Bidhya Chapagain left a secure job in journalism in which she has already become a household name in Nepal to venture out to fulfil her passion in journalism -- to give a voice to those who have been deprived of it. She started her own video production group to go around the country to talk to people whom journalists never bothered to report about. The stories she brought out were so important in shining the light on a Nepal that was invisible to Kathmandu that it became most-seen on YouTube and other social media. “I was living my journalism dream at the BBC, but as I travelled for work and saw that we were telling the same stories of the same people, I realised that this was not my dream," said Chapagain during her conversation with Rajneesh Bahndari of Nepal Investigative Multimedia Journalism Network (NIMJN) at the HImal Media Mela 2023.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504060520_1df44df7843f5dee5c7a3752c63e2d07a9be3e8eef0312e30f4f62e6256e44ea.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20230504060520_1df44df7843f5dee5c7a3752c63e2d07a9be3e8eef0312e30f4f62e6256e44ea" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela Day 2- Going Back to Good Storytelling"> <figcaption>Rajneesh Bahndari and Bidhya Chapagain. All photos: GOPEN RAI AND SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  So Chapagain and her colleague Kamal Kumar set out to find those extraordinary stories of ordinary people across Nepal largely ignored by mainstream media. They knew that these stories needed to be told through video since it is the medium most suited to the stories, but also because they had some expertise in it.&nbsp; Five years down the line, Herne Katha has broadcast 104 episodes and is one of the most popular and credible Nepali shows known for bringing impactful and extraordinary stories from some of the remotest parts of the country. The team was recently in Accham and locals easily recognised them as ‘Herne Katha’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504070524_4c8572857a8426c2661a020290285c11abfd88cabff0a69088f2f2f509422c67.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230504070524_4c8572857a8426c2661a020290285c11abfd88cabff0a69088f2f2f509422c67" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- Going Back to Good Storytelling"> <figcaption>Bidhya Chapagain</figcaption> </figure>  “It is not as difficult to find the subject matter or stories, we have to want to find them in the first place,” said Chapagain, recounting some of the risky trips she had taken to document her characters for Herne Katha.&nbsp; But while new age digital shows like Herne Katha have the audience, sustainability continues to be a challenge. Chapagain revealed that YouTube revenue is not as significant and the team also relies on advertisement, membership and donations.&nbsp; Said Chapagain: “It has been five years but we still have not figured out a business model best suited to us. But if we want to sustain and continue telling the stories, we must figure it out.” The business side of news  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504070528_69fc80c46460ab73c782b5f9b7c3bfa8bdbe91087f3f5b9ff26f4500c6f2e062.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230504070528_69fc80c46460ab73c782b5f9b7c3bfa8bdbe91087f3f5b9ff26f4500c6f2e062" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- Digital Reader Revenue"> <figcaption>A panel on Digital Reader Revenue.</figcaption> </figure>  Across the world and in Nepal, eyeballs have moved online but advertisers have not. This has made the sustainability of legacy media increasingly difficult at a time when even online portals are competing with the new age mass media like TikTok, YouTube and Facebook for both audience and revenue.&nbsp; How readers consume news have also changed media’s traditional business model but the print still brings in the money, said Sambridhi Gyawali of Nepal Republic Media which publishes Nagarik Daily. “We haven’t been able to monetise digital platforms, paywalls have not worked in Nepal,” she added during the panel Digital Reader Revenue.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504070528_4efc53201ef0de22dcac55a43124d37a9e165f07f2339a3741c7e193ee173872.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20230504070528_4efc53201ef0de22dcac55a43124d37a9e165f07f2339a3741c7e193ee173872" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- Digital Reader Revenue"> <figcaption>Sambridhi Gyawali</figcaption> </figure>  Ameet Dhakal, editor of Setopati which pioneered long-form online portal in Nepal shared the humble beginnings of the digital platform, and financial challenges they faced in the early days while also the crisis Nepali media as a whole is undergoing. “It used to be cheaper to advertise in online portals because they didn’t have high operating costs of printing but now advertisers have even cheaper platforms like Facebook and Google who don't even need to pay people in Nepal,” added Dhakal. “We are now facing the same problem that print media has been facing for a while now.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504070528_983f3b9c42b40ff3b9b1f1630b4371ea9cd8d80f04eef172662a0b326fd41c18.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20230504070528_983f3b9c42b40ff3b9b1f1630b4371ea9cd8d80f04eef172662a0b326fd41c18" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- Digital Reader Revenue"> <figcaption>Ameet Dhakal</figcaption> </figure>  Traditional media has always relied on advertisements but it is also known to interface with editorial decision-making. Recently, there has been a new model entirely based on contributions from readers. Pranaya Rana was with an independent online portal The Record Nepal (TRN) before it closed down last year, unable to sustain itself financially. “The idea was to get the grant and eventually move on to the membership model but we failed. Maybe Nepal is not ready for it yet, the fact that we are an English publication didn’t help matters,” said Rana who now publishes Off the Record, a weekly newsletter every Friday.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504070536_e3aadb74467fe8e5493fb0dbad39ae16df2b39767343c3665da5fcbb956acd61.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230504070536_e3aadb74467fe8e5493fb0dbad39ae16df2b39767343c3665da5fcbb956acd61" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- Digital Reader Revenue"> <figcaption>Pranaya Rana</figcaption> </figure>  He added: “But we have realised that we need a business plan and we cannot ignore the market, we are trying to figure out how we can bring in the advertisements without compromising our journalism.” Much like the TRN, Ukaalo has joined Nepal's cybersphere as an independent digital platform that relies entirely on contributions. Said co-funder Amod Pyakuryal: “Public supported media have worked elsewhere so why not in Nepal? We have people who are well educated and informed, they can pay us for unbiased agenda setting content.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504070536_a5be03ea31d7589d7cf026ce235c98f18fe9d47e087c956990bcb0b2e06e6f7a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20230504070536_a5be03ea31d7589d7cf026ce235c98f18fe9d47e087c956990bcb0b2e06e6f7a" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- Digital Reader Revenue"> <figcaption>Amod Pyakuryal</figcaption> </figure>  Meanwhile Gyawali noted that it might be time for an internal reflection for Nepali media and the kind of content that is being dished out. To that effect, Rana added that the media should be writing and developing content for the younger generation. “But our young generation are hooked into TikTok. First, we have to find ways to get the content they want and only then we can think about monitisation,” he added.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023050408050_8f139dd0e78ede3cbc4f0961d3e301319c6b3ff76a48e6a1c7ddff7efcbffbae.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2023050408050_8f139dd0e78ede3cbc4f0961d3e301319c6b3ff76a48e6a1c7ddff7efcbffbae" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1400" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela- Digital Reader Revenue"> <figcaption>Madhu Acharya</figcaption> </figure>  But interestingly, while audiences are consuming content on social media and on online portals, the general public do not trust them, they still trust mainstream media over others, noted moderator Madhu Acharya of the Sharecast Initiative quoting the recent survey conducted by his organisation as he concluded the panel.&nbsp; Climate change in media&nbsp; The climate emergency is arguably the biggest crisis of our times. How the media cover it can define the actions to be taken for adaptation and mitigation, and how soon.&nbsp; “Europe realised the impacts of climate change early on and began to take action. It took 25 or so more years for the US to catch-up. This was because of the coverage in he European media,” noted Kunda Dixit, author of Dateline Earth: As If the Planet Mattered during the panel on covering the climate crisis. “European media had a more global outlook, published news from around the world, and pressured their governments.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504090516_e393bf333d549e0027dbcf31d8db33062fc0c082343159110426d1af5d99cc0f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20230504090516_e393bf333d549e0027dbcf31d8db33062fc0c082343159110426d1af5d99cc0f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- How the Media Can Cover the Climate Crisis"> <figcaption>Kunda Dixit</figcaption> </figure>  But for the media to inform the public and the policymakers alike they need to understand the science themselves. Also speaking at the panel, atmospheric scientist Arnico Panday said that Nepali media has been focusing on weather, not so much climate which is measured over a longer period. Panday is now a meber of the RSP, wch is the fourth largest party in Parliament. Nitu Ghale who is with the Annapurna Post shared her experience of trying to highlight stories on climate change while also tackling inherent challenges. “There is just not enough data and even when there is data, they are not managed properly. It is also not easy to get the right experts to talk to,” she added.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504090516_5f3ce88cc495c15800896ef8b51dd82344ec0cf46fdaf4b6f72b414bdea2ede6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20230504090516_5f3ce88cc495c15800896ef8b51dd82344ec0cf46fdaf4b6f72b414bdea2ede6" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- How the Media Can Cover the Climate Crisis"> <figcaption>Nitu Ghale</figcaption> </figure>  But either way, climate change often does not get the prominence it deserves in Nepali media, often sidelined by the political and economic issues. But panellists stressed that climate change is not an environmental issue for us but rather economic and political.&nbsp; Nepal’s import of petroleum is polluting the air and worsening public health but it is also emptying our foreign reserves. Petroleum accounts for over 20% of Nepal’s import. Switching to electric mass transit would save billions.&nbsp; “What Nepal does or does not won’t save the planet but will save our economy from collapsing and maintain our political independence by reducing our trade deficit, so they should be given the prominence they deserve in our coverage,” explained Dixit. “But having said that, climate change is becoming more of an excuse for leaders to blame their inaction and the discount governance failures and historical state neglect.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230504090516_8d4b3a774da7b2ec877f74278f6c3a256428d8acc694c3243699ebe2cee307ec.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20230504090516_8d4b3a774da7b2ec877f74278f6c3a256428d8acc694c3243699ebe2cee307ec" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- How the Media Can Cover the Climate Crisis"> <figcaption>Panel on How the Media Can Cover the Climate Crisis.</figcaption> </figure>  But not everything is lost. China is developing itself as the centre of green energy whereas the United States under Biden has committed to convert 35% of all the automobiles into battery operated vehicles in eight years.&nbsp; Arnico Panday admitted that he entered politics after realising that science is not enough to bring urgent change to problems like air pollution and climate crisis. He asked the audience to vote for the party that actually works to resolve the climate emergency, among others, in the next election -- amidst much applause from the rapt audience.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023050409058_bfebb45fb60bbb93f1a9b833ec83e0a3f43b6a00c117b7295f7e42a4d6bc8c8a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2023050409058_bfebb45fb60bbb93f1a9b833ec83e0a3f43b6a00c117b7295f7e42a4d6bc8c8a" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023- How the Media Can Cover the Climate Crisis"> <figcaption>Arnico Panday</figcaption> </figure>  Nepali translation of Dixit’s Dateline Earth: As If the Planet Mattered and the third edition of the English version were launched following the panel discussion. The book has now been translated into five Asian languages.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023050410050_ce529ecb914b5e946464e039722db60313f3a13a057a93c444f1538cba80aa35.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="2023050410050_ce529ecb914b5e946464e039722db60313f3a13a057a93c444f1538cba80aa35" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Himal Media Mela 2023-Dateline Earth Book Launch"> <figcaption>Nepali translation of Dateline Earth: As If the Planet Mattered and the third edition of the English version were launched following the panel discussion.</figcaption> </figure>

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Journalism is all about storytelling (and money)

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121144/636b932b9c7e80680e06f18ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1778" height="1000"/><figcaption>All photos: HERNE KATHA</figcaption></figure>The Euro 2020 matches are live on television, and many are watching the replays the next morning. But what is really going viral in Nepal these days is a short program of grandmothers playing a football match in the mountains of Lamjung district.Two teams made up of members of the local Mother’s Group of Siurung village face each other on a school football ground. The clip of the match is on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hernekatha" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">social media</a> accounts of the web series <a href="https://hernekatha.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Herne Katha</a>, and is accompanied by a running commentary, complete with slow motion replay of a free kick that is saved by goal-keeper Yoju Gurung.“We saw the grandchildren playing, and I thought why shouldn’t I also have a go at it before I die,” says 67-year-old Gurung.<blockquote>आजको फुटबल खेल पनि सुरु हुनै लागेको छ । आमा समूह दुई वटा टिममा बाँडिएका छन् । रेफ्रीले खेल सुरु भएको संकेत गरिसकेका छन् । लताकुञ्ज विद्यालयको रंगशालामा भइरहेको खेल हेर्न खचाखच दर्शक उपस्थित छन् ।<a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/chhotokatha?src=hash&amp;ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">#chhotokatha</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/hernekatha?src=hash&amp;ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">#hernekatha</a> <a href="https://t.co/QwD7FHIWoM">pic.twitter.com/QwD7FHIWoM</a>— Herne Katha (@hernekatha) <a href="https://twitter.com/hernekatha/status/1404419600905904137?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">June 14, 2021</a></blockquote>Posted on YouTube and broadcast on Kantipur Television every alternate Tuesday at 6:30pm, the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZuKpNyipL9W-OkKwCMwVNQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">web series</a> Herne Katha has uplifting stories of struggle, survival and triumph — a message especially important at a time when Nepalis are suffering such hardships.Manjuliya Devi walks briskly through her village Morang district, going house to house to cut the hair and trim beards of residents. She has little time to waste, wedding guests are lining up. Her son wants his elderly mother to stop working, but Manjuliya Devi says she will not stop.Near the Dang-Rolpa border, Yam Bahadur Gharti and his young son Purna Bahadur work in the districts’ coal mines, deep in the belly of the scraggly hills. Father and son have taken a break for lunch, and talk about families back home who depend on their earnings.In Surkhet, a clan of Raute nomads prepare to pack up their settlement and move on to the next in Surkhet. Their timeless method of Swidden farming is now <a href="https://nt.exposure.co/last-but-not-least" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">threatened</a> by roads and monetised markets.In Marpha of Mustang district, village elders are alone in the village below Dhaulagiri with their livestock and dogs. Everyone else has moved down to Kathmandu or Pokhara to escape the harsh winter.These recent programs on Herne Katha unite Nepalis by showing us the lives of other Nepalis, providing hope and optimism at a time when most have little of both. The series that began airing in 2018 is created by ex-BBC journalists Bidhya Chapagain and Kamal Kumar who are constantly on the road to the remotest corners of Nepal to profile ordinary Nepalis living extraordinary lives.Kumar and Chapagain met in 2003 when they took up a job at the same radio station. Kumar had come to Kathmandu after high school and enrolled in a journalism program, having, as he puts it, fallen into journalism. Chapagain had also always wanted to be a journalist. As their careers progressed, their paths would constantly cross.“In those early days, our work almost exclusively involved going to the Reporters Club and waiting around for the politician of the day to give their speech,” recalls Kumar.Chapagain nods, adding: “Or we would have to go to hotels to cover workshops and conferences.”They are seated, Chapagain on the floor and Kumar on a beanbag chair, and complete each other’s sentences with the ease of two people who have been colleagues for a long time.In locked-down Lalitpur, their office is quiet but for the sporadic rain outside and the occasional click of the mouse as the editor, Sandesh Pariyar, works in the other room on an upcoming project.Kumar and Chapagain both worked for BBC Media Action’s debate program Sajha Sawal as producers. Chapagain would eventually become the presenter of the popular show, a role that propelled her to celebrityhood.Yet even as their careers flourished, professional discontent had begun to creep in. The structure of the show, the Kathmandu-centred happenings, and interviewing politicians had become tiresome.The two got along and worked well together, and at tea break would talk about doing something different, something more fulfilling. When they quit the BBC they were still not sure about the next stage in their careers, and the only thing they knew for sure was that they wanted to keep working on video.Without equipment, they rented a small room as an office and started to brainstorm. Says Chapagain, “We got out of our comfort zone and took a risk. It was fearful and exciting at the same time.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121144/636b932f9c7e80680e06f18fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1920" height="1080"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>It was not until they were working on their documentary Marisakeko Manchhe, which won the Nepal Panorama Best Documentary at the Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival, that they realised what kind of stories they wanted to tell. Herne Katha was born and uploaded its first video three years ago about young female Muslim students in Kapilvastu.“We had hoped for at least 20,000 views, but we got almost 50,000 in two days,” Chapagain remembers.Getting out of a structured media environment allowed the two to be more flexible and experimental. It also made them accountable for their own content, says Kumar.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121144/636b93339c7e80680e06f190jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448">Editor Sandesh Pariyar joins in the conversation, and says it is the power of the story that is most important. And it has to be told with a minimalist approach in editing and camerawork, so that there are no distractions from the story being told.Pariyar is a visual editor, and relatively new to the team. He says about his previous job, “I used to sit in the editing room and I could predict exactly what a politician would say and when even before I saw the clips. That is why I quit.”Three years on, things are changing, and the storytellers agree it is largely due to the increasing reach of YouTube, with 60% of Nepalis surveyed saying they use the platform.  Almost 70% of the Herne Katha viewership is in the 18-35 age group and the program is very popular in the Nepali diaspora.“Once, in a remote village in Achham, a young man asked if I was from Herne Katha,” says Chapagain, who says the views on YouTube and being frequently on the trending list proves that their program is spreading a powerful positive message.“Some of our best stories have come from the audiences themselves,” Chapagain says. One such program was Mayako Katha, about a family in Kupondole which takes care of 17 pets and other street dogs in its automobile workshop.Chapagain and Kumar say they are not activists, they believe they are doing the kind of ethical journalism they learnt about in college, keeping true to their own personal values.The program gets loads of feedback. Young people reach out to say the programs have made them understand their own country better. Teachers show Herne Katha videos to students in class.“Most people in the cities who interact within their circle of people on the echo chamber that is Twitter have not seen the country. On the other hand, a larger part of the country is unconcerned with the discourse on those platforms. They have their own struggles,” says Kumar, of the characters in their videos.Chapagain agrees that the mainstream media is also recognising the importance of grassroots storytelling, and that politics is not the only story.“Stories do not need to be issues at all, it could just be people going about their daily lives,” she says “And it is good to see evidence that the lives of ordinary Nepalis are worthy of being on the front pages.”

Shristi Karki

The extraordinary lives of ordinary Nepalis

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>

herne-katha

Journalism is all about storytelling (and money)

The extraordinary lives of ordinary Nepalis

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

The Himalaya is not fragile

My father’s son

The war between people