvAdpweuf4jPjjI4anbv9lc-uCImdP0JSvtvEGL8ePxwsWWOzYpIbjNP1zofjcWXK&amp;csui=3" target="_blank">Shukra Raj Shastri</a> was hanged in 1941 by the Rana regime. Language and Literature Students, 2026.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="1350" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  ‘के? Us.’ Kausi Theatre, Teku Till 7 December (except 2 December) Bookings: +977 9842156109, 9842574607

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

Shantanu Dhakal wakes up to a cold misty dawn, dons his college uniform and fastens his tie, tightening it carefully so as not to dislodge the tracheostomy tube protruding from his throat.
Gingerly, he brushes his teeth, mindful not to hurt the wound on his left cheek, where a bullet tore through during the GenZ protests on 8 September in the highway town of Itahari in eastern Nepal.&nbsp;
Dhakal, 18, came home from college that day three months ago and then took the bus to Itahari to join some friends who were protesting in front of the sub-metropolitan city office. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowd was chanting anti-corruption slogans and holding up placards.
Like most young Nepalis, Dhakal and his friends had been angered by videos on social media of the offspring of Nepal’s rich and powerful flaunting their lavish lifestyles.&nbsp;
"That was the trigger for me to join the protest, it opened my eyes to just how widespread nepotism and corruption was," Dhakal told Nepali Times.&nbsp;
The police arrested a few students, angering the crowd even more. They massed at the gate of a nearby police station to demand their friends be released. &nbsp;
Dhakal was standing across the street from the police station when the first shots rang out. The crowd scattered. As he ran for cover, there was a searing pain in his left jaw. Blood was streaming and it took some time for him to realise he had been shot.&nbsp;
“I was bleeding profusely and couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, there was a ringing in my ears,” Dhakal recalls. “I collected myself and continued to run, fearing that I would be shot a second time.”
Dhakal collapsed some distance away, and a fellow protestor took him to a nearby hospital, where doctors bandaged his jaw. He was referred to Birat Medical Teaching Hospital, where surgeons immediately performed an emergency operation. &nbsp;
The bullet had torn through his left jaw, shattering the bone, teeth, and soft tissue. Blood had rushed into his throat, obstructing the airway so doctors first performed a tracheostomy, installing a tube in his throat to help him keep breathing. A week later, the doctors reconstructed his jaw with metallic plates, grafting skin from his chest and transplanting it to the lower left side of his face.&nbsp;
Dhakal spent three weeks in hospital before being discharged. But the relief of being home was marred by disturbing thoughts. He says, “Just sitting there doing nothing began to take a toll on my mental health.” &nbsp;
Since he was always interested in content creation and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@docsbyshantanu">producing short documentaries</a>, he decided to document online his near-death experience and post-protest life.&nbsp;
Shantanu Dhakal’s Instagram and TikTok <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shantanu__dhakal/">posts are simple, short videos</a> every other day about his treatment process, dressing his wound and cleaning his tracheostomy tube, attending events with others injured during the protests, and scenes from everyday life in his family farm.&nbsp;
The comment section has Nepalis and people from around the world reaching out to ask how he is doing and keeping his spirits up. Dhakal now has a caring social media community, and he uses the platforms to keep in touch with other injured protestors across the country.&nbsp;
Life is returning to a new normal. This week, he returned to college to resume classes after more than two months and is making up for lost time. He has adjusted to speaking and eating with the tube, although the pain never quite goes away.&nbsp;
“I can eat mostly fine, but it is still difficult to speak,” he says. Soon, he will go to hospital for his fortnightly follow-up, and doctors will determine when his tracheostomy tube can be removed.
Like other young Nepalis, Dhakal is now even more politically engaged and actively reads the news of the interim government installed after the GenZ protests.&nbsp;
With the 5 March elections only three months away, young Nepalis like Dhakal hope that the elections will throw out the old and bring in the new. He is among the more than 800,000 new voters who have registered.&nbsp;
“The most important thing is that we have stable government,” he says. “As far as candidates go, an ideal one for me would be a person who prioritises health and education. But if the candidates in my constituency are not up to mark, I may not vote.”
Dhakal along with other injured protesters and relatives of those killed met &nbsp;Energy Minister Kulman Ghising, who has launched his own Ujyalo Nepal Party, and he is cautiously optimistic about the work of the current leadership. &nbsp;
It is a different story in Kathmandu, where Prime Minister Sushila Karki is struggling to manage the expectations of various youth collectives while trying to convince the old parties to participate in elections.&nbsp;
While the UML and NC are actively trying to delegitimise Karki’s government as they prepare to hold their respective general conventions, they are also preparing to give out tickets for elections.&nbsp;
Self-proclaimed GenZ leaders who used Discord to elect Karki prime minister are putting up their own conditions for the polls, even demanding her resignation for failing to meet their demands. This is in sharp contrast to the feelings of many of those injured during the protests who want elections so the nation can heal, and move on.

ghunsa-crash

Remembering Nepal’s conservation heroes

Out of the ashes

Looking at Nepal from Venice

Too little snow, too much rain

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

A new normal