<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141124/636cfbad9c7e80680e0a0b47jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Photos: PRATIBHA TULADHAR</figcaption></figure>She towered over me like a lone poplar tree. She was four years older than I was at the time she came to live with us. Sita was the eldest of her siblings and her father had sent her to Kathmandu so she could contribute to the family income.Ten-year-old Sita’s job was to babysit for one of our relatives—two babies watching one another. When a bunch of grapes disappeared, the employers decided to dismiss the babysitter. Sita was just being a child picking and popping into her mouth something she liked the taste of, but she was supposed to be an ‘employee’ and expected to behave like an adult.Her father insisted that she stay in Kathmandu, and so the child remained, moving from one home to another, as employers tired of her antics. One of them had to yank her off the balcony railing, after which, she was sent to ours.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/welcome-to-suburbia/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Welcome to suburbia</a>, Pratibha TuladharWhen I asked my mother recently why she had accepted a child as helper, she said it was because she knew that she would be sent somewhere else if not to ours, and that she thought a house with two girls would be safer for her.Sita showed up one afternoon on the motorbike of her former employer at our home on the outskirts of Kathmandu. She was carrying a small bag of clothes. She was wearing a kurta with traces of lint—something I had seen my relative wear before, now altered to fit a 14-year-old.I had met Sita before when I had visited my relatives, a radiant face resting on tall, lean limbs. Her eyes were light brown and her hair the same colour, resting in an array of curls over her forehead and her temples. She did not look much different when she arrived at ours. And neither did she look nervous for someone coming to live in a new place.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/be-water/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">My mother</a> and Nini got busy after her arrival, making arrangements for a bedding of a single mattress, a pillow and a blanket. She would sleep in my room, on the floor. I couldn’t understand the arrangement, but I got used to it.She folded her bedding every morning, arranging it under my bookshelf which hung on the wall. If sometimes she saw me sitting on it with a book between my fingers, she would tell me to get off in fluent Newa: “Maicha! Ana makhu.”Sita made our home hers, quickly. She was expected to bring my sister and me to the bus stop everyday and help Mam run errands. But Mam complained that “the child” delayed her. Clearly, she also made her laugh.Mam, with wisps of gray sticking over her head would sit under a tree in the afternoons, smoking her beedi. On a hot day, she would fall asleep under the tree, and Sita would get to work, poking her ear with a leaf. Furious, Mam would clench her hand into a fist and threaten to hit Sita. “This girl has too much energy. Utauli, chakchaki!”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141124/636cfbb09c7e80680e0a0b48jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853">And as if to prove the point, Sita made sure to punctuate our days with events. One morning, as we waited for our school bus to arrive, Sita pointed at the pipal tree and said, “Nests!” And before we knew, she was climbing the tree.“Sita Didi!” we yelled from below, as she scrambled up like she knew the tree branch by branch. When we got into the school bus, I craned my neck to watch her from the window as the bus raced off with us inside. My heart pounding, I caught a glimpse of her stretching one arm to grab the nest.When we stepped off at the bus stand that afternoon, Mam was waiting for us. Sita had been grounded. Upon entering my room, I saw two weaver birds’ nests. One was over a foot long, the other one was smaller. Sita had nailed them to two corners of our room. I dumped my bag on the floor to touch them.“I saw you read about them in your sience book,” she beamed. My science book had a chapter on different kinds of bird nests, one of them had been the weaver bird’s nest.A couple of weeks later, Sita was allowed to go to the bus stand again. As we waited under the pipal tree, my sister wept. She hadn’t finished her homework. Sita pulled out her notebook and hurriedly wrote her homework for her. “There, your teacher won’t scold you now.” She whacked my sister’s head, “Badmass!”Coming home from school was also coming home to Sita’s radiant face. One time, she greeted us with bruises all over her limbs, spiky branches strewn over the front porch. She had climbed a thorny tree to gather firewood for Shivaratri, bringing down fresh branches that would not burn.When my mother exclaimed how terrified she had been that she might fall, Sita reminded her that she had “conquered” a pipal tree. I did not understand my mother’s patience with her.One afternoon, Sita locked herself in the kitchen for hours. When she unlocked the door, she had made aloo achar. She said it was her “especial” for us, the first time she had cooked. The potatoes were raw and I told her the achar was horrible. But my mother ate it, smiling as she did.When Sita turned 15, her father showed up. Mam found her hiding at the dhunge dhara by the hillside. It was time for her to go home. When we returned from school her bedclothes still sat under my bookshelf but the lightness of her presence was missing. It angered me that no one had told me she was leaving, but no one tells a child such things.Sita had been “<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/child-marriage-in-Nepal,3863" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">given away in marriage</a>” after she went back home, we heard. A decade later Sita visited my mother in our home in Maharajganj, when she brought a relative to the Teaching Hospital.“She leaned against the wall the entire time we talked. She was wearing a red cotton sari and had grown much taller and fuller. But she looked tired,” my mother recalls.We haven’t heard from her since, but my mother likes to punctuate our kitchen conversations with Sita anecdotes.Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in Pratibha’s life.

Pratibha Tuladhar

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<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181148/636a96779c7e80680e05dc6ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/>A horrific incident on the morning of 6 September 2019 changed Muskan Khatun’s life forever. The 14-year-old was attacked with acid on her way to school. Images of a recovering Muskan went viral on social media. Messages of support poured in from strangers, celebrities visited her bedside, popular Indian actors called her on video.Muskan, which means smile, might be one of the luckier survivors. Her family supports her wish to get an education, the Nepali public has praised her for staying positive and despite her harsh scars, she remains hopeful for the future.Between 2010 and 2017, Burn Violence Survivors (BVS-Nepal), a Kathmandu-based NGO, has recorded about 40 cases of acid attacks annually. On several occasions, these attacks have led women to develop depression. Half of the suicide cases in Nepali women aged 15-49 follow burn violence.Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/alarming-rise-in-violence-against-women/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Alarming rise in violence against women</a>On 25 November, as we mark the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women and Girls, we must remember Muskan’s plight and think about what more we can do to help end all forms of <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/corrosive-conduct/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">gender-based violence</a>.I am encouraged that the Government of Nepal has declared Nepali year 2076 as the year for ending gender-based violence. The federal government, along with provincial and local authorities, is working hard to ensure that the campaign’s messages trickle down to the local level.Gender-based violence has many different forms and varies in magnitude. To make sense of it all and support the government’s initiatives, having good data is crucial. This gives the work better direction by identifying pertinent issues and informing good decision-making, especially where resources are limited.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/four-fold-increase-in-reported-rape-in-10-years/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Four-fold increase in reported rape in 10 years</a>, Sewa BhattaraiIn my short time in Nepal, I have been fortunate to engage with heads of governments at all three levels, as well as with women human rights activists and community leaders. I am convinced that the Government of Nepal has taken ending gender-based violence seriously.The UK is happy to be supporting this work in Nepal, along with several other donors, multilateral agencies and civil society actors. Our global strategic vision for gender work has five main components, all of which need to be underpinned by good data if we are to be successful in eliminating gender-based violence.Data shows us that education plays a critical role in helping reduce the instances of gender-based violence. While 49% of Nepali women who experienced gender-based violence at home were illiterate, only 13% who had higher than secondary level education had similar experiences. The UK’s Girls’ Education Challenge focuses on communities that have fallen behind in educating the girl child.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/republic-of-rape/">Republic of rape</a>There is lots of room for progress, but data shows that overall, only 53% of currently married women use a method of family planning, with 10% using a traditional method. Three out of every 5 women who began using a contraceptive method in the 5 years before the survey discontinued the method within 12 months.Because there are more new stories around gender-based violence, it tends to give the impression that people’s awareness has also improved. However, data has helped us identify that we need to do more work around building awareness of violence against women and girls: 78% of Nepali women and girl survivors of gender-based violence have never sought any help, including from the police or even getting checked by a doctor. 66% of survivors remained completely silent about the violence.In Nepal, women spend more hours doing paid work and shoulder more than three times the amount of unpaid labour as their male counterparts. Despite this, women earn less money and own but a small percentage of the country’s wealth. Although Nepal has one of the highest rates of economic participation by women in Asia, most women do lower skilled, insecure jobs that pay less than men. Only 11% of women own their own piece of land, while only 8% of women own a house.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15584#.XdZzKdUzbIU">The invisible</a>, Mallika AryalNepal’s new Constitution has put more women in decision-making roles than at any point in Nepal’s history. One way for these decision-makers to be effective at their roles is by being able to understand and use data to make evidence-based decisions. Our Evidence for Development program (E4D) aims to improve the quality of such data, including better data disaggregation, to provide better information to policy and decision-makers on specific groups of people, including women. It also trained civil servants to understand and use data better.Working with data helps us to continually assess our work to tackle gender-based violence, better understand the current challenges and empower women and girls to take control of their lives. This is why DFID is supporting the upcoming 16 days of activism, with a social media campaign focusing on how data can help us address gender-based violence.Publishing this data helps us work in an open and transparent manner. The numbers hold us to account for the state of things and push everyone to do more.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/daughter-slaughter/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Daughter Slaughter</a>, Monika DeupalaLisa Honan is the Head of Office for the UK’s Department for International Development (DFID Nepal) in Kathmandu.

Using numbers to fight gender-based violence

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131148/636a50529c7e80680e04fd53jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>TIMELY ADVICE: After providing implants at a remote health post in Baitadi recently, visiting service providers Madhavi Bhatta and Ashmita Bohora warn sisters Hasa and Harina Sarki (seated, left) of possible side effects. Pics: ROJITA ADHIKARI</figcaption></figure>Two nurses visiting distant Maharudra Health Post in Baitadi had packed up, said goodbye to staff and started down the road when two local women waved down their jeep. “We want to have an implant,” they said.The nurses told the women they would be back next week, but they insisted: “We have walked three hours, leaving our breastfed babies to get our implants.” The nurses relented, the jeep turned around and returned to the health post.Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/migrating-males-and-population-decline/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Migrating males and population decline</a>, Om Astha RaiThe local women were lucky. Only half of health facilities in Nepal provide all five major contraceptives as part of their regular services. Implants and long acting reversible contraceptives (LARC) are not easily available, mainly due to lack of trained staff. Filling that gap are visiting service providers at remote health posts like this one in Baitadi.Only 43% of all married women of reproductive age in Nepal have access to modern contraceptives, according to the Demographic Health Survey (DHS) 2016 report. Although it was only 26% in 1996, there is still a huge unmet need for family planning.Nepal’s population clock will touch 30 million next month, but the country’s falling fertility rate means that population will stop growing in three decades after it reaches 37 million. A Nepali woman on average had 6 babies in the 1960s, now she has 2, which is below the population replacement level.The two women who stopped the nurses were Hasa Sarki, 23, and her sister Harina, 20 (pictured, right). Hasa already has four children, and Harina has two. The sisters live in the same house in Lakhulla village, about three hours walk from the health post.“When we heard the implant nurses were here, we took off, leaving our food and shouting to my husband to take care of the baby,” said Harina.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/lets-talk-about-it/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Let’s talk about it</a>, Duksangh Sherpa<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131148/636a50559c7e80680e04fd54jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131148/636a50589c7e80680e04fd55jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933">The sisters are Dalits from a community of subsistence farmers. Hasa was married at 15 and already has three daughters and a son. The land does not provide food for the family, so Hasa’s husband goes to India six months a year.“My husband and I decided to have five years’ pregnancy prevention as we can’t afford to have any more children. I am so happy that after today I will be safe for five years,” added Hasa.One of the nurses, Binda Saud, says the number of women requesting contraceptives even in these remote areas is growing, but the one medic trained in inserting implants was transferred and there is no one to do it in the health post. Which is why the government has mobilised 63 visiting service providers (VSP) in 14 districts across Nepal to promote implants and IUCDs, with support from the UN Population Fund and British agency DFID.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/globe-rallies-to-aid-nepals-women,3841" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Cutting the lifeline</a>, Kate RyanLack of personnel trained in implants is just one barrier in remote villages, where many people still believe that birth control is against god’s wishes. As a result, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/baby-factory-bajura-nepal,4018" target="_blank" rel="noopener">women give birth annually</a> and many are anaemic, malnourished, and some die.“One of the worst cases I have faced is that of a woman who had seven children who told me she wanted five years’ protection, but when I started the process of putting an implant into her arm she started shaking and saying god will not forgive her; she changed her mind,” recalled the other auxiliary nursing midwife, Madhavi Bhatta.There are families in these remote mountains where mothers and their daughters-in-law give birth together. Laxmi BK, 37, and her daughter-in-law Puja BK, 19, gave birth within months of each other. Laxmi was married when she was 14, and now has 8 children, including the youngest who is 18 months. Puja got married when she was 16, and gave birth to her first child a year ago.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131148/636a505c9c7e80680e04fd56jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1296" height="544">“I don’t know much about contraception, I used an injection once but it led to bleeding and I thought I would die, so I decided never to use it again,” Laxmi said.The VSP approach was piloted by the government in Ramechhap district in 2015, and after positive results was expanded  in 2018.“It is a cost-effective way to substantially increase the uptake of five modern family planning methods in areas of low use and high unmet demand for contraception,” explained Amit Dhungel of UNFPA Nepal.The government is also encouraged by the success of the initiative, especially for delivery of family planning. “VSPs travel to remote areas which are difficult for the government to reach,” said Kabita Aryal at the Department of Health in Kathmandu. “That fills the gap in health facilities and health workers.”Getting the right contraception in the right place at the right time can change a Nepali woman’s life. That hope could be seen in the smiles on the faces of Hasa and Harina Sarki last month as they hurried home to their families with their new implants.<h2>Happier now</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131148/636a505e9c7e80680e04fd57jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933">Kalawati Chand, 31, from Khaligad village in Baitadi, (above) received an implant at a VSP camp two years ago, and says it is a big relief not to be worried about getting pregnant.“I already had two abortions, and I used to get pregnant every year, which means I was not able to focus on my children and even the farm. This had led to discord in the family,” Kalawati said. “But now I have more time for my children, husband and to go to the fields. We are happier now.”Setu Mahata, 26, (below) was waiting at Udayadev Health Post in Baitadi, a 1.5 hour walk from her home recently. The mother of two had been taking pills, but she heard that a VSP was coming and wanted to get a 5-year protective implant.“It is really convenient that the nurse comes here, otherwise I would have to spend two days going to another health post, and that would be expensive,” she said.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/child-marriage-in-Nepal,3863" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Far too young,</a> Sonia Awale<h2>ISPs</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131148/636a50619c7e80680e04fd58jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933">Call them ISPs, (implant service providers) these nurses are at the frontlines of reducing Nepal’s birth rate. The visiting service providers are female staff nurses or auxiliary nursing midwives (ANMs) trained to use long-acting reversible contraceptives (LARCs) and provide family planning services, especially in hard to reach areas and for minority groups. They also coach and support existing health workers to deliver quality, comprehensive family planning services.“I have been working as a VSP since the start and I have travelled to all 69 health facilities of Baitadi district. We have provided more than 2,100 IUCDs and implants in this district alone,” says ANM Madhavi Bhatta.Travelling in one of Nepal’s remotest and most rugged districts is not easy. Bhatta sometimes has to walk nine hours a day to reach health posts. What motivates her is the smile she sees on the faces of the women once they get their implants.“I can see the happiness, relief and satisfaction on their faces. It makes me forget all the hardship of getting to them,” says Bhatta.

Implant service providers take contraception to Nepal's poor

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a46ed9c7e80680e04d404jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1283"/><figcaption>Pic: DIWARKAR CHETTRI</figcaption></figure>Buying a bouquet for a friend’s wedding the other day, I got really involved in the process of choosing the flowers, arranging the blooms and packaging them up. So much so, I was bent over and stooping about the little flower shop to find the right coloured ribbons, paper and paraphernalia.That’s when my husband noticed my clothes.Light coloured, because I dressed to cope with the stifling summer heat of the valley, traces of my undies showed through when I leaned down to scrutinise some ribbons. He noticed. And according to him, others noticed too.Should I feel ashamed that they did? Should I wear the burden of having males stare at my bottom when I happen to bend over, or stare at me when I walk? It’s not often I’m scrounging about a small shop exposing my bum to the world. When I walk, the pants don’t pull tight enough to look ‘indecent’ or ‘vulgar’.In a country where exposed bellies under the drapes of saris are normative, or push-up bustiers and sexy, diaphanous tailoring are to be seen at any given wedding or celebratory event across the city, why am I made to feel like I’ve committed a great sin by wearing my kind of fuss-free, breezy fashion that happens to be in a light colour and fabric? Why should my girlfriends feel intimidated by people staring at them when they wear skirts or shorts cut above the knees?It is no wonder to me that the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/daughter-slaughter/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">abuse of women and girls in Nepal</a>, and in the rest of the subcontinent, is prevalent.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/corrosive-conduct/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Corrosive conduct</a>, Editorial<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/four-fold-increase-in-reported-rape-in-10-years/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Four-fold increase in reported rape in 10 years</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">#TheyToo</a>, Sewa BhattaraiIf women are yoked with the responsibility of presenting ourselves in ways that do not offend the male or conservative gaze, where would the blame lie should such offence be taken, I would ask. Also, should we start examining the dynamics of treating women and girls in ways that are harmful to their well-being, in the name of tradition and religion and along class and caste strata?Generally speaking, like other South Asians, many Nepalis are quick to judge and bred to not question the status quo. In a situation like mine, with a Nepali husband who by so many measures is modern in his mindset, I am constantly surprised at the sudden yanking of traditional mores at my ankles.It’s not like me to be too affected by it. I’ll shake it off, like I’m doing now, but I’m irritated. I’ll voice my disharmonising opinions, and I’ll keep wearing what I want to, and doing what I need to, as long as I’m not hurting anyone to the best of my discretion. I’m a woman who knows herself and knows her self-worth as a human being.However, there are many women brought up in this country who don’t have the mindset that I do, perhaps fortunately for them, so that the harmony of life as they know it is maintained. I understand that unquestioning acceptance is often exercised in this culture I’ve chosen to be immersed in. But I do think it’s healthy to question culture when it is <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/3-4th-of-the-sky/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">domineeringly patriarchal</a>, as it still is in this part of the world.I question that in order to live harmoniously a woman has to give up her rights to be comfortable in her own skin, in how she chooses to look. She gives up her humanity, her security, her sexuality, her sensuality, her intelligence, her curiosity, just to please men and matriarchs, just to fit into a culture that validates only certain aspects of her entire nature.Abuse of women in this culture will remain prevalent until the men and women of power speak up and act out against it, and until the downtrodden powerless learn to voice their dukha beyond the strains of sad folk songs. I am not of your culture, but I’m affected by it. This is my voice.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4364#.XRR-fOszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Patriarchy, female freedom Shrisha Karki</a>, Pramod K Mishra<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/she-for-her,3292">She for her</a>, Sahina Shrestha

Ill-fitting in Nepali society

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a450d9c7e80680e04d364jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1002"/><figcaption>No Privacy Photo taken by Sushma, 15, from Sindhuli, in a WaterAid UK participatory project She said: “This is the girls’ toilet at our school. It doesn’t lock properly. If someone is inside, someone else has to wait outside, pushing the door. This is why we need more girl-friendly toilets.”</figcaption></figure>By the numbers, Nepal’s progress in water, sanitation and health (WASH) is encouraging. More than <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/survey-is-wakeup-call-for-nepal-government/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">90% of people now have access to toilets and 74% enjoy safe drinking water</a>, a recent survey found.But as usual, facts and figures alone don’t tell the full story. <a href="https://www.unicef.org/nepal/media/1026/file/A%20CONCEPTUAL%20FRAMEWORK%20FOR%20RESOURCE%20MOBILIZATION.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">According to Unicef</a>, just 25% of water supply systems in the country work properly, 36% require minor repairs and 39% need either major repairs, rehabilitation or reconstruction.<a href="https://www.unicef.org/nepal/media/1026/file/A%20CONCEPTUAL%20FRAMEWORK%20FOR%20RESOURCE%20MOBILIZATION.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Schools are also reporting progress</a> — 82% now have toilets and close to 80% can boast an improved water source — but in only 47% of schools was water supply available during a recent survey.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45119c7e80680e04d365jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="844"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Nationally, two-thirds of schools have separate toilets for girls. That is supported by <a href="https://www.unicef.org/nepal/media/336/file/ANALYSIS%20OF%20MENSTRUAL%20HYGIENE%20PRACTICES%20IN%20NEPAL.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">research done in 12 schools</a> in Achham, Bajura and Parsa in 2016. It found that all schools had toilets, with 10 having separate ones for girls. Yet only 3 toilets in all 12 schools had a water tap that children could reach and just 1 toilet in all the schools was disabled-friendly. Nineteen toilets had a door that locked while 33 lacked a door; no toilets had soap and water nearby for hand-washing.Girl students especially are sensitive to the availability of toilets, and if they have to share facilities with boys, or if there are no locking doors or if no water is available, some girls will choose to stay home instead.Given that enrolment of girls in schools is already lower than boys because of traditional beliefs that educating females is simply not a smart investment, effort is needed to ensure they remain in class. When girls are menstruating equipped private toilets are even more important.The number of examples is growing country-wide of <a href="https://thehimalayantimes.com/nepal/sanitary-pads-bring-down-girl-students-absenteeism/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">schools where the administration and students are overcoming traditional barriers</a> to together manage girl students’ menstruation so that they don’t miss classes. There was good news in the recent budget too, the government promising to supply all community schools with sanitary pads and also allocating Rs43 billion for water supply and sanitation projects.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45149c7e80680e04d366jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="366">While implementation will be key, such initiatives should be praised. WASH is not a luxury or an add-on like a science lab or a football pitch; it is a necessity. Having working toilets does not equate to equipping schools with fancy facilities but of taking pains to create healthy environments, and habits, for Nepali children.Advances in water supply will undoubtedly be challenged by growing shortages as the climate crisis deepens. Water quality also remains a priority concern in this country. <a href="https://www.unicef.org/nepal/media/1026/file/A%20CONCEPTUAL%20FRAMEWORK%20FOR%20RESOURCE%20MOBILIZATION.pdf">Surveys have found</a> that 71% of households in Nepal are at risk from E. coli contamination of source water, and 82% from E.coli at the household level. <a href="https://www.wateraid.org/uk/where-we-work/nepal" target="_blank" rel="noopener">700 children die from diarrhoea yearly</a>.If we want our girls to have the same opportunities as boys, and if we want all children to be healthy enough to attend school every day, it’s time that we took building — and maintaining — toilets as seriously as we do building roads.To mark World Environment Day (5 June) a WASH Mela is being held 8-9 June, 8AM-5PM, Basantapur, Kathmandu

Marty Logan

Do not fail students in WASH

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108121156/636a44879c7e80680e04d336jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="800"/>Nepal has made significant progress in raising primary school enrolment, with more than 95% of boys and girls now attending school from Grades 1 through 5. More than half of adolescent girls in rural areas are now in secondary schools; 15 years ago it was less than 30%.Despite this achievement, poverty, family pressure and gender-unfriendly schools mean that the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19596#.XOUa4yAza70">dropout rate</a> for girl students is still high. As a result, adolescent girls from rural areas get caught in a trans-generational cycle of poverty inherited from their mothers, and are more likely to pass it on to their own children.In response, VSO Nepal, in partnership with Aasaman Nepal, the British Council, Global Action and Mercy Corps, is helping girls in districts like Parsa -- where female literacy is low -- through a program called Sisters for Sisters’ Education. Older girls are recruited to mentor younger ones, increase their enrolment and prevent dropouts.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108121156/636a448a9c7e80680e04d337jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="800">The older girls are volunteers from the community, who act like Big Sisters to get Little Sisters into school and guide them through adolescence. Big Sisters provide not only academic support but also encouragement and taboo-busting information on sexual and reproductive health to the younger ones.More than one-third (36%) of Nepali women over 15 <a href="https://tradingeconomics.com/nepal/literacy-rate-youth-female-percent-of-females-ages-15-24-wb-data.html">have had no education</a>. This rate increases with age, and more than 91% of women ages 60-64 cannot read or write.Sisters for Sisters not only gets Big Sisters to mentor Little Sisters through school and act as positive role models, it works with younger girls, their families and schools to ensure they remain within the formal education system.Although <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/child-marriage-in-nepal-eloped-at-13-mother-by-17/">child marriage is illegal</a>, girls living in rural areas get pulled out of school to be married as early as 13. As girls enter adolescence, this and other pressures increase, resulting in a rising dropout rate: 6% drop out of primary school while 8% percent drop out of secondary school.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108121156/636a448d9c7e80680e04d338jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="800">By leaving school, adolescent girls in rural areas fail to acquire a <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/not-just-half-the-sky,1178">lifetime capacity for critical thinking and problem solving</a> that can only be learned via secondary education, which goes beyond basic literacy and numeracy skills.As Little Sisters age, VSO supports them to enrol in higher education, which enhances the girls’ confidence and self-esteem, enabling them to take control of their own sexual and reproductive health and rights, and develop life skills.So far, peer learning support funded by the UK’s Department for International Development (DFID) has helped 8,115 girls in Nepal in 50 schools in Dhading, Lamjung, Surkhet and Parsa.Priyanka Budathoki is with VSO Nepal.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108121156/636a44909c7e80680e04d339jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="800">_______________________________________________________________________“Never look back” Sunti Devi is 34 and her daughter is 12, the age she was when she got married. Aged 16 with two babies in her arms and a small bag, Sunti was forced to leave her husband’s home. She does not want her daughter, or other daughters in Nepal, to go through what she did and now mentors female students in her community. Sunti’s story:<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108121156/636a44939c7e80680e04d33ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="217" height="193">“I was in Grade 7 when my parents fixed my marriage with someone in a faraway village. I became a mother at 13, and my in-laws taunted me for giving birth to a daughter. A year later I gave birth to a baby boy and hoped to be accepted back to my husband’s house. I returned only to find that he had married someone else.I completed Grade 10 and began teaching in a primary school, renting a room to raise my children as a single mother. I started working in Sisters for Sisters’ Education and have never looked back. I am living in the same community where my husband lives with his second wife, but that does not affect me anymore. I am determined not to let my students be forced into marriage at an early age. As an Auntie Champion I train the girls in life skills, mentor them and increase their confidence.”_______________________________________________________________________“I am proud of my sisters”Apsana Khatun, 19, from Province 2, is a Big Sister community volunteer who mentors four girls (Little Sisters) in a community school. When her relatives wanted her married Apsana’s mother resisted. Her story:<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108121156/636a44949c7e80680e04d33bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="816" height="544">“I am a Muslim. The girls in my community cannot go out on their own, and have to wear veils. My relatives wanted me married off, but my mother allowed me to go to school. Many other girls are not so lucky. After completing Grade 10, I became a Big Sister community volunteer in Sisters for Sisters’ Education in my village.I am responsible for four Little Sisters, whom I mentor with academic guidance and emotional support. At first their parents were not happy with me. But I persisted, and got two of them who had dropped out back in school. Now, the parents treat me like family. I feel so proud when the girls in my school say they want to be teachers, doctors and nurses. My mother never went to school; I want every mother in Nepal to be educated."

Sisterhood of students

<img width="4000" height="3000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a37059c7e80680e04833ejpeg.jpg" alt=""/>The Vagina Monologues is being performed in Nepal for the fourth time, and this rendition at the Kausi Theater does not adher to Eve Ensler's classic text. This localised version is based on stories of Nepali women and is therefore much more relatable and impactful to the local audience.The meta performance starts with a group of theatre artists who are actually acting out a rehearsal of a production of Vagina Monologues. Nepali stories have been adapted to fit the original frame of the play -- Nirmala Panta tearfully speaks graphically of the moment she was violated, while a conflict-era sexual abuse victim explains how prolonged her pain has been. These stories are presented in a sensitive, and not sensationalised way, which makes viewers share the trauma themselves.As the women rehearse the pieces, they begin talking about how it relates to their own lives, and story has a desperate intensity because of the scandal rocking Nepal's own drama scene with several male directors stand accused of sexual harassment."If this guy is bugging you so much, why do you still work with him?" one character asks, while the other replies: "Then who do I work with? There isn't anyone else."In another scene, actresses urge one among them to share her story in the mainstream and social media. But then they realise that the survivor is the one who will be blamed, whose life will change dramatically, and who will have very little support to continue her acting career. The scenes in the play bring alive a world of women: how they talk to each other, how they open up gradually after one person starts a thread, how they console each other, and finally, how they often end up being silent because there are no options. But the play also depicts how things are changing by renacting the sexual harassment cases that are rocking Nepal's theatre world in real time. Actresses have accused three noted theatre directors of sexual harassment in a popular weekly tabloid, leading to much discussion and division in the world of Nepali drama. Their confessions led the theatre community temporarily banning some actors -- a significant achievement here. The stage thus becomes the vehicle through which the accusations are documented and spread to more people.  <img width="640" height="480" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a37089c7e80680e04833fjpeg.jpg" alt="">The play engages with the current discourse about rape and sexual abuse being a manifestation of power imbalance. The fallback argument is often 'not all men', but the play gives a fitting comeback to that as well: "If I am being followed by a potentially dangerous person and I am scared, it won't help me to say not all men are like that."Directed by Akanchha Karki, the play does not create any strong characters because the cases represent the experiences of all kinds of women. Nevertheless, together the stories create an emotionally intense experience that makes viewers question and reevaluate their values. Several talented actors and actresses bring these stories to life, among whom Loonibha Tuladhar deserves special mention for her perfect timing, both in serious and comic scenes with their dark humour. The play tackles conversations among men about sexuality, abuse, and consent. It presents the viewpoint of a lot of people who think that gender inequality and abuse don't exist, because today women can go out to work, wear the clothes they want, own property, vote, and even chhaupadi has been abolished by the government."The play is based on true events, but you may not believe any of it," says one character sardonically at the end of the play. "After all, it was made by a woman." <img width="4000" height="3000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a370c9c7e80680e048340jpeg.jpg" alt="">Vagina Monologues 4.0:  Private is PoliticalKausi Theater, TekuUntil 11 May

Private is political

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezfdhBKEtsEGrowing up in Chitwan, Radha Paudel’s father used to tell her stories of faraway Jumla: how it took weeks to walk there, the cold snowy winters, the Tila River on the banks of which were the world’s highest paddy fields. She was fascinated.Paudel became a nurse and, as luck would have it, was posted to Jumla with a safe motherhood program. The maternal mortality rate in the Karnali at the time was at sub-Saharan levels. The strict patriarchy made it an epicentre for neglected reproductive health problems among women.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=21465&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal’s superwomen beat superstition</a>, Aruna Upreti<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=21434&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">That time of the month</a>, EditorialNepal’s armed conflict with the Maoists was at its peak, and Jumla suffered several rebel raids. Paudel witnessed the fierce one in Jumla in 2002 in which hundreds, including the CDO, DSP and civilians were killed. She survived by hiding under a bed all night as gunfire and bombs were going off outside.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a269e9c7e80680e043a26jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>CODE RED: Nurse turned writer turned activist Radha Paudel discusses dignified mentruation at her work place in Kathmandu this week. Photo: BIKRAM RAI</figcaption></figure>“It was terrifying, I fainted. Then I asked myself what drove them to take up the gun. I found the answer: the class, caste and gender discrimination in the region,” Paudel recalls.She wrote a book, Khalangama Hamala (The Attack on Khalanga) that described not just the night of the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4589#.XGFoddIza70" target="_blank" rel="noopener">battle</a> but the harsh condition of life for the people of Jumla. The book was awarded the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/Nurse-book-wins-Madan-Prize,1670" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Madan Puraskar</a> in 2013 and brought the plight of the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3046#.XGFpl9Iza70" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Karnali</a> to national attention.After a career as nurse and writer, Paudel is now a full-time activist trying to address practices like menstruation restriction on women, which symbolise entrenched gender inequality not just in Jumla, but all over Nepal.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26a19c7e80680e043a27jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1422" height="888"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Paudel is back with a second book Pavitra Ragat (Pure Blood), and like her first one this book also deals with blood-letting — only this time it is about the discrimination and taboos women have to face during their periods.The story began in Paudel’s own childhood, and she writes about how her mother and sisters were made to stay away from the kitchen and temples during menstruation. She had seen girls who menstruated for the first time isolated for three weeks, so when it was her turn Radha ran away from home to her sister’s place.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26a49c7e80680e043a28jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The book is searing in its honesty, and the practical difficulties Nepali women face during <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/That-time-of-the-month,3098" target="_blank" rel="noopener">adolescence</a>: not finding enough rags to soak up the blood, always worrying if the blood is leaking through clothes, and asking classmates in school if her skirt is stained, not drinking water so that she didn’t have to go to toilet and risk losing her rag…As a nurse, Paudel conducted research on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/bloody-period/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">menstrual practices</a> and found that many rural women in Nepal did not even know about panties and pads, they bled freely all day, and in many households women took turns to use the same rags. The book is graphic, and not for the faint-hearted reader as it describes the monthly reality for <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/why-is-female-sexuality-still-a-taboo-in-Nepal,2908" target="_blank" rel="noopener">many Nepali women</a>.When Paudel got her first job, she proudly bought herself proper panties and new, clean cloth to use during menstruation. But, she realised the situation had not changed for many of her fellow-women in Jumla.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/removing-menstrual-shame,4148" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Removing menstrual shame</a>, Clara Hare-Grogg<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/women-speaking-out-against-chaupadi,3518" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Periods of banishment</a>, Subeksha PoudelToday, Poudel is not just spreading awareness but manufacturing <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/pad-power-nepal,4147" target="_blank" rel="noopener">biodegradable sanitary pads</a> at a factory in Chitwan, and training young women about how to use these washable pads that do not leak.Paudel explains why it is important de-glamourise modern sanitary napkins: they are made of synthetic materials and take up to 1,000 years to degrade. Much of the plastic waste dumped by the trails in Nepal are made of discarded sanitary pads.Besides making an environmental statement, Paudel also wants to promote dignified menstruation and remove the taboo surrounding menstrual ostracisation, the practice of chhaupadi in which women in western Nepal are banished to the cow shed once a month.“Menstrual isolation is a human right violation, it isolates women by barring them from kitchens, water sources, temples, schools, and homes,” says Paudel. “This means women are treated like second class citizens, or not even human.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26a89c7e80680e043a29jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="753">Paudel is determined to also change the image of Karnali as being a backward, illiterate and primitive region. For instance, Nepal’s 2018 Criminal Code prohibits the practice of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/period-of-banishment,3529" target="_blank" rel="noopener">banishing</a> women to chhaupadi huts during menstruation or childbirth, but does not address more general menstrual restrictions practiced all over Nepal. Limiting the crime of isolating women to <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/GUEST-COLUMN/blood-sisters-menstruation,839" target="_blank" rel="noopener">chhaupadi</a> unfairly points the finger at only western Nepal.Women dying of suffocation or snake bites in menstrual sheds make headlines, but not the everyday humiliation women everywhere are subjected to. Paudel says the ceremonial demolition of chhaupadi huts is misdirected. “Even if you replace the huts with a 5-star hotel, that is still discrimination,” she says.<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/removing-menstrual-shame,4148" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Menstrual shaming</a> exists all over the world, not just in Nepal. Just this month, Unicode approved a droplet of blood as an emoji to symbolise menstruation. Plan International lobbied for the emoji because its poll found that nearly half the girls and women in the UK between 14-21 were embarrassed about their periods.Across the world, women use code words when they refer to their periods, and Nepal is no different. Paudel lists some of them: chhui, chhau, nachhune, para sarne, all describing the isolation and stigma women face.Radha Paudel now wants to go beyond physical aspects of menstrual ostracisation to psycho-social and religious beliefs that make many women themselves firm believers in the taboos. Part of the reason she wrote the book is to demystify menstruation so that students, families, men and women can <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Girl-talk-period,2377">talk about it openly</a>.Read also:<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/pad-power-nepal,4147" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Pad Power</a>, Ziyu Lin<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/uncategorized/stereotyping-women-as-victims/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Stereotyping women as victims</a>, Radha Adhikari and Jeevan Sharma

Communicating to remove menstrual taboo

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26849c7e80680e043a1djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="902"/><figcaption>DEFYING TRADITION: This cow shed in Kailali used for menstural banishment. It has now been turned into a store room for rice husk.</figcaption></figure>Media reports of the practice of chhaupadi are full of harrowing tales of suffering, and women dying of cold or suffocation during their monthly exile to the cowshed.A recent trip across eight districts in Nepal’s Far West revealed a critical mass of women who are defying the practice and overcoming the superstitions that perpetuate it. Each of the women have a different reason for shunning the shed, but together they are breaking an entrenched taboo that has come to epitomise gender discrimination in Nepal.Read also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/communicating-to-remove-menstrual-taboo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Communicating to remote menstrual taboo</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=21434&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">That time of the month</a>, EditorialIn Achham, a 23-year old girl bravely decided to stay at home, even though her mother goes to the shed. On occasions when they menstruate together, the daughter cooks food inside and takes it out for her mother. She says indignantly, “The municipality says there must be a toilet at home, but no one ever discusses that women must not be forced to live in cowsheds.”Nirmala BK, 30, is also from Achham and is an example of how a mother’s courage can help eliminate practices like chhaupadi. Since she was not allowed to cook during her periods, Nirmala’s children would walk through town carrying flour, and beg people to cook roti for them. After seeing how miserable they were, the mother resolved to stay home and cook during menstruation.Some women have supportive husbands who empowered them to break the taboo. In Bajhang one woman said her husband pressured her mother-in-law to be allowed to stay indoor during her periods. “My mother-in-law still tries to find out whether I am menstruating or not, but I just tell her a white lie that I took a medicine to stop the bleeding,” she added.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26889c7e80680e043a1ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1057"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a268a9c7e80680e043a1fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="1044">Ramaroshni Giri stays at home during menstruation for safety reasons, but has gone one step further to break the taboo about milking livestock during her periods. “If I don’t do it, the cows will not give milk, and besides, none of the cows have died,” Giri says.A teenage girl in Achham kept her monthly cycle a secret because her mother threatened to kick her out of the house if she stayed indoors.One day, coming home from school the girl was shocked to see that her younger siblings had gone hungry all day because their mother was in the shed. She flew into a rage against her mother: “Does our religion say the children have to go hungry?” After that outburst, the mother now stays home and cooks even during her periods.There is superstition that the shaman will shiver if a menstruating woman touches him. So, 35-year-old Gangadevi Bista from Doti decided to test that. Feigning an illness, Bista showed her hand to a dhami during her periods, but not a shiver from him. She made sure the whole village found out about it.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a268d9c7e80680e043a20jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1149"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26909c7e80680e043a21jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="778"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A restaurant owner in Achham has abandoned chhaupadi , saying her business would collapse if she banished herself to a shed every month. “The elders, dhami and jhankri have all eaten the food I cooked even during my periods, none of them fell sick,” she says.A Dalit woman almost lost her baby son while she was in the shed in winter. She fell asleep with her eight-month-old in the shed and they were both nearly killed by a fire. She has not gone back to the shed after that.Many equate chhaupadi with poverty, but it is a product of a deep-seated patriarchy. In spite of positive changes, the practice continues and the pain of many women proves that raising awareness alone is not enough. Chhaupadi has already been criminalised by law, and needs to be strictly enforced.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/nation-holding-up-half-the-district,489" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Holding up half the district</a>, Kunda Dixit<h2>Vending machine for pads</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26939c7e80680e043a22jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1250" height="831"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Students at the Gyanodaya High School in Kathmandu do not have to worry about getting their periods while in class, forgetting to bring sanitary pads, or even skipping school for a few days every month. The school has installed a vending machine for its 1,300 female students and 75 female staff which will provide a napkin after dropping a Rs 1 coin, but the users have to pay Rs 5 to the school for the added cost.The students in Grade 6 or 7 who get their periods for the first time, often while in school, are the ones who are going to benefit the most from the vending machine, the first sanitary pad vending machine in Nepal, and Gyanodaya has established itself as a menstruation-friendly school.The school, whose students achieve one of the highest pass rates in SEE exams in the country, expects the girl students to do much better in class now that they don't have to worry about their periods so much."We used to face hassles when we would forget to bring pads, and it was troublesome to borrow from classmates, we used to have to leave school and go home," now we don't have to worry about it anymore," says Ganga Sapkota, a student.Principal Natikaji Maharjan, who also teaches science at the schoool, says the curriculum places a priority on studying reproductive health so as to remove the taboos and superstition surrounding menstruation.He says this is a pilot project, and the school hopes to set aside a budget for free distribution of the pads from next year. “It will help in spreading awareness about mestruation as being a natural biological process,” he says.From the Nepali PressShanti Tamang in Setopati.com, 14 Feburary<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://setopati.com/social/175077?fbclid=IwAR0wvMka4BR4PCNJVDc8vJn3GdI3e_4hKTzJW-Eqa_TsJYx6LH3LVjYNn1E" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Full story</a> in Nepali here.

Nepal’s superwomen beat superstition

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26669c7e80680e043a12jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="1099"/><figcaption>Illustration: DIWAKAR CHETTRI</figcaption></figure>The practice of chhaupadi in which women in western Nepal are banished to cow sheds during their periods grabs a lot of media attention within Nepal and internationally, eclipsing the much more widespread and entrenched menstrual restrictions in the rest of Nepal.As cruel and inhumane as chhaupadi is, journalistic coverage as usual tends to be event-focused, headlining only deaths due to suffocation, snakebites or exposure. There is little context to explain that the practice is now much less widespread as literacy improves, and after it was outlawed.As public health specialist Aruna Uprety <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-superwomen-beat-superstition/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">reports from Accham in this issue</a>, young women and mothers across western Nepal are now defying this superstition. But that is not ‘newsy’ enough for the international media.To be sure, it is a travesty that young women are still dying because they are forced to fend for themselves in the flimsy huts, where some fall prey to the cold, infections, wild animals, or rapists. Chhaupadi is cruel and an egregious violation of the human rights of women, perpetuated by conservative societal norms.Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=21465&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal’s superwomen beat superstition</a>, Aruna Upreti<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=21456&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Communicating to remove menstrual taboo</a>, Sewa BhattaraiBut while women in western Nepal are cast out to spend four days every month in sheds, in other parts of Nepal they are confined to isolation in separate rooms. They are not allowed to cook or eat in the kitchen, cannot touch taps, and are supposed to keep off places of worship. These are not poor and illiterate women in rural Nepal, but college graduates, upper and middle class urban women in Kathmandu, and even the Nepali diaspora.Many women believe the superstition about menstrual ostracisation and willingly follow the practice, thinking crops will wither, livestock will die, cows will not give milk, or that their fathers and brothers will die if they ‘pollute’ them during their periods. Festivals like Rishi Panchami reinforce these beliefs, where women apologise for all the ‘sins’ they many have committed, even unintentionally, during menstruation.Women are also excluded from festivals and auspicious occasions, forced to find distant water sources for washing, and left out of schools and work. More damaging is the emotional toll: women feel humiliated and dehumanised as they grow up feeling powerless from a young age.Writer and menstruation activist <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/communicating-to-remove-menstrual-taboo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Radha Paudel in her new book</a> released this week, Apavitra Ragat (Impure Blood), argues that all menstrual restrictions are human rights violations, not just chhaupadi. She says the demolition of chhaupadi huts and the distribution of sanitary pads, while being important interventions, do not address the continuing isolation of women during their periods, and their feelings of inferiority that it perpetuates.Read also:<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/removing-menstrual-shame,4148" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Removing menstrual shame</a>, Clara Hare-Grogg<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/women-speaking-out-against-chaupadi,3518" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Periods of banishment</a>, Subeksha PoudelPaudel suggests that the focus should be shifted to a more holistic advocacy where all members of society accept that menstruation is not impure. For that, communication and education are key, and the campaigns must include men, as well as school teachers, health workers, faith healers and community leaders.Positive stories also need more coverage because not everything about menstruation is regressive in Nepal. Over the years, increasing numbers of women have started questioning this tradition, and have proactively and collectively broken the taboo. Education has brought about dramatic change, spreading knowledge among students and their parents about the biological reasons for menstrual blood.The accounts of women who suffer in cow sheds are tragic, but much more compelling are the brave stories of those that have countered the practice in Nepal’s most conservative communities. They prove that reform is possible, and can be brought about by the combined strength of many ordinary women fighting for justice and rights for themselves and their children. They show that courageous progressive women exist in the same places where the taboo is strongest, and where those extreme cases of deaths and despair are reported.Ultimately, dignified menstruation for women all over Nepal should focus not just on hygiene and safety through sanitary pads and alternatives to chhaupadi huts, but on making sure that women are not shamed by menstruation and are free to participate in any activity, whether or not it is ‘that time of month’.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/pad-power-nepal,4147" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Pad Power</a>, Ziyu Lin<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/uncategorized/stereotyping-women-as-victims/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Stereotyping women as victims</a>, Radha Adhikari and Jeevan Sharma<h2>10 years ago this week</h2>Ten years ago this week, the<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15656#.XGZRbFUzaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> Ass’ Backside Column</a> in edition <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/438" target="_blank" rel="noopener">#4</a>38 of Nepali Times of 13-19 February 2008 was titled “Go back to sleep’. It was a spoof on the elected Maoist government honouring the PLA anniversary. Excerpt:Go back to sleep, we’ll wake you up when things start getting really exciting around here. As things stand now, nothing is really happening. Politicians are all up to their ears in party affairs, and no one has any time for the country. The southern plains and the eastern hills have been locked down now for weeks, but PM PKD has all the time in the world to helicopter over to Panchthar to attend his army’s anniversary. Defence Minister Cloudy was off in western Nepal attending a Tharu council. This whole week, the Baddie brass has been busy getting organised for the three-day gala war anniversary in Nawalparasi. All the UML members of the cabinet, including the Hydro Minister, will be out of action for another week because of the party convention in Butwal. And next week Nepal’s Other Army will be celebrating its own Army Day on Shivaratri.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/438"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101148/636a26699c7e80680e043a13jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="511" height="814"></a>

That time of the month

One smoggy winter morning in February 2019, Ekta regretted coming to her sculpture class. It was the first day of her period, and the 19-year-old wished she was home, curled up in bed with a hot water bag to soothe her cramps.
Her class was at Kalapremi Ceramic Studio, a dark room on the ground floor of a house in Maharajganj, and Ekta’s teacher was the artist Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’, a noted sculptor.
Two other students were already there, using all their muscle strength to knead the sculpting clay. Ekta, now 24, recalls how Kalapremi asked her if she was feeling all right. She avoided him, as she did not want everyone to know she was menstruating.
Kalapremi repeatedly asked Ekta what was wrong. She finally muttered that she was having her period, after which he grabbed her hand and led her to a partitioned corner of the studio and sat her on a chair. Before she could stop him, he slid his hand under her dress, and started massaging her abdomen.
“I was horrified,” Ekta recalls. “I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen, asking me not to be shy, saying he knew how to relieve my pain. He stopped only after I protested furiously.”&nbsp;
The art tutor then said, “You’re like my daughter. I’m doing it out of love to make you feel better, but you’re so stubborn.”&nbsp;
“Instead of saying sorry he acted like I was the one having crazy thoughts,” remembers Ekta, adding that from April 2016 to August 2020 beginning the time she was 16, the artist sexually abused and harassed her on several occasions. &nbsp;
Now, Ekta and the artist’s other former students are finally sharing their experiences and some are pressing legal charges against him, hoping that others do not have to endure what they did.&nbsp;
Award-winning artist and teacher Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’ (the name means ‘Art Lover’) is known for his ceramic art, sculpture, and contemporary pottery. He was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-house-of-kalapremi">profiled in Nepali Times after a collaborative exhibition</a>, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ at the Siddhartha Art Gallery three years ago.&nbsp;
His pieces, titled Gaalis, featured sculpted female figures with the heads of dogs, sheep, and donkeys (pictured) to depict derogatory terms for women. Some critics said the collection was a satire on feminists.
Kalapremi started his artistic and teaching career in 1983 and over the years taught at Bhanubhakta School, Kathmandu University School of Arts, Lalitkala Campus and at his private Kalapremi Ceramic Studio. He has also lectured at Jeonju University in South Korea and recently at Tabor Academy in the United States.
Seven of Kalapremi’s former students were interviewed for this story. Five female students said he touched them inappropriately in his studio or at Kathmandu University. Two male students said they witnessed him abuse and harass the women. In all cases, the students struggled to recognise the abuse when it occurred, and the lack of reporting systems left them to cope on their own for years.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, students shared a social media post hinting at Kalapremi’s history of abusive behaviour following which more students of the artist reached out sharing similar experiences. Some students spoke of abuse that happened as long as 20 years ago.
Kalapremi, 60, has denied the allegations. He told Nepali Times: “Some years ago, there was a movement encouraging people to hug and kiss. I used to do it purely out of friendship and love. But after seeing posts on social media last year calling out my behaviour, I realised my actions may have hurt some people. I understand now that I should have been more mindful.”
He added: “I am also an auxiliary health worker, so I know the exact points to massage to relieve menstrual pain. It’s not just menstruation, I take anyone who is ill to the hospital.”
Sexual abuse is much more rampant than reported given how difficult it is to prove it in court. The law defines sexual abuse as occuring when someone touches another’s private parts, coerces them into touching theirs, uses vulgar language, shows degrading images, or behaves indecently towards them without consent.&nbsp;
Ekta and her fellow students are consulting lawyer Suneeta Regmi Pokhrel, who says they know that even if the court decides in their favour, it is difficult to survive after speaking up, and influential men defend themselves saying they are being framed.&nbsp;
“They are in a lot of pain and weep when recalling how he abused them,” Regmi Pokhrel told us. “They are angry and have filed a case against him, but they are also terrified. They know he is a powerful man and they have seen how our society treats women who speak up against abusers. Unless people speak up, perpetrators will be emboldened.”
Art and academia in Nepal simply reflect the power imbalances in society where people with intersecting identities experience worse forms of abuse. Theatre actors Raj Kumar Pudasaini, Rajan Khatiwada, and Sunil Pokhrel were called out during the #MeToo movement in the Nepali theatre scene in 2019. Even after the allegations Pokhrel went on to receive national awards, while others continued to work without repercussions.
“If you speak up against abusers, you gradually get sidelined from projects,” explained a theatre artist who wished anonymity fearing professional setbacks. “The theatre scene in Nepal is quite small, you just have to make peace with the perpetrators and work with them if you want to sustain yourself.”&nbsp;
In academia there is a history of faculty members sexually harassing students and getting away with it. After Tribhuvan University (TU) lecturer Krishna Bhattachan was accused of harassing women students, the university said it would follow Nepal’s sexual harassment law and set up a reporting mechanism. But nothing happened to the professor, who had already retired. Instead, he counter-accused the students of 'attacking the indigenous people’s movement with baseless allegations' as <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/letters/2019/01/29/bhattachan-responds">he told the Kathmandu Post in 2019</a>. He continues to be featured as a prominent speaker including at TU.
Other faculty members previously accused of sexual harassment include Jagadish Murti Koirala from TU, Bishnu Prasad Acharya from Ratna Rajya Campus, and Bodha Raj Tripathee from Lalitpur Madhyamik Vidhyalaya. A woman staff member from TU also filed a sexual abuse complaint against Dambar Chemjong from TU.
Prominent figures like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">mountaineer Nims Purja</a> have been <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/sports/mountaineering-sexual-harassment-abuse-nims-purja.html">accused of sexual assault</a>, and cricketer Sandeep Lamichhane, actor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/celebrity-rape-case-spotlights-nepal-laws">Paul Shah</a>, and former speaker of Parliament <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mahara-arrested">Krishna Bahadur Mahara</a> have been accused of rape, but society-at-large has let off the alleged perpetrators amdist a larger debate about justice for survivors and punishment of perpetrators.&nbsp;
‘Gaushala-26’ is the court name given to the 18-year-old who accused Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of Nepal’s national cricket team and skipper of Biratnagar Kings in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/here-comes-the-nepal-premier-league">ongoing Nepal Premier League</a>, of rape. She left the country citing society questioning her character affecting her mental health while Lamichhane got an outpouring of support. In May, the Patan High Court overturned a prior verdict that found Lamichhane guilty of rape and had sentenced him to eight years in prison. During the 23-month legal battle to pursue justice, Gaushala-26 faced threats of gang rape and acid attacks.&nbsp;
Exhausted by the struggle, Gaushala-26 sought to “move to a new world” where she could live free without hiding her identity.
Actress Samragyee Rajya Laxmi Shah in an Instagram video now deleted detailed the harassment she faced from a filmmaker during a movie shoot. She did not name any name but veteran actor Bhuwan KC filed a defamation case against Rana, but the court ruled that the charge lacked sufficient evidence.&nbsp;
Former Kathmandu mayor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo">Keshav Sthapit also mocked the #MeToo movement</a>, calling accusations against him by journalists Rashmila Prajapati and Ujjwala Maharjan “a rape of men’s rights”.
Serial Abuse
Back at the Kalapremi Ceramics studio, another former student, 24-year-old Rajiv, says he felt the need to speak out after seeing his female classmates being abused.&nbsp;
“He frequently kissed them on their cheeks,” he told Nepali Times. “Whenever they walked into the studio he flailed his arms like a child asking for a hug. They awkwardly hugged him from the side, but he pulled them closer, held their chin, and kissed their cheeks.”&nbsp;
Rajiv says he also saw Kalapremi pull the women’s bra straps, touch their breasts, and slap their buttocks. The young students would freeze, not knowing how to react, and if they protested, he would say it was “normal in art”. Rajiv, 19 at the time like his classmates, remembers thinking perhaps the well-respected artist was right after all.
Another student, Luna, who took lessons at Kalapremi’s studio from 2020 to 2022 did try to confront the tutor after he made an obscene proposal to her. She recalls: “One day when the other students had left the studio and it was just the two of us, he told me that God had given him special artistic talent and he could transfer those powers to me. But to do that both of us will have to be naked, inside a dark room, and have sex.”
Luna, who was 18 then, was livid and told him she did not want any of his powers, but she says he laughed at her as if he was joking. She did not tell her family about the incident because she thought no one would believe her.&nbsp;
“They were all in awe of this famous artist and felt I should be grateful that to be learning sculpting from him,” she says. “I was scared to be alone with him in case he talked about sex again. My coping mechanism was to be rude so he wouldn’t try to come close to me.”
Seeing how some classmates were standing up to Kalapremi, Ekta too tried to push back against his advances, but she said he found ways to coerce her. Since Ekta, Rajiv, and Luna could not afford Kalapremi’s Rs30,000 monthly fee for lessons, he had offered them all a stipend to assist him in the studio.
“He had spondylosis and took me to his therapy sessions to learn massage techniques, then he often made me and other students massage him,” says Ekta. Whenever she refused, he would feign pain to make her feel sorry for him. “He would insist that I put my hands under his shirt so that I could massage him better,” she adds.
The art tutor often tried to “seduce sympathy” from Ekta by sharing how he had never been loved as a child and was “sexually frustrated” as an adult.&nbsp;
“At 7PM, he would pour himself Signature whiskey and immediately go off again about how he was sex-starved. I didn’t know how to respond. It took me time to realise alcohol was just an excuse to talk about sex,” Ekta says.
If convicted, Kalapremi could face financial penalty and/or a prison sentence of up to three years according to Section 224 of National Penal (Code) Act 2017.&nbsp;
Data suggests that victims of child sexual abuse on average take nearly 24 years to tell someone about their trauma, and some may never disclose it at all.&nbsp;
“In our culture, children are rarely taught about boundaries. They often react, show anger when adults pinch their cheeks. But adults insist they did it out of love, and force the children to accept it,” says Sita Lama, a psychotherapist at Manka Kura. “And even when someone touches them inappropriately they struggle to identify and verbalise it.”
When perpetrators claim to be “acting out of love”, Lama says survivors are likely to perceive it as something safe, rather than recognising it as abuse.&nbsp;
“It may take years for them to realise they were abused,” she explains. "And even when they become aware, the power imbalance with the abuser and the associated shame often prevents survivors from speaking up."
Other former students from the School of Art at Kathmandu University have also come forward years later, saying Kalapremi sexually abused them. As young adults, they felt his behaviour was off but were uncertain if it was inappropriate, illegal, or they did not know how to respond. After having understood that it was indeed abuse, they say they are speaking out now to protect others.&nbsp;
Amina Singh, a visiting faculty member at Kathmandu University, says there is no clause against sexual abuse in contracts of teachers, and there is no formal grievance handling mechanism for the students.&nbsp;
“So the only way students can to deal with sexual abuse is approach someone they trust,” she says.
Eight other former art students of Lalit Kala Campus and Srijana College of Fine Arts of Tribhuvan University and other private art studios in Kathmandu say they were also sexually abused by their art teachers. Three faculty members interviewed from these institutions said they saw the abuse, but felt it was futile to report it given how powerful the teachers were.
In the absence of a formal system, some longtime women artists warned each other about “problematic” artists. They shared &nbsp;a “heads-up” to be more cautious when collaborating with them, and avoided responding to their calls and texts after work hours.
To ensure art institutions are safe for all, galleries, museums, artist studios, and smaller art spaces need to develop policies on sexual harassment. This would include a code of conduct or studio policies that hold the leadership accountable and outline the principles of professional ethics.&nbsp;
Students and employees should inquire about accountability mechanisms for raising concerns, both formally and informally, advocates say.
Three years after Ekta left the ceramics studio, she learnt that Kalapremi had harassed many other women. Still trying to get a footing in the art industry, she attended a workshop in Kathmandu where women artists discussed ways to stay safe in the art sector.&nbsp;
Since it was a close-knit group Ekta opened up about how she felt violated and realised she was not alone, he had been abusing underprivileged students for years, and this was common knowledge among artists in Nepal.
Ekta says that even after she quit, Kalapremi continued sending her text messages like ‘I am thinking of you’, ‘Why have you stopped speaking with me’, or ‘I am waiting for your call’.&nbsp;
But what really forced her to act was when Ekta found out that he was sending similar texts to her younger sister.&nbsp;
“I’ve had enough,” she told us. “He abused me all these years but I won’t let him abuse my sister.” &nbsp;
Ekta, Rajiv and Luna are not the real names of the students.&nbsp;

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

It was 8:15 in the evening of 25 March 1968 when everyone in the village of Batulechaur near Pokhara heard a deafening sound like thunder as a bright flashing object hurtled down to land in a field.&nbsp; That field belonged to Kul Timilsina, and the next morning he retrieved a sheet of metal about 2m by 1m and carried it home with the help of a few others, thinking it would be useful for his buffalo shed.&nbsp; Before he died at age 83 three years ago, Timilsina had told photo archivist Sunil Ulak that the black metal sheet was not rectangular and had rounded corners. There are a few witnesses still alive who have a clear recollection of the object that fell from the sky that night.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="601" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>The field in Batulechaur belonging to Kul Timilsina where fragments of a flying object fell from the sky in 1968.</figcaption> </figure>  One of them is Timilsina’s wife Gyanu, who was 22 at the time. She had been at home, and remembers hearing the big bang and the sky becoming very bright. “We saw the thing in the field in the morning,” she told us. “It looked like a lid, a covering of some sort. The way it was stuck in the ground, it must have fallen from the sky. We thought we could use it to dry clothes on, and took it home.”&nbsp; Another witness is Kul Narayan Paudel. “I was only eight then. We ran to the field to see what had fallen. It was a four-sided metal sheet. The elders took it away, and I don't know what happened to it.” &nbsp; Ram Bahadur Baniya, a teacher at the local school, says he had heard the sheet had been brought to the school, and later handed over to the Zonal Commissioner at the time, Nanda Prasad Malla. “But that is all hearsay,” he says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="610" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Gyanu Timilsina, wife of Kul Timilsina.</figcaption> </figure>  There are two versions of what happened to Kul Timilsina’s metal sheet. One is that an American Peace Corp Volunteer teaching at the nearby Bindyabasini School took it, and another is that it was handed over to the government. Recently declassified Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and US State Department documents from the time say that the US Embassy in Kathmandu tracked down the object two years later and had it shipped back to the US. A telegram from the Department of State and Department of Defense tagged as ‘MOON DUST / Space Fragments’ dated 1 March 1972 stated: ‘1. Restored space fragment will be on board Embassy support flight 115 arriving Kathmandu on or about March 10. Fragment is packed in shipping crate (cargo no. 72-33365) marked in care of DAO.&nbsp; 2. State and Defense representatives examined fragments prior to shipment finding restoration acceptable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df" data-rendition-name="original" width="856" height="568" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Declassified CIA documents about the investigation into the object sighted in Pokhara. </figcaption> </figure>  The documents show that the US government, military and intelligence agencies investigated this incident thoroughly when it occurred, and have continued to revisit it ever since, as recently as five years ago. What is even more intriguing is that the object that fell in Pokhara was not the only unidentified space object that fell to earth that year. There were similar sightings of objects falling from the sky in Ladakh, Sikkim and Bhutan between 19 February and 25 March 1968.&nbsp; These mysteries were the subject of a CIA investigation in 1968 titled ‘<a href="https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP81R00560R000100070007-8.pdf">Sighting of Unidentified Flying Objects in Ladakh, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan</a>’, and the report is part of the recent online declassification of 800,000 top-secret documents from the period.&nbsp; &nbsp;Although unidentified flying objects (UFOs) have a connotation now of being alien craft, it could be pieces of satellite, missile, rocket or even aircraft. The CIA report documents six sightings in 1968 and quotes local sources as describing all of them having similar characteristics: bright blue or red streaks in the sky accompanied by loud sounds like lightning and thunder and objects falling to the ground. Aside from the metallic object that was found in Batlechaur, there were other items also found nearby in Tallakot, Tureypasal, Armalakot and Maidan. Whatever the object was, it seems to have disintegrated even before it hit the ground.&nbsp; The CIA report records the first sighting on 19 February 1968 in various parts of Sikkim and Olangchung Gola and Ghunsa in eastern Nepal. The light was said to be ‘long and thin’ and giving out ‘green and red light’. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb" data-rendition-name="original" width="892" height="596" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara "> </figure>  Two days later on 21 February, a soundless blue object was seen traveling fast across the sky above Thimphu in Bhutan. Then on 4 March there were multiple daytime sightings or white streaks in the sky at Chang La Pass, Fukche and Koyul in Ladakh. There were more sightings in Ladakh on the very day fragments fell near Pokhara on 25 March 1968.&nbsp; After the sightings in Pokhara, rumours started flying in Kathmandu that these were aliens trying to land on Earth, it could be Russian or Chinese spy planes or satellites, and some even say it as a sign from heaven that the end of the world was near. This was at the height of the Cold War. The Russians and Americans were testing their thermonuclear devices as well as intercontinental ballistic missile delivery systems. The Washington-Beijing rapprochement had not yet happened, and China was making quick progress testing atomic bombs. Within two years after its first atomic test, in 1966 China exploded its first hydrogen bomb at the Lop Nur site in Xinjiang, 3,000km to the north from Nepal. After neary six decades, what is still intriguing is that all the sightings within a few months of each other in 1968 were along the Himalayan arc bordering Tibet: from Bhutan, Sikkim Nepal, to Ladakh. The US military intelligence seems to have concluded that this was not a coincidence and there were frequent research trips to the site in Pokhara by American officials in the months after the incident. With the help of the Royal Nepal Army, the region north of Pokhara was thoroughly searched.&nbsp; A confidential memo dated 25 June 1968 by Jerry C Trippy to a ‘Mr Farley’ mentions that the US Air Force’s Foreign Technology Division had decided that the debris could be important because it may be related to a Chinese missile test or a Soviet ‘Vehicle Venik’ rocket.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  On 28 August 1968 the US Embassy in Kathmandu sent a letter to Washington DC saying that the object could be of Soviet origin, possibly from when the rocket carrying the ‘Kosmos 208’ satellite re-entered the atmosphere. But why were the fragments falling to earth several weeks apart, and in the same region? No one knows where the metal sheet that Kul Timilsina recovered is now. It was definitely packed in a crate and taken to the US, and although it is rumoured that it was returned that is not very likely. Archivist Sunil Ulak heard from the Timilsina family that CIA officials had returned to the site five years ago. &nbsp; Interest in UFOs peaked in the US in the 1950s, with the Cold War space race and tests of atomic weapons and delivery rockets. CIA and scientists were being sent to investigate sightings, both publicly and privately. Could the Pokhara fragments as well as the sightings in Ladakh and Bhutan actually be alien craft falling to earth? The renewal in interest in space travel in large part due to Elon Musk’s SpaceX, UFOs and sightings are again subjects of public interest.&nbsp; Even 57 years later, even if there was definitive proof about whether the Batlechaur fragment was from a Chinese missile or a soviet rocket, it has not been made public in documents declassified so far. We may never know.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598" data-rendition-name="original" width="642" height="320" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  Sunil Ulak speculates if the debris actually came from an American aircraft, perhaps on an intel mission upon China. “Which could explain why they were so thorough in collecting the fragments in Pokhara,” he says. But that still does not explain the multiple sightings weeks apart in 1968.&nbsp; Indeed, US military aircraft were at that time flying frequent night-time missions from air force bases in India to supply weapons to Khampa guerrilla camps in Nepal located north of Pokhara in Mustang. It could very well be that the Chinese shot down one such aircraft. The other sightings could have been contrails of US spy planes, or Chinese anti-aircraft missiles.&nbsp; There were quite a few developments regarding UFOs in 2024. In a US congressional hearing in July, former intelligence officer David Grusch claimed that the government had long been involved in a program to investigate and retrieve non-human craft crashes, and then try to reverse engineer them. However Grusch did not show any evidence.&nbsp; The UAP Disclosure Act of 2024 was signed into law by Joe Biden in December 2023. It plans to oversee the public disclosure of UFO information. However, there is a clause in it that prevents disclosure if it would cause threats to military defense, intelligence operations or foreign relations.&nbsp; It is unlikely that the declassified documents about sightings in the Himalayan will cause any real surprise about definite evidence of alien life even if it was found. It seems humanity will continue, at least for now, to wonder about curious lights in the sky and whether there is anybody out there.&nbsp;

UFO over Pokhara

When Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) president Rabi Lamichhane was arrested in October on charges of defrauding depositors of cooperatives, the party’s vice president Swarnim Wagle gifted him Fareed Zakaria’s book, Age of Revolutions.
Since then, Lamichhane has been shunted around from Kathmandu to Pokhara to Chitwan and back to Pokhara to attend police investigations and court proceedings. He was being flown to Birganj via Kathmandu on Buddha Air on Monday. There is another pending case in Janakpur.
Human rights groups and civil society have criticised the government for hounding Lamichhane with inhumane treatment that borders on physical torture. The two parties in the coalition, Nepali Congress (NC) and the UML, see Lamichhane’s RSP as a potentially formidable challenge to their power.
Even if the fraud charges against Lamichhane are true, the Nepali public is increasingly looking at the government’s actions through the police and courts as political vendetta.
Despite all the travelling, sometimes by plane and often by road at night, Lamichhane appears to be in high spirits, waving to supporters who often gather if they know he is going to be driven around. A social media video shows him giving high fives to fellow passengers on a recent flight to Pokhara.&nbsp;
In the past weeks, streets in Pokhara have erupted with parallel protests by Lamichhane’s supporters as well as depositors of cooperatives who lost their savings to the scam.&nbsp;
Although family visits are allowed, prison officials in Pokhara told Nepali Times that not many people visit Lamichhane these days. He added, “When he does get visitors, he asks them to bring him books.”
Lamichhane is currently Nepal’s most high-profile public figure in custody, and highlights the stark difference between how influential prisoners are treated compared to ordinary inmates.
There are six prison cells at Kaski District Police Office’s two-story detention centre, three on each floor. And while authorities pack prisoners into already overcrowded cells, Lamichhane has an entire room on the second floor to himself.&nbsp;
He has also been allowed to call his family every few days. Other prisoners are not permitted phone calls except for emergencies.
Meanwhile, Lamichhane’s former business partner Chhabilal Joshi, an ex-Deputy Inspector General of Police with whom he established his Gorkha Media Network, is in custody under the same charges in the prison cell next to him.
Lamichhane is accused of siphoning off depositors' money to the tv network in which he was part-owner and anchor. &nbsp;
Both Lamichhane and Joshi are able to buy food from the police canteen instead of being served the regular meal like other prisoners. Joshi has also given his statement to authorities in Rupandehi and Kathmandu for his alleged role in the scam. Lamichhane is yet to be presented in Kathmandu for questioning.
While he was in custody at the Kathmandu District Police Complex, Joshi expressed his desire to sleep in a police officer’s office, reportedly assuring authorities that he would not run away and he was entitled to certain facilities as a former officer of the law.
“He seemed to be under the impression that he is still a police officer,” says a source at the Kathmandu District Police. “We made it clear to him that as someone accused of a crime, he was not entitled to special treatment.”
Former ministers Balkrishna Khand and Top Bahadur Rayamajhi, and ex-home secretary Tek Narayan Pandey, who were arrested in connection with the fake refugee scam last year, were similarly housed in the offices of law enforcement officials instead of prison cells. Khand has since been released after six months in jail.
While there is no legal provision to keep high-ranking officials in separate detention centres when they are arrested, authorities granting them special facilities is not uncommon. Law enforcement officials say VIP detainees expect preferential treatment while in police custody.
Among those is former Kosi Province minister Lila Ballav Adhikari, who was arrested from Biratnagar on 10 November over his alleged involvement in human trafficking and brought to Kathmandu. Adhikari had flown to Japan without government approval with three individuals on 29 October to attend a cultural conference, but had been sent back to Nepal from Narita.&nbsp;
His three companions were arrested at Kathmandu airport upon their arrival, but Adhikari was able to exit unscathed from the VIP lounge. Adhikari had resigned as the Kosi Province Minister for Internal Affairs and Law when it became public that his companions had been taken into custody, and was himself arrested shortly after. He has since been cleared by the courts.
Throughout his detention, Adhikari was kept separately from other inmates. Senior Superintendent of Police (SSP) Basant Rajouri, head of the Bhadrakali complex, says that while there is no separate detention area for VIPs, some detainees are kept separately depending on the nature of their crime.
However, sources say that arrangements were made for retired judges and others to visit Adhikari frequently worked at the office of a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) during his time in custody.&nbsp;
“He used to constantly pester the authorities to let him sit outside in the sun, and to be able to use the police officer’s shower area,” added an officer.
Adhikari was released on 25 November after the government prosecutor’s office decided not to charge him in a move that was seen to expose the government’s double standards.
Over at Kathmandu’s Dilli Bazar Prison, former Kist Bank CEO Kamal Gyawali emerges from his prison cell into the courtyard of the prison’s ‘Ka (क)’ block every morning with a thick book in his hands, ready to give his daily sermon.
With his long beard, Gyawali, who is serving a prison sentence for banking fraud, looks the part of a religious guru as he implores his rapt listeners to “walk the right path, abandon bad thoughts and turn to scripture and spirituality”.&nbsp;
Afterward, the attendees gather to discuss politics and current affairs. Inmates at his daily sermons at the prison include other high-profile detainees, including former MP Ichchha Raj Tamang, who is in jail for money laundering and cooperatives fraud, former joint secretary Chudamani Sharma, who was convicted of corruption, as well as NC leader Chandra Bahadur Lama and Krishna Bahadur Upreti of the UML both of whom are on trial for embezzling billions of rupees.
Victims of the cooperatives scam that former lawmaker Tamang was involved in have made trips to the prison and requested visits, but he has refused to meet with any of them.
“Tamang often complains that the state has prevented him from returning the money to the victims by locking him up,” says a police officer at the Dili Bazar jail.
“All you hear every day from the VIP prisoners is that they have been framed,” adds the officer. “No one admits that they were involved in misdeeds.”
But while most high-profile prisoners complain about prison conditions, one exception is former provincial lawmaker Deepak Manange, who is serving a sentence at Dilli Bazar Jail for attempted murder.
“He is the happiest prisoner here,” says a warden. “Unlike the others, he doesn’t claim to have been framed, in fact he doesn’t seem to care that he is in prison.”
Manange is detained in the ‘Kha (ख)’ block of the prison complex, which he renovated at his own expense. The block previously housed female prisoners, but Manange used his influence to transfer them elsewhere. He faces no shortage of visitors, who range from political leaders to people from the underworld.
Along with Manange, other well-known prisoners in this block include Nepal Telecom Managing Director Sunil Poudel, and former executive director of the Surakshan Printing Centre Bikal Poudel, who are serving time for corruption.
Former prisoners at Dilli Bazar prison include ex-ministers Khum Bahadur Khadka and Shyam Sundar Gupta, NC leader Ganesh Lama, Maoist MP Balkrishna Dhungel, Nagarik Unmukti Party leader Resham Chaudhary, as well as former IGs Ramesh Chand Thakuri, Om Bikram Rana, and Hem Bahadur Gurung.
Section 54 of Nepal’s Prison Act assigns each prison’s internal administration the
responsibility of governing its prisoners, which means the more favourable the jail management is, the more comfortable it is for prisoners.
Dilli Bazar prison has been the prison of choice for many high-ranking prisoners, especially those convicted of white collar crimes, due to its more accommodating administrators. The prison, which has the capacity to house 700 inmates, is also less crowded than other jails.
Anuj Bhattarai, spokesperson of the Department of Prison Management, says that there is no legal classification in Nepal for felons to be assigned prisons based on the nature of their crimes.
“That Dilli Bazar Jail has a higher number of prisoners convicted of crimes like corruption is most likely a coincidence,” says Bhattarai. “There is no provision for influential people to be able to choose where they will be incarcerated.”&nbsp;
Translated by Shristi Karki from the Nepali original published in himalkhabar.com

What Nepal’s VIP prisoners do in jail

As soon as she milks her cow, 52-year-old Punam B K is off, pedaling her bicycle furiously along the highway with a blue milk can in the front basket.&nbsp; By the time she arrives at the Jaya Shiva Ganesh Dairy Producers Cooperative in Gopalganj village, others are already there, their bicycles parked on the roadside. The farmers are all holding on to their blue milk cans, and are chatting away.&nbsp; “We keep what is needed for the family, and sell whatever remains here at the cooperative,” says B K, as the volume, fat and non-fat solid content of her milk is measured. It is then poured into a bigger vat to be mixed with milk from other farmers. B K collects her receipt with the value of her milk, and prepares to head home. The farmers are reimbursed on a quarterly basis.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/a-family-that-works-together-stays-together">A family that works together stays together</a>, Sahina Shrestha “Everyone around here has at least a cow or buffalo to provide milk for the family, the cowdung is used for fertiliser, and we can bring whatever is left over to the cooperative,” says B K who, like the others, brings her milk by bicycle twice a day, once in the morning and again in the evening.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241210081232_0df32c0f6a572aef83eca02dc7a86f75ea5dbc88dc6c2390d42a44ab3cc93395.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241210081232_0df32c0f6a572aef83eca02dc7a86f75ea5dbc88dc6c2390d42a44ab3cc93395" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1275" loading="lazy" alt="dairy farmers in Chitwan"> </figure>  All this may seem like nothing special, just an ordinary farmer selling her milk. But it has to be seen in the context of dairy farmers overcoming subsistence and increasing household income. Nearly 200,000 dairy farmers from over 1,200 cooperatives have not been paid by the government-run DDC for their milk for a year or more.&nbsp; The DDC has fixed a quota for buying milk from cooperatives that limits production even during the peak winter months. Farmers in Chitwan are so fed up, they have staged demonstrations in Kathmandu and even poured milk on the East-West Highway in protest.&nbsp; Punam B K’s milk ends up in Bhawani Dairy, a milk processing plant in Chitwan that buys milk from various cooperatives in the district. It was established six years ago by three entrepreneur cousins Devrath Baral, Drishya Baral and Subash Paudel and is now being supported by the Commercial Agriculture for Smallholders and Agribusiness (CASA) project.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241210081232_4e3c65390b9c5345f807b10cbb8c36b006ef6d3cb972e07b5067f4b2db2be32e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241210081232_4e3c65390b9c5345f807b10cbb8c36b006ef6d3cb972e07b5067f4b2db2be32e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1102" loading="lazy" alt="dairy farmers in Chitwan"> </figure>  This UK-funded project implemented by Swisscontact in Nepal has been supporting agro-businesses in 23 countries in Asia and Africa. They focus on improving the capacity of private dairy and vegetable farmers to find markets and build a sustainable supply chain for their produce. It helps dairies like the one in Chitwan with branding and marketing, as well to track business through a Dairy Management System (DMS) digital database.&nbsp; Bhawani Dairy also got support to conduct orientation for cooperative farmers to learn about new ways to boost productivity with breeding, cowshed management and hygiene maintenance. Many commercial farmers in Chitwan, some with up to 60 cows and buffaloes, have benefited.&nbsp; B K says she only has six cows, so not everything she hears at the orientation about increasing cowshed area is applicable. “We are just happy our milk is not wasted, and we can earn some cash from the surplus,” she says.&nbsp; Bhawani Dairy’s clientele is based entirely in Chitwan and in towns along the East-West Highway. But building on its success here, the company is looking to expand nationwide and target the Kathmandu market. Being a perishable product, the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/nepal-s-milk-heartland-rebounds">diary business is challenging</a>. Businesses also need investment and technical support to diversify into value-added milk products like cheese, yoghurt, ice cream or powdered milk.&nbsp; “For now, the best thing we as a dairy business can do for farmers is to buy their milk at a decent price and pay them in time,” says Drishya Baral of Bhawani Dairy.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241210081232_6c06efb5674dbcd8679015af543bfda87030755383a13c9269e272af28e85953.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241210081232_6c06efb5674dbcd8679015af543bfda87030755383a13c9269e272af28e85953" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1275" loading="lazy" alt="dairy farmers in Chitwan"> </figure>  Another agro-industry supported by CASA since 2018 is Himalayan Supervores, a venture that sources farm produce to supply vegetables and other foods to restaurants and hotels in the city, and even export Halal-certified produce to Gulf countries.&nbsp; CASA helped with cold chain management system to keep vegetable produce fresh so that the products earn trust about quality in the national and international market. Himalayan Supervores is already exporting to UAE and Qatar, and is targeting other Gulf countries next. “The guidance provided by the international expert was invaluable, we could not have bought that knowledge even with money,” says Nelson Shrestha of Himalayan Supervores. “It was not about fancy hardware, but how to minimise wastage, increase productivity, save time and money.”&nbsp; Though Himalayan Supervores collects vegetables from vegetable cooperatives, it indirectly works with a network of thousands of cooperative farmers. Its catchment area therefore is enormous, and it has enhanced their knowledge about organic farming methods, bio-pesticides, and the right way to handle and package vegetables. CASA’s most recent tie-up is with Pokhara-based Poshilo Foods, which specialises in increasing the shelf-life of local nutritional food items. During the Covid lockdown <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p3bparajuli/">Prithwi Kallyan Parajuli</a> saw an opportunity to supply nutritional foods that stayed longer, and set up Poshilo.&nbsp; It took traditional satu flour made from dry-roasted pulse, added more nutrients, and packaged it. Four flavours of satu with nutrient values differentiated for various age groups now line the shelves of supermarket chains like KK Mart, Saleways. Poshilo is now exploring the export market in India.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241210081232_a8dbea8c8d45ac4eff6c37fb47da7ff461989c662ba86d207a008381101acdcf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241210081232_a8dbea8c8d45ac4eff6c37fb47da7ff461989c662ba86d207a008381101acdcf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1275" loading="lazy" alt="dairy farmers in Chitwan"> </figure>  In the five years of helping Nepali agribusinesses, CASA has already teamed up with 35 established companies. Parajuli heaps fulsome praise on the catalytic support and guidance he got early on, not just for product design, but to explore market viability, branding and marketing.&nbsp; He has participated in government-led programs before, but says those are one-off and focus only on technical solutions and do not pay much attention to the important back-end work with management and sales.&nbsp; Says Devrath Baral of Bhawani Dairy in Chitwan: “We would probably have eventually got to where we are now, but it would have taken years longer without CASA. And now we can share our experience with other agribusinesses in Nepal.”

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