<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181152/636be9189c7e80680e08789fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Gurkhas on parade during the 2015 G200 celebrations in London 2015. All photos: JOHNNY FENN PHOTOGRAPHY</figcaption></figure>’Twas the night after Christmas 1993 and we all thought the bumps were just someone else going to the bathroom. Next morning downstairs was devastation. Christmas gifts were strewn amongst the chintz-covered sofas, draws emptied onto the carpets, the silver candlesticks gone along with a camera, binoculars and the children’s new toys.The night-time robbery with a houseful of sleeping friends and family was all the more daring as this was the home of the head of the special elite Gurkha force hired to protect the royal family, deep within the Sultanate of Brunei.I was visiting the Colonel during a break from one of my first consulting jobs with New Zealand teammates in neighbouring Sabah and Sarawak – marketing specialist for the Malaysian states’ tourism master plans. Lessons learned from the jungle, wildlife and ecotourism experiences in Nepal were being applied to the bio-rich rainforests of Borneo.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181152/636be91b9c7e80680e0878a0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>At <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/recreating-tiger-tops-in-the-tropics/">Tiger Tops</a> we had a long association with the military – British Gurkha as well as the Royal Nepal Army who guarded the wildlife of Chitwan National Park manned the guard posts, and whose major would often drop by the Lodge for a cup of tea.A retired Nepal general reminded me recently of the occasion in the mid-1970s when as a junior officer he led parachutist’s training at Meghauli. Camping overnight on the grass airstrip, I had accepted their invitation for a दाल भात meal around the campfire, complete with customary Nepali dancing featuring squaddies dressed as women. What most impressed him, he told me, was my bare feet in the jungle.Our boss <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15828#.XE1Al1UzaUk">Jim Edwards</a> favoured running jungle tourism operations along military lines, and many of my colleagues had army backgrounds, especially Nepali officers trained in admin, engineers, drivers and mechanics. As did our ancient green Land Rovers, their legacy of action evidenced by bullet holes that riddled their chassis, along with the occasional dent made by a charging rhino.One of Jim’s proudest moments in later life was being made an honorary British Gurkha, and he regularly sported the green and red striped regimental tie with the iconic crossed <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3679#.X-AppVUzaUk">खुकुरी</a> knives.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181152/636be91e9c7e80680e0878a1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The Colonel was one of a long line of commanders of the Brigade of Gurkhas Nepal, who now hold the multiple roles of Defence Attaché and director <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/cold-comfort/">Gurkha Welfare Trust</a>, based in the British Embassy compound Kathmandu.These British officers speak fluent Nepali with a clipped Gurkhali accent, and most would find any excuse to leave the diplomatic confines of the office to escape into their beloved hills with the soldiers to whom they are so dedicated.Not only are Nepalis still being recruited as an integral part of the British Army, but significant funding and energy goes into pension paying and ensuring veterans returning to Nepal are well supported. The British Gurkha connection put over <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10937#.X-Ap91UzaUk">£140 million into Nepal’s economy</a> last year, and the Gurkha Welfare Trust works in health and education throughout the length of rural Nepal.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181152/636be9209c7e80680e0878a2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="399"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The first British Defence and Military Attaché appointed to Kathmandu in 1958 was mountaineer <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-himalayan-odyssey/">Lt Col JOM Roberts MVO MBE MC 2GR</a>, distinguished for his war service in India and founder of Nepal’s trekking industry, providing employment for the Sherpas he so admired. Jimmy made Nepal his home and stayed on rearing rare pheasants in Pokhara retirement until his death in 1997. He was followed by some fabled and highly decorated army names in the 1960s, Wylie, Kemmis Betty and Hickey.Others are remembered for less illustrious traits. One officer’s Land Rover mowed down the white posts that line the Embassy driveway after an evening of revelry, and another was infuriated when his wife eloped with the tennis coach. One colonel astounded the congregation by bursting into tears during a remembrance service, and another enjoyed slipping into army fatigues with an officious clipboard at the slightest provocation.My favourite story about Col David Scotson, DA in the late 1980s, was how he got married on crutches, both legs encased in plaster casts, having wandered out of the first-floor window of his future in-law’s Swiss chalet to admire the view only to realise too late that there was no balcony.The curfew that accompanied the end of the single-party system provided the perfect cover for one officer to pursue an extra-marital affair, whilst others preferred mahseer fishing, rafting and camping on the remote rivers of western Nepal. During a royal visit, at a pre-trek mess dinner under a military camp shamiana, the colonel’s wife was overhead counselling the Prince of Wales not to listen to ‘his mother’ about marital difficulties with Princess Diana, and to ‘follow his heart.’The British Gurkha Khukris team were a fixture at Tiger Tops’ annual elephant polo championships, often attracting the top brass from Hong Kong HQ and always handy as reliable timekeepers to monitor the matches. The players were most celebrated as winners of the best-dressed award with their natty uniforms, whilst actual goals scored were usually few and far between.One Defence Attaché, Col Mike Allen, pursued his passion for moths, and could regularly be found at dusk with bright lights and a white sheet, adding new species to scientific collections for Nepal. Col Mike Kefford led a British joint services expedition to scale Everest before abandoning his military career to sail around the world.One commander went on to become Prince Philip’s private secretary living in Kensington Palace. And a couple of former incumbents have remained closely connected to Nepal, reinventing themselves in new Pokhara-based jobs supervising privately funded agricultural and livelihood projects throughout the countryside.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109181152/636be9229c7e80680e0878a3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Gurkha recruitment dates back over 200 years to 1815, even before the Treaty of Sugauli formalised the Nepal British relationship and ended the Anglo-Nepal war 1814-1816. Highly impressed by the fighting spirit shown by his opponents, General Sir David Ochterlony had led the East India Company attack, a colourful character alleged to have kept thirteen concubines and gifted each an elephant whilst British resident to the Mughal court in Delhi.In the early 1960s, the British Gurkhas numbered nearly 18,000 men, recruited from their headquarters near Dharan in southeast Nepal, with brigades stationed in Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong as well as the United Kingdom. Today they total about one-quarter of that and are all assigned in the UK except for a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-forgotten-gurkha-rebellion/">battalion in Brunei</a>. The selection process remains famously hard-won –- last year 12,000 young men competed for just 400 places.I took my mother to the Gurkha bicentenary pageant celebration at the Royal Hospital in Chelsea one chilly June evening in 2015 – lots of smart green uniforms, precision marching, wailing bagpipes and whirling खुकुरी. The purpling London night sky faded above us, and tall windowpanes glowed gold in the elegant Wren building backdrop to our ringside seats.Actress Joanna Lumley made a speech, and the VVIP stand contained a full hand of all the immediate British royal family led by Queen Elizabeth II, a tribute to the legendary esteem in which Gurkha servicemen continue to be held in Britain.In the words of Sir Ralph Turner MC 1888-1983, former Gurkha, linguist, philologist and Professor of Sanskrit: ‘Once more I see you in your bivouacs or about your fires, on forced march or in the trenches, now shivering with wet and cold, now scorched by a pitiless and burning sun. Uncomplaining you endure hunger and thirst and wounds, and at the last, your unwavering lines disappear into the smoke and wrath of battle. Bravest of the brave, most generous of the generous, never had country more faithful friends than you.’

Lisa Choegyal

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<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101144/636a257f9c7e80680e0439cfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1115"/>In her recent article in this paper ‘<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/gurkha-grandparents/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Gurkha Grandparents</a>’ (#944) Sikuma Rai movingly describes the plight of many elderly Nepalis now living in the UK, most of them <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/a-military-migrant-economy/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">ex-Gurkhas</a> and their wives. The families get regular pension, heating allowances and rent support, free public transport, as well as access to the British National Health Service.But there are also costs, which include living away from their home country in a strange land among strangers, without the personal, social and cultural comforts of their villages. Many pine for Nepal, and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/No-place-like-home,1123" target="_blank" rel="noopener">some decide to return home</a>. But women, particularly widows who speak little English, have few non-Nepali friends, and remain isolated in their homes in towns like in Salisbury or Aldershot. The weather does not help, and most remain house-bound or within a limited area of the city missing their children and grandchildren.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/gurkha-grandparents/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Gurkha Grandparents</a>, Sikuma Rai<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.gwt.org.uk/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Gurkha Welfare Trust</a> runs advice centres which work closely with government bodies like the Royal British Legion to support army veterans. Numerous local charities unconnected with the army also help, as well as community services for older people, including mental health diagnosis, treatment and support, provided by the local council and by the health services.But much of this is cold comfort to elderly Nepali men and women who have settled in Britain, and who would, ideally, flock back to Nepal to be with their families and friends -- if only they could be assured of more financial support, including better and less costly health care.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101144/636a259b9c7e80680e0439d0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/need-to-prepare-for-ageing-society,3624" target="_blank" rel="noopener">elderly in Nepal</a> have traditionally been able to count on family support. But, as more older people live longer the financial burden on families has increased. Nepal’s average life span has increased from 35 for men and 37 for women in 1961, to 69 for men and 72 for women in 2014. By 2018, there were nearly 3 million people over 60 in Nepal. Family fragmentation has also resulted in physical separation between older grandparents and their children and grandchildren.Consequently, even back in Nepal, more elderly men and women are <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/guest-editorial/guest-editorial-old-is-gold,876" target="_blank" rel="noopener">living apart from their closest family members</a> than ever before. Many are now suffering from the same problems as do those settled in the UK, but without pensions, allowances, and access to free medical services.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/need-to-prepare-for-ageing-society,3624" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A much older tomorrow</a>, Sonia AwaleThere are relatively few specialised institutions for support and care of the elderly in Nepal. The Gurkha Welfare Trust cares for ex-<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/the-gurkhas-an-interactive-timeline" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Gurkhas</a> and their families with Welfare Pensions to veterans and widows and medical treatment. But there are very few examples in Nepal of private ‘care homes’ and ‘retirement villages’ that exist in the UK.There is now some state support, but it remains pitifully limited. The non-contributory social pension scheme introduced in 1995 was intended to provide allowances to older people aged 70 and above, to older dalits and people living in the Karnali Zone aged 60 and above, and to poor widows aged 60 and above. The allowance was doubled to, Rs2000 and the age of eligibility reduced to 65, but scheme remains inadequately implemented.It is estimated by Pension Watch (Help Age International) that the number of people receiving an allowance is around 636,000, and 47% over 65 in Nepal receive a non-contributory pension, while 9% have a contributory pension. The total cost of the scheme is Rs15 billion, or 0.7% of GDP. By 2050, when the estimated number of Nepalis over 60 will be around 6.5 million, the cost will have more than doubled even if the same proportion of the budget is allocated to the scheme.Last year, Prime Minister Oli proposed a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/social-insecurity/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">social security scheme</a> for private sector employees to provide for life-long pensions and reduce the fiscal burden by demanding that employers deposit 31% of the basic salary (20% from employers and 11% from employees) into a Social Security Fund. After 15 years, private sector employees would then be entitled to lifelong pensions, just like retired government employees.Read also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/social-insecurity/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Social insecurity</a>, Om Astha Rai<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/not-just-social-security/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Not just social security</a>, Josh GloverBut even were this scheme to be introduced, it would still <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/not-just-social-security/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">leave out millions working in the informal sector and agriculture</a>, and would be too late for those already of pensionable age.The Nepal government spends 6% of its budget on basic health care and in 2012, launched a pilot program for universal health insurance in five districts. This was followed up in 2017 by the National <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/national-health-insurance-not-as-easy,4028" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Health Insurance</a> Act and in 2018 by the National Health Institution Quality Authority Act, providing the legal framework for a National Health Service.Although Nepal's 2015 Constitution guarantees basic health care as a fundamental right, however, access to high-quality care remains a privilege, and out of reach of most including elderly Nepalis who may want to come back home.<h2>Fighting for equality</h2>In May 2009, the Labour government under Tony Blair was obliged by public pressure to enable Gurkhaswho retired before 1 July 1997 with at least four years’ service to settle with their families in the UK, that being the date when the Gurkha Brigade headquarters moved from Hong Kong to Britain.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-time-has-come-for-a-gurkha-peace-corps/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Time has come for a Gurkha Peace Corps</a>, David SeddonEven before that, in March 2007, pay, pensions and terms of service of serving Gurkhas were equalised with those of regular British Army personnel and equal pensions were granted to those enlisted from 1 October 1993, but about 15,000 pensioners and 6,000 widow pensioners did not benefit.On 10 June 2011, the British Gurkha Welfare Society lodged a case with the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) claiming that Gurkhas had been paid significantly lower pensions than their British counterparts. On 15 September 2016, the ECHR shattered the hopes of thousands of ex-Gurkhas for equal pensions.

Cold comfort

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

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

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

The Himalaya is not fragile

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

My father’s son

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

gurkha-welfare-trust

Collateral benefits

Cold comfort

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

The Himalaya is not fragile

My father’s son

The war between people