<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a458e9c7e80680e04d38fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="848"/><figcaption>WIDE HORIZON: The main summit of Chandragiri as seen from the east peak, with the Annapurnas and Mt Himalchuli visible in the background through the haze. All Photos: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>It may come as a surprise to many that trekking in Nepal does not always have to be <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/more-trekkers-more-trees/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Everest Base Camp</a> or the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-abcs-of-a-winter-trek-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Annapurna Circuit. </a>The mountains that ring Kathmandu Valley offer some exhilarating walks with stunning views. They range from leisurely weekend strolls and day hikes to strenuous ridge treks that can last several days. The really adventurous can circumnavigate the Valley rim with three-four nights of camping along the way.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S59mDYEz2ns&amp;feature=youtu.beFor beginners, a good place to start is the Chandragiri-Hatiban hike. It is a good idea to take the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/connecting-chandragiri-by-cable-car,3327" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chandragiri Cable Car</a> up to the summit at 2,579m and walk the 10km ridge trail to Hatiban. This obviates the need for a steep hard climb at the beginning of the trek, while offering a five-hour hike along the long ridge that spans Kathmandu Valley’s southwestern edge.The trip begins with a 12-minute cable car ride that takes off from Thankot base station, and generally follows the ancient trade route between India and Kathmandu. The trail is still visible in places, but most of it has been ruined by a new motorable road with multiple hairpin bends that climbs up the impossibly steep flanks to Chitlang Pass.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45929c7e80680e04d390jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="969"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45949c7e80680e04d391jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1125" height="1500">This was how kings, soldiers, traders and students, used to go in and out of Kathmandu before the first motorable road to the capital, the Tribhuvan Highway, was built in 1957. The Bhimphedi-Kulekhani-Chitlang-Thankot trail along which the Ranas had their first automobiles porter-carried up and down the steep trails is now only a distant memory.An adjacent pass still has relics of Nepal’s first cargo ropeway, built by British engineers brought in by Chandra Shumshere Rana in 1922. Later, the Americans helped build the 42km Hetauda-Thankot ropeway in 1964, to ferry essential items to Kathmandu from the plains. The rusted hulks of both ropeway towers stand like silent sentinels to history. Visible on a far ridge, the red gondolas of the modern cable car can be seen going up and down from Chandragiri.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45979c7e80680e04d392jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1333">The cable car company also runs Chandragiri Resorts (see box below), which has been partially opened, and can serve as an overnight base camp for the hike. Located on a spur, the resort offers a panoramic view of the city below and a sweeping 300km of horizon from the Annapurnas to Mt Everest.The cable car terminal at the summit also has historical significance because this is where Nepal’s founder, <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Respect-Prithvi-Narayan-Shah,3481" target="_blank" rel="noopener">King Prithvi Narayan Shah</a>, stood in 1767 to look down at the kingdoms of Kathmandu Valley that he would soon conquer. The resort has put up a bronze statue of the king with one of his famous exhortations written across the base: ‘Let’s thrash those who take bribes.’It is a good idea to take the first cable car from Thankot when it opens at 8AM and start walking from the summit terminal. Alternatively, you can take the cable car up the previous afternoon, spend the night at the resort, and get an early start after breakfast.The trail descends along the ridge down to the first of four passes that it traverses during the hike. There is now a motorable road from Mata Tirtha to Phakhel that follows the ropeway routes.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a459a9c7e80680e04d393jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="788"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a459d9c7e80680e04d394jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="786">From here, there is a pleasant 45-minute climb through meadows and along thick forest paths to a tea shop that also offers tented camping for the night. The owner has just completed a 10+2 in hospitality studies and has thoughtfully put up signs along the trail so hikers do not get lost.The path then follows a steep ridgeline through forest and bush until you intercept stone steps that line the trail right up to our destination on the other side of the mountain. The next stop is on the buffalo-grazing meadow below the east summit of Chandragiri (2,500m) which is prominently visible from Kathmandu whenever it snows. From up there, the city looks a long away down, and the view of Langtang, Dorje Lakpa and up to Gauri Shankhar is awe-inspiring.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45a09c7e80680e04d395jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125">Descending along the stone steps can be excruciating on the knees, so it is advisable to take along a walking stick. The third pass now has a motorable road from the Pharping side, which has not yet connected to the trail descending to Machhegaun.The trail then climbs again to reach the long ridge to the summit of Champadevi, and then down the other side. Another hour of descending steps and we are in the pine forests near Hatiban, festooned with prayer flags.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45a39c7e80680e04d396jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45a69c7e80680e04d397jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125">Pharping is a holy site because it is one of the places in Nepal where Guru Rimpoche is supposed to have meditated, which explains why so many monasteries are located here.Hatiban is ideally situated for a belated lunch and refreshments before taking a jeep back down to the city.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/nepals-grand-trek-road/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> Nepal’s Grand Trek Road</a>, Kunda Dixit<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2010/09/25/the-great-himalayan-trail/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Great Himalayan Trail,</a> Kunda Dixit<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45a99c7e80680e04d398jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1125" height="1500"><h2>The hotel on the hill</h2>When Hem Raj Dhakal was working in Malaysia, he used to travel to Genting Highlands on weekends, and often wondered why there were no resorts like that in Nepal where the scenery is even more dramatic.On trips back home, he walked among the peaks and ridges on the Valley rim from Lakuri Bhanjyang to Sitapila looking for a site for a future resort. Eventually Dhakal found the perfect spot  — on the highest point on Chandragiri ridge, at 2,500m.<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/business/ropeways-connecting-nepal,1749" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Chandragiri Cable Car</a> opened in 2017, and an adjoining five-star resort was planned on a ridge below the summit.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45ac9c7e80680e04d399jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050">“As soon as I got to the top, I knew this was what we were looking for. The view of Kathmandu below and the panorama of mountains to the north was unparalleled,” Dhakal recalls.The summit also had historical significance since it was the place from where Prithvi Narayan Shah gazed down at the Nepa Valley 260 years ago and felt the urge to conquer it. The cable car got built, but the earthquake and subsequent upheavals delayed the hotel project.Although behind schedule, Chandragiri Hills Resort has had a soft opening, and even though only two of the four buildings are in operation it is already getting guests eager to get above overcrowded Kathmandu’s pollution.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45af9c7e80680e04d39ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050">The resort’s target group is Nepali tourists who take the cable car up and want to spend a weekend to unwind, Kathmandu-based expats and — when the facilities are completed — conferences and destination weddings.“Just imagine flying to Kathmandu and taking the cable car up here when it is 46 degrees in New Delhi,” says Abhishek Bikram Shah, “or guests from the Gulf who want to know what a monsoon in the Himalaya feels like.”Indeed, Chandragiri’s stunning location amidst lush, forest-covered mountains teeming with birdlife means that even if the mountains are not visible, it is a nature retreat that allows guests to recharge their batteries.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813114/636a45b39c7e80680e04d39bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125">The buildings are named after the mountains visible from the hotel: Ganesh Himal, Gauri Shankhar, Manaslu and Sagarmatha. All rooms have private balconies that offer views of either the western Himalaya or the mountains to the east. In addition, the rooms also have views of either the city below or the surrounding forests, or both.The hotel can also serve as an excellent overnight stop for hikers who come up on the cable car and want to cross over to Chitlang and Kulekhani, or are doing the scenic ridgewalk to Hatiban (see main article). Since the hikes are along heavily-forested trails, the region is also a paradise for bird-watchers.Hotel Manager Shyam Tandukar says this is the most exciting property he has looked after: “We have a health centre and spa, but even if you just want to be with nature amidst the forests and mountains, this place has healing properties.”

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A walk back in time: Chandragiri-Hatiban

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45549c7e80680e04d37cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4032" height="3024"/><figcaption>Photo: Pooja Rijal</figcaption></figure>Until she was 48, Eka Kumari Karki had never travelled alone. Then she heard of a unique project that is trying to encourage and empower women by giving them travel grants.Karki got her daughter to fill out the application form for Solo Woman Travel Challenge (Swo-Yatra), and was selected from among 500 aspirants. Last year, the Solukhumbu resident completed a two-week tour of the eastern-most districts of Nepal on her own.“Women don’t go out so easily in our society. So if older women like me can do this, it will encourage younger ones to travel and become more confident,” says Karki.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/beat-the-crowd-to-khayer-lake/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Holy waters</a>, Sewa Bhattarai and Sikuma Rai<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45589c7e80680e04d37djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2208" height="1043"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The challenge was set up by Nepali Travellers in 2015 and has so far helped 42 women like Karki tour different parts of the country. Applicants have chosen a variety of destinations, from popular treks like the Annapurna Circuit to more adventurous destinations like Dolpo and Upper Mustang.“There are many ways to empower women, whether through protests or changes in the education system and laws. But since we are travellers ourselves, we thought travelling would be the best way to go about it,” explains Pemba Sherpa, co-founder of Nepali Travellers. “Travel has no bias, has no other agenda, and through it you learn and grow.”The idea was born at the spur of the moment four years ago during protests against an acid attack. Sherpa says the challenge is not just about feminism: “Travel can be adapted to anything. If writers travel maybe they will write poetry, if a woman travels it becomes a woman’s movement.”But in its first year, the challenge was far from a movement. Nepali Travellers put out a call on social media, and selected only one woman as an experiment, giving her Rs30,000 to embark on a trip to western Nepal.Things are better organised now. A call goes out for applications, those selected upload photos to Facebook for voting. Last year, there were 500 applicants and those who got more than 1,000 online votes had to appear for an interview. An average of 12 women are selected every year, based on their itineraries and level of preparation.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/go-take-a-hike/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Go take a hike</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a455b9c7e80680e04d37ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a455e9c7e80680e04d37fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“We get a lot of applications for popular treks, but now we are trying to prioritise more unique destinations. Maybe those who want to do cultural exploration, or go somewhere where there are no trails at all,” says Shristi Shrestha who administers the challenge.After being selected, the women are given training and resources. “They helped me refine my itinerary and book hotels and lodges every day so that I was not stranded. We were also given safety, self-defence and wilderness training, which was very helpful,” says Anugya Pradhan, 20, who explored remote Nar Phu village in Manang and on to Tilicho in 2017.Participants agree the solo travelling has helped them in later trips and inspired confidence. In fact, it is also the other way around: people along the way were initially surprised to see women travelling alone, but eventually supported them.“In the end, it’s about the freedom you feel and the challenges you conquer, and your confidence in making decisions for yourself. It’s also a way to prove that women can do it. I found out that it’s not as challenging as society makes it out to be, so why should we deny ourselves the opportunity to travel?” says Pooja Rijal, 23, who walked for more than a month to Everest Base Camp from her home in Bhaktapur last year.Nepali Travellers hopes that the Swo-Yatra (‘self-travel’ in Nepali) initiative will encourage more people to travel. Says Pemba Sherpa: “In Nepal, we are ignored by the hospitality industry, while abroad we have visa and passport issues. We want to take steps towards changing those perceptions and establish Nepalis as travellers worldwide.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/nepals-grand-trek-road/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's grand trek road</a>, Kunda Dixit<h2>Pooja Rijal, 23</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45619c7e80680e04d380jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853">Destination: Everest Base Camp, on foot from KathmanduBest memories of travel: When I was hungry, tired and resting at a roadside, an old man climbed up a guava tree, plucked some guavas and gave them to me. So many people invited me home and hosted me along the way because they were surprised to see a lone Nepali woman trekking.Worst memories of travel: I realised too late that I did not take crampons with me. I was lucky to borrow some, otherwise I would have fallen on the ice.Thoughts on solo travel: You learn to make your own decisions, so you should go. But also remember that it’s not going to be easy, so do your research before you leave.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45659c7e80680e04d381jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4032" height="3024"><h2>Anugya Pradhan, 20</h2>Destination: Nar Phu Valley and TilichoBest memories of travel: City life is always rushed, but outside of Kathmandu it is different, going on at its own pace. You feel light, it is a chance to get away from duties and responsibilities and also to inspire others to take on challenges.Worst memories of travel: As a solo traveler, it is often difficult to get beds and rooms, which are designed for couples and groups, especially in peak season when it’s crowded.Thoughts on solo travel: You learn to figure out who to talk to and who not to. Also, you get to meet a lot of people you would never meet in daily life, so that broadens your perspective.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45699c7e80680e04d382jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="731"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a456b9c7e80680e04d383jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="720"><h2>Eka Kumari Karki, 49</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a456e9c7e80680e04d384jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="711">Destination: Eastern NepalBest memories of travel: I saw the tea gardens of Ilam and the Dhaka-weaving industries of Panchthar. I found out the distinct identity of each district in eastern Nepal. I set out during the 16-day campaign against violence against women in December, and covered almost 16 districts.Worst memories of travel: Some people assumed I was travelling alone because I did not have good relations with my family. People still are not used to the idea of women traveling alone.Thoughts on solo travel: Everyone should travel, and women should be more confident about doing it on their own. Women aged 20-30 are at the right age to take off on their own.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813110/636a45719c7e80680e04d385jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="720">Read also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Get-off-the-beaten-trek-Nepal,4035" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Get off the beaten trek</a>, Sian Pritchard-Jones and Bob Gibbons

Wider world for women

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

A new normal

This is the 75th 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. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.

Things eventually work out

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

In a democracy, governments come and go. But Nepal had become so entangled in the triangular affair between Sher Bahadur Deuba, K P Oli and Pushpa Kamal Dahal that it was becoming impossible to tell who was canoodling with whom.&nbsp;
All three had long since abandoned their party ideologies. Staying in power was all that mattered as they turned Nepal’s democracy into a kleptocracy.&nbsp;
For the past at least 20 years, we have warned them to mend their ways. Democracy had to be rescued from the hands of such kakistocrats. Waiting to pounce were monarchists and anarchists of every ilk, outcast Maoists, and supporters of a leader jailed for fraud. Tycoon Durga Prasai said his rally in March was to restore a Hindu monarchy, but he was just a temporary royalist whom even the ex-king spurned.&nbsp;
All this converged into a perfect storm on 8 September. Commandos shot and killed 19 innocent young people outside Parliament, the anger boiled over into targetted arson and vandalism the next day. The government fell, and Sushila Karki was elected interim prime minister through Discord.&nbsp;
With not just their monopoly on power but also their very lives in danger, the triumvirate was at first in total shock. Then came conspiracy theories and an inability to gauge the rage from decades of misrule.
Nepalis had assumed that after September the old parties would see their folly, and step down to hand over the leadership to a new generation. But 10 weeks later, there is no sign of any act of contrition.
In the NC, Sher Bahadur Deuba has sidelined the caretaker he himself appointed, Purna Bahadur Khadka, and is active again as the party prepares for a showdown in its Convention next month. The UML is proceeding with its own General Convention, where Oli is fully assured of a third term as party boss. Dahal sees no alternative to himself in his newly-forged Nepali Communist Party and is eagerly eyeing becoming prime minister for the fourth time.&nbsp;
The three leaders who everyone had hoped would finally retire have reincarnated. It is obscene for obsolete politicians to still hanker for power after all that has happened.&nbsp;
SHOCK AND AWE
The three leaders who have been prime minister a dozen times between themselves want to cling on, but this is not abnormal if we apply <a href="https://www.bbc.com/audio/play/w3cszmjz" target="_blank">Elisabeth Kübler-Ross</a>’ theory of the five stages of grief. The author of <a href="https://www.google.com.np/books/edition/On_Death_and_Dying/GlSq0AEACAAJ?hl=en" target="_blank">On Death and Dying</a> was analysing how people with terminal illness deal with their situation, but her 5-stage theory may be applicable to the way heads of the NC, UML and NCP are reacting to the shock of being overthrown — first with denial, then anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.&nbsp;
On 9 September, distressed by what had befallen them, the three were in total denial. Then began the stage of anger. Oli ranted in public about a conspiracy to install an ‘unconstitutional’ interim government, blaming the Nepal Army, and vowing not to take part in election even while preparing for it.
The NC has decided to participate in elections, although it has to first sort out its internal power struggle. The NCP and the RSP have united with smaller parties and are actively preparing to campaign. GenZ groups are speaking in different voices, with Sudan Gurung and Miraj Dhungana openly trying to unseat an interim government they themselves installed.&nbsp;
The parties are now in the third stage: bargaining. Instead of asking himself in hindsight what he should have done, Oli wants Parliament restored but has also registered his party for elections. The UML won't allow elections unless the government lifts restrictions on Oli’s movement.
Likewise, GenZ groups are putting up conditions for supporting polls: arrest Oli and others. Karki is single-mindedly focussed on elections, even if it has to be put off by two months. The Army would also like polls on time because it does not want a repeat of September when it had to intervene to form the interim government.
If Karki’s 6-month mandate ends without elections, and if by then the GenZ’s trust in the interim government collapses, then UML and NC could plan to press for an all-party election government, restoration of Parliament which would then dissolve itself to appoint a new prime minister that Karki would also be agreeable to.
The current state of affairs makes it difficult to imagine elections being held on 5 March — mainly because polls would be incomplete without the three main parties taking part, and it is unlikely they would participate in polls that they are certain to lose since they have not reformed themselves. Amidst these ifs and buts, the role of the Army will be critical.&nbsp;
The fourth stage of grief is depression, and that is what will happen to the parties when the reality of their unpopularity finally hits them. Only then will they finally accept their fate, realise that it was all their own doing, and perhaps reinvent themselves.
Kübler-Ross said the five stages did not necessarily have to be in that order, or that sometimes there may only be three phases, which may be applicable to the parties. What is for sure is that the three leaders are in no mood to atone for their sins.
Rabin Giri is an editor with <a href="http://nepalnews.com/" target="_blank">nepalnews.com</a>.&nbsp;

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Things eventually work out

My father’s son

Stages of denial