<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111413118/637230879c7e80680e0c256fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="720"/><figcaption>EDUCATION FOR ALL: A Community Learning Centre for Musahar children built by the Mithila Wildlife Trust in Dhanusha.</figcaption></figure>Last week, as I was enjoying lunch with my soft-spoken colleague Dev Narayan Mandal, he said something in passing that caused me to down my cutlery. It was one of those run-that-past-me-again moments.In the two-and-a-half years that I have known Dev he had never shared this remarkable story from six years ago.In 2012, Dev returned to his home in Dhanusha district after working on animal rescue for ten years in Delhi. Coincidentally, this was soon after I myself returned home to live in the UK after eight years in Nepal.We never met then, but it is easy to see how our paths could have crossed in India. I was heading up operations to rescue Nepali child slaves who had been trafficked to perform in Indian circuses. The last operation was to free little girls from the dangerous Great Apollo Circus in Dehradun. Dev himself had been involved at that time in a raid on the same circus to free some bears.After returning to Nepal, Dev set up the Mithila Wildlife Trust (MWT) to try to reverse the environmental damage in the beloved local woodlands from his childhood. Forests that were supposed to be protected were being illegally logged.He got retired forestry workers to volunteer, and with the collaboration of 13 villages set out to protect the Dhanushadham Forest. Today, the rewilding program is a success and is being replicated elsewhere in Nepal.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111413118/6372308a9c7e80680e0c2570jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="720" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The forest had another problem, the poaching of wildlife by the local Musahar community that traditionally hunted for game meat on behalf of higher castes, and because they were not allowed to eat what they killed, they were only permitted to eat rat meat, hence their name.Times have changed, yet this centuries-old tradition survived in another form – illegal hunting of wildlife. Dev was convinced that the way to tackle this might be to set up a Community Learning Centre (CLC) for the education of Musahar children, and those from other excluded communities.Dev's rationale was that, aside from the edifying impact of education on young minds, at least if the children were in class they would not be poaching in the forests.He made a start by supporting extra tuition for the first batch of 28 Musahar children at the home of a college student, Jit Narayan Sada, who was paid a small allowance by the MWT so he himself could complete college studies. The response from the Musahar community was cool, but three years later a boost was to come from the unlikeliest quarter.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111413118/6372308d9c7e80680e0c2571jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640">One day in 2016, a 12-year-old Musahar boy named Bishnu Sada was charged and gored by a wild boar. He was knocked off his feet, partially disemboweled, and lost consciousness. The group chased off the boar and carried Bishnu back to the village, traumatised and fearing the worst.Dev sprang into action, and took Bishnu to Janakpur Hospital, about 45 minutes away, where surgeons said Bishnu was beyond saving. To attempt to do so would be a total waste of money.Undeterred, Dev contacted Biratnagar Hospital, 200km to the east, sending surgeons their pictures of the gaping wound and exposed intestines. They agreed to attempt to save Bishnu's life. Against the odds, they were successful.Using his persuasive skills, Dev encouraged the impoverished Musahar community to contribute Rs400,000 to meet Bishnu’s medical bills and then sat down with the community leaders and asked them to quantify the annual financial return from their hunting activities, illicit or otherwise.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131112/637230909c7e80680e0c2572jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="720"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>After a great deal of discussion and number-crunching, they concluded that these were worth Rs300,000. Dev then pointed out that for this past year, they had effectively been in deficit. He suggested to the village elders that they would have been better off investing in their children's education rather than poaching wildlife.They agreed, and each household made a contribution at the very least of a piece of timber towards the set-up of the first Community Learning Centre—a simple construction of wood, clay and thatch.Since then, the CLC has grown from strength to strength, the original centre replaced by a brick house through a grant provided by the McGough Foundation (UK).This year, the number of students has increased to 286, with extra tutors being provided by the non-profit, SAATH. The teaching model is innovative. Jit Narayan Sada himself has left and enlisted in the Nepal Army, the first from the Musahar community. Funds permitting, better qualified new CLCs will be set up for other communities.I met Bishnu this week, he is a shy, slightly built lad, with a ready grin. He has every reason to smile having passed his 10th Grade SEE test, a rare achievement in his under-served community, and is  now enrolled in his first year of a Diploma in Engineering course.I will follow Bishnu’s academic progress with admiration for him, and for the man who saved his life.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131112/637230949c7e80680e0c2573jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="720" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Lt Col (retd) Philip Holmes is founder and CEO of Pipal Tree Foundationwww.pipaltree.org.ukTo support Dev Narayan Mandal’s Community Learning Centres, visit the ‘Big Give’ summer appeal. Donations until the 4th August are automatically doubled in value: https://pipaltree.info/summerRead more: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14394#.YuOWKuxBz0s">Learning all about the birds and the trees</a>, Priya Joshi

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The Boy and the Boar

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111413118/637230619c7e80680e0c2563jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>Nepalis are proud to have never been colonised, and being South Asia’s oldest nation state. Keeping out the world may have preserved the sovereignty of a feudal state, but it meant that Nepal had a lot of catching up to do in terms of governance, consolidating democratic institutions, infrastructure, health and education.For example, we have been talking about the sorry state of the education system in the country for the past decades. Writing 52 years ago in an article titled ‘Education: the Road to Nowhere’, Prof Kamal Prakash Malla bemoaned the fact that ministers of education were in the habit of boasting that Nepal’s education system went from having just one college pre-1950 to 36 colleges and a university.Malla pointed out that this showed selective use of statistics to distort the truth, and ignore the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality/">poor quality of instruction in schools and colleges</a>.Five decades later, after major political changes and many trials and errors in education, the substance of the debate on the need to improve the education system is still the same. Bureaucrats and politicians still cite statistics to prove progress in education, and like Malla wrote all those years ago, we are still on a journey without a destination.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality/">After quantity, Nepal’s education needs quality</a>, Prakriti KandelIf statistics are so important, then these tell a different story: there are still 770,000 children below 12 who are not in school, 29% of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/half-of-nepals-girls-may-drop-out-of-school/">primary school students drop out</a> halfway, 43% of secondary school students do not complete Grade 10, and government school pupils have a pass rate of only 20%.Why is it that successive governments have not fixed the serious flaws in a system that allows 80% of students in public schools to waste time in classrooms in the name of ‘education’? It is not that Nepal's rulers are not aware of the disgraceful quality of education in government schools.The Minister of Education’s own surveys show shocking <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=464#.Yt-86exBz0s">inequity in Nepal’s education system</a>. Among well-off families, 65% of children are educated, whereas the figure is only 12% for poorer households. Money for education is flowing into a black hole.The federal government has been cutting its education budget every year, but the investment is not being transferred to provincial ministries of education. This is widening the equity gap in education, and leading to a steady decline in the quality of instruction. Instead of leveling the playing field, education is entrenching class differences.The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/digital-divide-exposes-class-divide-in-nepal-schools/">privileged get a world-class education</a> and fit into the world’s best universities, whereas the rest migrate to the Gulf for jobs. Those who stay behind are swallowed by a corrupt bureaucracy and contaminated politics.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=41#.Yt-8luxBz0s">Education for all and all for education</a>, Naresh NewarThe main reason Nepal still lags behind in development is our distorted and inappropriate system of education that is churning out deficient human resources. The blame game is heaped on private schools. There are regulatory issues with for-profit schools, but private school enrollment is low in districts where public schools offer quality education. Private schools and colleges are providing much-needed education in Nepali, and reducing the numbers of Nepalis who used to have to go abroad.Punishing private schools to improve government schools never worked, and will be a backward step. The best way to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/sisterhoods-empowering-education-in-nepal/">reduce the commercialisation of education</a> is to improve the standard of public schools. Government schools have a lot to learn from private ones about curriculum, instruction, management and facilities, and some PPP models have demonstrated this.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/sisterhoods-empowering-education-in-nepal/">Sisterhoods empowering education in Nepal</a>, Nepali TimesSome government schools have made the wrong move to try to emulate private schools, and introduce English-medium instruction for fee-paying students. This is creating a rich-poor distinction within schools, which is unjust and goes against Nepal’s egalitarian Constitution.As with everything else, the main blame goes to a political class that forgets when it gets to power the very values enshrined in the Constitution, the manifestos of their parties, and promises to voters. In fact, leftist politicians are the most prominent investors in the private school sector, and eagerly pass legislation that unfairly benefits them.The new generation will reject politicians who thrive on hollow nationalism, but neglect education forcing them to migrate overseas for work.We have to <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19596#.Yt-9pOxBz0s">take politics out of education</a>, reward good public schools and their teachers, invest in teacher training and facilities of government schools. That is the only way to prevent Nepal from becoming a failed state.Rabin GiriRead more: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19596#.Yt-9pOxBz0s">No time for school</a>, Nepali Times

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Class differences

<figure><img width="1500" height="1073" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720ee89c7e80680e0b7944jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>In 2013, Hima and Maggie Doyne at the spot where the two first met in 2006. All Photos: BLINKNOW FOUNDATION</figcaption></figure>Six-year-old Hima Tamata used to look at her reflection in a pool on the banks of a river near Surkhet. The still water was clear as a mirror. Her mother, Ganga, toiled nearby, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/crushing-tale-of-Chure">crushing boulders</a> with a hammer for a pittance. Occasionally, she wiped the sweat from her brow in the sweltering heat. The stones she broke for a contractor were used to pave new highways, and Hima sometimes joined her mother to break smaller stones with her tiny hands.Hima used to watch her mother from the river bank. A single mother, she had to work all day to feed Hima and her three brothers after her husband left her to remarry. Hima sometimes rummaged in a nearby garbage pile to find things to sell. <figure><img width="640" height="512" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720eeb9c7e80680e0b7945jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img width="640" height="511" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720eef9c7e80680e0b7946jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>It was 2006, and the Maoist conflict had just ended. Maggie Doyne, a 19-year-old American visitor, was backpacking through western Nepal to understand how the decade-long war had affected children."I sensed someone watching us from a distance as I helped my mother break stones. And when our eyes met, she gave me a dazzling smile,” recalls Hima. "I smiled back because her smile made me happy." <figure><img width="2306" height="1146" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720ef29c7e80680e0b7947jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Maggie and Hima immediately bonded, and she asked Hima if she would like to go to school. The answer was a quiet “yes”, and that was all it took. That chance meeting prompted Maggie Doyne to pay for Hima’s enrollment in a primary school in Surkhet.But soon, Doyne found out that there were hundreds of other children like Hima. So, she went on to help set up a home for children in Surkhet orphaned by the conflict, using money her parents in the US wired her from saved up baby-sitting money.  By 2010, she added a school where 400 of Nepal’s neediest children now get free education. She co-founded the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BlinkNow.org/">BlinkNow Foundation</a> and established the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/starting-nepals-green-school-movement/">Kopila Valley Children's Home and School</a> in Surkhet. The two institutions also work in vocational training and to foster grassroots community development. <figure><img width="1196" height="862" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720ef59c7e80680e0b7948jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Her work has been championed by <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Never-too-late,3105">Pulitzer Prize</a>-winning New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof and the Dalai Lama, among others. The story of BlinkNow's beginnings has been featured on the Huffington Post , VH1, MTV, and DoSomething.org. Maggie was named <a href="https://www.glamour.com/story/philanthropist-maggie-doyne-on-career-and-success">Glamour magazine's</a> Woman of the Year and was used as an example for her groundbreaking work at the Forbes 400 Summit on Philanthropy. In 2015, she was named <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=maggie+doyne&amp;client=safari&amp;rls=en&amp;tbm=isch&amp;sxsrf=APq-WBvxNefJZa1xSKYRPGQYF1ZmOPJjzg:1648342861509&amp;source=lnms&amp;sa=X&amp;ved=2ahUKEwi-uenVi-X2AhUyxYsBHUbbD3EQ_AUoAXoECAEQAw&amp;biw=1502&amp;bih=859&amp;dpr=2#imgrc=oPBxr9QuabVtxM">CNN Hero.</a> Maggie's story carries a message of hope, love, and the possibility of how the smallest individual acts can spark big changes. She believes that poverty, hunger, and violence can be alleviated when children are provided with their most basic needs: a loving, happy childhood, nutrition, and a quality education. Maggie's resolve to educate one child has now metamorphosed into a Children's Home for 50 kids and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/female-foeticide-to-football/">Kopila Valley School</a>, where over 400 students get tuition-free education every year. Among the students was Hima, who graduated two years ago, completed a chef internship and is enrolled in a hotel management diploma course. <figure><img width="1404" height="1620" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720ef89c7e80680e0b7949jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Hima was inspired to be a chef by her mother, who left her stone-breaking job and works in the kitchen of the Kopila Valley Women's Center, a vocational training program that <a href="https://blinknow.org/">BlinkNow Foundation</a> also set up to empower women in the community. Ganga herself was trained at the Center to be a cook.Ganga, a graduate of the same program, currently cooks for over 40 people daily. This has inspired Hima, who intends to follow in her mother's footsteps in practicing cooking professionally."I learned cooking as a little girl since my mother and brothers would be working outside all day,” Hima says. "While studying at Kopila, I also baked and sold cookies at football tournaments. It helped me with pocket money, which further motivated me and built my confidence." Sixteen years later, Hima recently went back to the river bank where she gazed at her reflection, the pool is muddy and polluted. There is now a busy market on the roadside where her mother used to break stones. Now 23, Hima wants to follow the example set by her mentor, Maggie, and help others like her. Maggie Doyne’s work to nurture under-served Nepali children is detailed in her new book Between the Mountain and the Sky: A Mother's Story of Hope and Love."I feel proud to be a part of Maggie's journey, but I have to carve my own story too,” says Hima. “Maggie would want that. So, I work hard towards my goal to be somebody of my own."  <img width="640" height="958" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101148/63720efc9c7e80680e0b794ajpeg.jpg" alt="">Between the Mountain and the Sky: A Mother's Story of Love, Loss, Healing, and Hopeby <a href="https://www.google.com.np/search?tbo=p&amp;tbm=bks&amp;q=inauthor:%22Maggie+Doyne%22&amp;source=gbs_metadata_r&amp;cad=4">Maggie Doyne</a>HarperCollins Focus, 2022<table><tbody><tr><td width="35">ISBN</td><td width="575">0785240284, 9780785240280</td></tr></tbody></table>272 pages,  <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Maggie-Doyne/e/B098R58FFS/ref=zg_bsnr_11350_bl_20/000-0000000-0000000?pd_rd_i=0785240284">$14.99 on Amazon</a>Read more: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17635">Nepal's Hero</a>, Nepali Times

The stone-breaker’s daughter

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

Looking at Nepal from Venice

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

Too little snow, too much rain

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

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

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