Amber Tamang leads his group of trekkers through Lumsa village, past traditional houses with sturdy stone walls and hemlock tile roofs. He stops on the trail to point out his childhood home.&nbsp; He is taking the team to Pikey Peak (4,065 m), the ideal lookout from where on clear days eight eight-thousander peaks from Annapurna to Kangchenjunga, including Everest, are visible. Tamang, founder of the Three Jewels Adventures agency, takes his clients to lesser-known trails as part of his Lower Everest trekking route, on the way up to Pikey.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251211111236_baf0c06386d4fee07a2105020459033e959e30c269e6ece7338f4b28c0a44ba8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251211111236_baf0c06386d4fee07a2105020459033e959e30c269e6ece7338f4b28c0a44ba8" data-rendition-name="original" width="815" height="808" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey Peak Lumsa Trail"> </figure>  Trekkers usually do not take the Lumsa route because the quaint villages do not present as much excitement as the scenic panorama of mountains.&nbsp; But hiking through the bucolic countryside provides insight into the community’s deep Lamaist faith reflected in the chorten, mani walls, sacred inscriptions on stones, prayer flags on houses, the festivals and in the way the villagers interact with one another.&nbsp; “I wish more people would soak in the villages and their culture on their trek, rather than just wanting mountain views,” says Tamang.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251214091212_862b5098bec366ac32bde26b95a126889a5a1cf9b20eb8c7f09c1025fe293d72.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251214091212_862b5098bec366ac32bde26b95a126889a5a1cf9b20eb8c7f09c1025fe293d72" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="680" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey trek via Lumsa in winter NT 1"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251214091212_321cea9eab93e109efc09f45d1de9086b4626f84f77a9b2e4ae52b9fd4777be5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251214091212_321cea9eab93e109efc09f45d1de9086b4626f84f77a9b2e4ae52b9fd4777be5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey trek via Lumsa in winter NT 1"> </figure>  Jangbu Sherpa owns the Lama Hotel in Lumsa, one of just two accommodations in the village. There is no signage along the trail advertising his business, and guests are still few and far between. So in the evenings, he calls his neighbours over to his lodge for some beer, conversation, and dancing. And on special occasions, a group welcomes guests with a traditional Syabru dance.&nbsp; “I’m working on expanding this little lodge,” he says with a smile. “Lumsa could become a buzzing stop on the trekking route.” Jangbu’s son Nima is a porter-guide, and is preparing to take a group of trekkers to Pikey Peak and the Thupten Chholing Monastery above Junbesi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251214091216_2fea6bc873eed2de1ddf4d129a771bcefcb0e67c3526838b718b7f409b01c4d5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251214091216_2fea6bc873eed2de1ddf4d129a771bcefcb0e67c3526838b718b7f409b01c4d5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey trek via Lumsa in winter NT 1"> </figure>  There is a downhill bicycle route from Pikey, and lucky trekkers might even spot red pandas on the forest canopy. “I saw a red panda with my own eyes once,” interjects Pemba Tamang, a veteran guide, from across the room. He begins listing other wildlife he has encountered enroute to Pikey — danphe pheasants, their wings resplendent in the sun, ghoral blue sheep jumping nimbly on rock cliffs, a lumbering black bear, and once, memorably, a leopard.&nbsp; Amber Tamang, Nima Sherpa, and Pemba Sherpa are among the men in Lumsa who are most often away from home, leading trekking and mountaineering expeditions. Some from the village have summited Everest multiple times. To get to Pikey Peak, drive up the BP highway to Dhap, with Numbur and Karyolung towering up the valley to the north.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251214091216_2fea6bc873eed2de1ddf4d129a771bcefcb0e67c3526838b718b7f409b01c4d5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251214091216_2fea6bc873eed2de1ddf4d129a771bcefcb0e67c3526838b718b7f409b01c4d5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey trek via Lumsa in winter NT 1"> </figure>  Up in Pikey Base Camp at 3,700m is the Tunga Baje Lodge, now operated by his son Pasang Lhamu Sherpa. If they are lucky, guests will catch baje in a performance, singing and strumming his tunga.&nbsp; The trek can be made a circuit— hikers do not have to come down the same way they went up. Winter is not the best time for a Pikey hike, but the views of the mountains, especially after snowfall, are dazzling. It is best to go in early spring when forests are ablaze with rhododendron. The region is home to 32 different types of the flower.&nbsp; Says Pasang Lhamu: “Tourism is picking up, but it is tough to keep things running. I hope for stability &nbsp;so we can invest in the lodge.”&nbsp;

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Going offtrek in Solu

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

The autumn mountaineering season is not over yet, and already there have been 12 fatalities on Himalayan peaks in Nepal.
Of the 1,450 climbing permits issued, 436 were for Mt Ama Dablam (6,812m), 374 for Mt Manaslu (8,163m) and 186 for Himlung Himal (7,126m). There were deaths on all three mountains.
The death of two French climbers on Ama Dablam happened before unseasonal blizzards hit the mountains. But Cyclone Montha from the Bay of Bengal brought on high winds and up to 1m of snow in the peak trekking and mountaineering season.
This increased avalanche conditions, and made helicopter evacuation of stranded and injured climbers difficult. Lower down the mountains, more than 1,000 trekkers from Nepal and around the world were stuck in the Annapurnas, Manaslu circuit and the Khumbu.
However, there have also been allegations that it was not just the weather that delayed rescues. Multiple levels of bureaucracy and the need for flight permits to restricted areas like Manang and Manaslu critically delayed evacuation flights.
Italian climbers Farronato Stefano and Caputo Alessandro were found dead in their tent at Panbari Himal Camp I (6,887m) in the Manaslu area. They had been trapped by heavy snowfall since 28 October, and their bodies were found on 4 November by a team from the expedition organisers, Sherpa Alpine Trekking Service. The team was made up of high level mountain guides and expedition leader Valter Perlino.
The team had been climbing to Camp 3 but decided to descend to base camp because of thrombosis in Perlino’s left foot. The two climbers who would eventually get trapped decided to break at Camp I, a decision that would prove fatal after the projected six-day snowfall arrived two days early.
“They were sleeping in a tent and were buried under 2.5 metres of compacted snow. It happened during the night between Thursday and Friday. While they were sleeping, absurd,” said Perlino.
A deadly incident took place the morning of 3 November, when five foreigners and two Nepalis died in an avalanche on Yalung Ri at 5,630m in the Rolwaling. They were part of a larger group of 15 that were acclimatising for an attempt on the nearby Dolma Khang (6,332m).
Local authorities in Gauri Shankar Conservation Area say calls were immediately made to helicopter companies as well as various ministries in Kathmandu that have to issue permits to fly to the region bordering China.
But the permits for rescue flights to Rolwaling Valley were delayed by eight hours. Rescue flights in these areas require permission from the Ministry of Tourism, the Ministry of Defence, the Home Ministry, and the Civil Aviation Authority of Nepal (CAAN).
Experts say this should be exempted in times of emergency when time is of the essence. CAAN spokesperson Pratap Babu Tiwari claimed to not know of the avalanche on Yalung Ri and deflected questions to the permission department.&nbsp;
There was a similar tragedy on Himlung Himal in Manang as well. Australian Chin-Tark Chan, 49, was climbing with 8K Expeditions and fell ill on 27 October at about 6,800m, developing snow blindness and loss of mobility. The guides immediately called the US insurance company Global Rescue for authorisation of a longline rescue.
Global Rescue refused, saying a rescue at that height would violate Nepal’s aviation rules and put the pilot at unacceptable risk. They asked the guides to transport Chan to Camp 3 at 6,400m to a permitted altitude. Seeing it was a life-or-death situation for its client, 8K called in an aerial rescue anyway, but the helicopter could not land due to bad weather. Chan died slightly below Camp 3 on 29 October.
Global Rescue said in a statement that it was ready to send in a helicopter after Chan had been transported to Camp 3, but several hours were lost for that attempt, and the weather did not get better in the next few days.
To underscore just how dangerous helicopter rescues in the Himalaya can be in bad weather, a chopper from Altitude Air skidded off the helipad at Lobuche below Mt Everest while trying to rescue trekkers in whiteout conditions.&nbsp;
CAAN announced a ban on flights during blizzards or dense fog. While rescue missions are often heroic and courageous, they should not be foolhardy if conditions are unsafe and the risk to pilots and rescuers too high. This autumn was a lesson for future expeditions and for the Nepal government.&nbsp;
The Italian duo on Panbari were caught out by snow that arrived two days ahead of schedule, but the group on Yalung Ri should have postponed their ascent after multiple warnings from the Department of Hydrology and Meteorology to avoid high altitudes.

Vishad Raj Onta

Deadly autumn in Himalayan climbing

Edmund Hillary once said that the Sherpa were the most researched, dissected and blood-taken ethnic group in the world. Living below the highest mountains in the world, the trans-Himalayan traders were genetically adapted to high altitude, their culture spanning both sides of the border, and with average per capita income of the Khumbu five times that of the rest of Nepal. But there are other less-known Sherpas in Nepal’s periphery: in the Langtang, Barun and Rolwaling valleys.&nbsp; Norwegian mountaineer Jon Gangdal’s latest book, Guilt &amp; Glory: Climbing with Sherpas is about his deep personal and four-decade long association with his climbing partners from Rolwaling. Guilt &amp; Glory reads more like Gangdal’s memoir and the mountains he has climbed, but it is also a tribute to the selfless friendship with fellow climbers from Nepal. It also exposes the inherently asymmetric relationship between expeditions and their employees in the Himalaya. Earlier mountaineering narratives overlooked the role of Nepal’s climbing guides in putting their clients on summits. But in recent years there has been increasing recognition that most expeditions would just not be possible without them. SUMMIT SUPPORT And that is where Gangdal’s book fits in: between the glory of a successful summit and guilt about not giving due credit to the sacrifice and professionalism of a people whose surname and ethnicity is now a synonym for support staff of G-7 Summits. After failure and tragedy on a 1994 expedition on Everest West Ridge in which his climbing partner Mingma Norbu was killed in an avalanche, Gangdal is tormented by guilt and supports his widow Ang Sona and her family. ‘The Art of Succeeding When You Have Failed’ was the title of his lecture series in which Gangdal became an outspoken critic of military-style assaults on Himalayan peaks, and self-seeking climbers on them. In a comment he wrote for <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/everest-dangerous-place-to-work,1316" target="_blank">Nepali Times in #704 in 2014 </a>after an avalanche killed 16 Nepali guides on the Khumbu Icefall, he argued that equality and safety of climbing Sherpas could only happen ‘if we turn the whole Everest pyramid upside down’. He wrote: ‘We can feel nothing but grief and pain with the families of the brave boys who gave their lives for … for what? For the glory of their nation, like at war? For the glory of their attention-seeking sahibs who have had the highest mountains in the world as their playground for more than a century? Or for what we all have to do: our daily duty to feed ourselves and our families.’ Guilt &amp; Glory expands on that theme, weaving in his climbing adventures. He realises that the egalitarian Norwegian approach in decision-making does not work in the East’ where the prevalent notion is that a leader should lead. Gangdal notes that with a few tweaks, the twain of East and West can indeed meet. In 1996 on the north face of Everest while a major tragedy was unfolding on the Nepal side, Gangdal tries to ‘play Sherpa’ hauling twice the load of his Sherpa companions and is knocked out with exhaustion and has to abandon the climb. Climbers have often justified not helping fellow climbers in distress in the Death Zone saying that ethics at sea level do not apply at eight thousand metres high on a mountain. But Gangdal quotes expedition doctor Morten Rostrup: ‘When you pass climbers who are sick or in danger on the way to the summit, you should always do something … continuing to the summit shows a lack of humanity.’ Foreign climbers are on top of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, and in a monastery below Manaslu, Gangdal once held a long one-sided discussion with the abbott on why people’s basic needs need to be met before higher aspirations can be pursued. The asymmetry in the relation between sahibs and porters is less glaring than it used to be. Many mountaineers have struck life-long friendships with bonds with their employees and their families in Nepal. And, as Gangdal writes, ‘Education … has helped reduce the asymmetry between the Sherpa people and us foreign climbers.’ Unlike other books about Himalayan mountaineering &nbsp;this one focuses on the Rolwaling, the less visited and wilder valley in the shadow of Gauri Shankar, and protected by the goddess Tseringma.&nbsp; Noted Rolwaling Sherpas include Chhiring Dorje who made the heroic rescue on K2 in 2008, Dawa Yangzum, the first Nepali woman to summit all 14 eight-thousanders, Tamting Sherpa who has also climbed all 8,000m peaks, TGemba Tsheri who became the youngest person to climb Everst at age 16 in 2001. <a href="https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/power-of-the-periphery/deep-ecologists/75228182BC490F8AC31C8E4C8335F435" target="_blank">Rolwaling also has a strong Norwegian connection</a>, it is where <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2009/jan/15/obituary-arne-naess" target="_blank">Arne Næss</a> who coined the term ‘deep ecology’, and mountaineer and eco-philosopher <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/norway-nepal-a-love-story" target="_blank">Sigmund Kvaløy</a> did their research and exploration in 1971.&nbsp; There is one interesting tidbit with contemporary non-mountaineering relevance from Guilt &amp; Glory: Næss and Kvaløy’s Rowaling research was bankrolled by Arne’s brother Erling Dekke Næss, a Norwegian shipping magnate. But Rolwaling was a restricted area in those days because of Khampa activity, and the Norwegians approached Prince Gyanendra who granted them permission in return for setting up the Royal Nepal Shipping Corporation. Gyanendra became chair of that controversial company and Erling Næss was adviser. Guilt &amp; Glory is not just about mountaineering, and is sprinkled with anecdotes and encounters with everything from Maoists to yetis. It is written with compassion and a deep respect for Nepal and its people.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251017111028_3fd1da00a1362a6c3f07807ec55b9e5d9163c11fb759aa09530a5ea486751d24.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251017111028_3fd1da00a1362a6c3f07807ec55b9e5d9163c11fb759aa09530a5ea486751d24" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Guilt &amp; Glory book"> </figure>

Kunda Dixit

West meets East in the Himalaya

· &nbsp;At least 400 people are dead or missing after heavy rainfall lashed arid regions of northwestern Pakistan. Walls of mud and boulders engulfed entire villages in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Province. More than 700 people have been killed in floods in Pakistan since June.&nbsp; · &nbsp;Over in India’s Jammu and Kashmir at the same time, multiple slurry floods on 17-18 August killed more than 80 people · A mudslide possibly caused by a glacial collapse upstream in Uttarakhand on 5 August nearly wiped the village of Dharali off the map. At least 70 people, 23 of them Nepalis are dead or missing. · On the night of 8 July, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/rasuwa-flood-likely-a-glof">glacial lakes in Tibet overflowed</a>. By dawn the mudflow had demolished the Nepal-China border bridge killing at least 11 people, destroyed hydropower plants, swept away bridges, roads, over 100 cargo trucks and newly imported electric vehicles. All these disasters have a common thread: a cascade of hazards caused by record-breaking rainfall on fragile Himalayan slopes destabilised by melting glaciers and permafrost, seismicity and poorly engineered infrastructure. They are called ‘rain bombs’ — a heavy localised downpour measuring more than 100mm/h on a steep mountainside. As global warming heats the atmosphere, warmer air can hold more water vapour. The heavy rain then falls where there should be snowfall: on moraines and slopes that have lost the permafrost adhesive that held the debris together. “Increasingly, there is now more rainfall at higher altitudes where there used to be snowfall previously, and this directly impacts loose material in that fragile landscape which moves down,” explains Mohan B Chand, a Himalayan Glaciologist at Kathmandu University. “Moreover, the rains these days are heavy and fall within a few hours. So even a small burst has bigger impact.” The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/drones-to-the-rescue-in-melamchi">2021 Melamchi flood</a> and the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/sikkim-flood-is-warning-to-nepal">Sikkim disaster in 2023</a> have been attributed to record-breaking torrential rain on a glacial moraine that collapsed, unleashing a catastrophic debris flow.&nbsp; The Bhote Kosi flood this year happened even without torrential rain, and originated at rapidly expanding supraglacial lakes that overflowed, similar to what happened on the Mendenhall Galcier in Alaska last week. In Uttarakhand, the trigger could be in the upper catchment cryosphere, or a landslide dammed lake. Basanta Raj Adhikari of the Centre for Disaster Studies at the Institute of Engineering also calls them ‘sediment bombs’. He clarifies: “There is lots of sediment up there from landslides or glacial activity, and when there is heavy rainfall and hotter temperature, they are unleashed downstream. One thing is for sure, these extreme events are getting more frequent and more destructive.” Researcher Alton C Byers who has studied melting glaciers in the Himalaya and Andes names the eight most potentially dangerous glacial lakes in Nepal: Lower Barun, Chamlang North Tso, Chamlang South Tso, Dig Tso which burst in 1984, Lumding Tso, Thulagi, Tso Rolpa and Imja Tso (see map).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250822030844_70b3bf6a1ad9b9f9481c9af860629b2a05ac1338a3b89a831506f1c6bdddf5ec.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250822030844_70b3bf6a1ad9b9f9481c9af860629b2a05ac1338a3b89a831506f1c6bdddf5ec" data-rendition-name="original" width="522" height="557" loading="lazy" alt="high risk glacial lakes in Nepal"> </figure>  Of these, Tso Rolpa and Imja have been lowered by 3m each, while Thulagi, Lower Barun, Lumding Tsho, and Hongu 2 glacial lakes have been targeted for lowering by the Department of Hydrology and Meteorology as part of the recent Green Climate Fund grant of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/meltpools-in-the-himalaya" target="_blank">$36.1 million awarded to Nepal</a>. “These lakes have changed over the years as their debris-covered glaciers continue to recede,” Byers told Nepali Times. “When water volume in the lake basin increases, they become more vulnerable to flood triggers such as overhanging ice as glaciers recede further to their headwalls, and permafrost on their moraines continues to melt.” <h2>These are not ‘natural disasters’</h2> Scientists have given the current planetary epoch a name: the Anthropocene. And anthropogenic causes in this era heighten the risk of disasters. Indeed, an analysis of recent Himalayan calamities (page 1) shows that there is much more at play here than climate breakdown. Haphazard encroachment of floodplains, quarrying and crusher activity exacerbated the effect of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-it-rains-it-pours-ksqprbu3">extreme rainfall on 28 September around Kathmandu Valley</a> that killed 200 people. The human cost of the 5 August catastrophe in Uttarakhand would have been high in any case, but the fact that the tiny village had expanded across a vulnerable alluvial fan to cater to a tourism boom meant more death and destruction. There are similar alluvial fans across Nepal, where small towns have expanded because new highways follow rivers, like Beni located at the confluence of the Myagdi Khola and Kali Gandaki. Other towns like Kagbeni or Damauli are located on the banks of rivers and tributaries that are directly downstream from rapidly expanding glacial lakes or unstable mountains. “In Butwal, people are building houses on the floodplain of the Tinau River, and yet people blame climate change or rainfall when there is a disaster,” says Basanta Raj Adhikari at the Institute of Engineering. “This is happening all over the country. Imagine the kind of devastation Beni would suffer if there was a big flood.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250822030848_ed411f8618c7a411ed4c165e91f3b880abb085a8a511405710dd8220f657da84.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250822030848_ed411f8618c7a411ed4c165e91f3b880abb085a8a511405710dd8220f657da84" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Beni Bazar"> <figcaption>RISKY CONFLUENCE: Beni has expanded rapidly after the highway to Mustang was built. But the town is situated on the alluvial fan of past flash floods on both the Kali Gandaki and Myagdi Khola which have dangerous glacial lakes in their upper catchment. Photo: BENI TOURISM</figcaption> </figure>  Traditionally, Nepal’s villages and settlements were located high above rivers because our forebears learnt lessons from recurring flash floods. Now, the road network follows rivers, and towns have sprung up along these highways. Even when roads are not on river banks, many gouge out slopes above, unleashing massive landslides that block rivers. Experts say Nepal’s hazard map should now be updated for glacial outbursts so municipalities can plan risk-sensitive land use zoning. This &nbsp;must go hand-in-hand with measures to reduce the risk by structural mitigation, such as engineering and construction, and then with risk awareness and early-warning systems. Says Himalayan researcher Alton C Byers: “Sooner or later, communities will realise that certain sites are simply no longer safe for a village or city, especially because of climate change in the mountains. The Himalaya has always been high-risk with its steep slopes, thin soil, monsoon rainfall regime, and frequent seismic activity. So, some places are no longer safe to live in.” Mohan B Chand of Kathmandu University adds that <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-smarter-himalayan-infrastructure">hazard mapping is especially crucial for expensive hydropower plants</a>: “Most of these are on snow-fed rivers, but environmental risk assessment is not taken seriously.” He says that because Nepal is set to generate 28,500MW by 2035 to meet its carbon neutral target, the government must work to minimise upstream risk by integrating disaster mitigation components in new energy investments. Few know that Nepal’s first hazard mapping was done 40 years ago in the Khumbu with a United Nations University study titled ‘Highland Lowland Interactive Systems’. It is hard to find that document anywhere. Today, hazard mapping technologies, satellite remote sensing, drones, synthetic aperture radar (SAR) and modelling with AI have made it much easier to integrate multi-hazard risk assessment. That data needs to be made available to local governments so they can plan. Cell phones and new apps that monitor real-time glacial lake levels, live precipitation and hydrological data, and local weather forecasts can make early warning systems more effective. Recent disasters have shown that even the smallest of glacial lakes that are rarely considered in risk assessments can cause much damage. Langmale Lake in the Barun Valley was less than 0.1 km2 in size, but <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-mountains-are-melting" target="_blank">the flood in 2017</a> caused extensive downstream damage. The 2012 Seti flood in Pokhara, the Chamoli disaster in Uttarakhand in 2021, the South Lhonak proglacial lake burst in Sikkim in 2023 that washed away the $1.7 billion Chungthang Teesta III Project, and the August 2024 floods above Thame in Khumbu are other recent examples.&nbsp; Byers thinks some of these floods may have been initially triggered by massive rockfall or moraine collapse related to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-not-so-permanent-frost" target="_blank">melting permafrost</a>. The size of a glacial lake alone does not determine the severity of destruction. What makes all the difference is downstream development, and if there pre-warning. Dig Tso in Khumbu which burst in 1984, was much larger than the lake that caused the Bhote Kosi flood in July, but the economic cost to the country of the trans-boundary disaster this year was much higher. Says glaciologist Chand: “We have to monitor the lakes, not just via remote sensing but with field visits. These may be costly, but mitigating the risk is less expensive than the disasters themselves.” Nepal has the technology and trained personnel to do hazard mapping, monitoring, and to design early warning apps. That data and information now needs to be available to all three levels of government to improve preparedness and risk reduction. “The cascading and compounding hazards are increasing in the Himalaya, this must be the subject of our research now,” says Adhikari at the Centre for Disaster Studies. “Recent events are a wake-up call, if we do not take this seriously things may be more dangerous in future.”

Sonia Awale

Rain bombs

Those who stay

As Kathmandu becomes more congested and polluted, and with remote online work becoming the norm, many professional Nepalis are planning to retire in Pokhara, or move there.&nbsp; With its stunning mountain panorama, balmy winters and proximity to a profusion of wilderness areas, builders are responding to this demand with new townhouses, housing development and apartments. One such block of flats is the 10-storey <a href="https://sungavaapartment.com/">Sungava Apartment</a> located at Phulbari above the Seti River, near the point where it flows into and under Pokhara. The imposing structure near Manipal Hospital is almost complete, and on a recent visit the site was strewn with huge boulders unearthed while digging the foundation.&nbsp; The Seti brought down these boulders during a gigantic flood that geologists estimate happened 800 years ago when a chunk of Annapurna IV broke off and ploughed into the glacier below. Today, Sungava (means ‘orchid’) sits safely on a high terrace, 100m above the blue-green Seti and commands a view of Dhaulagiri, Annapurna South, Machapuchre, Annapurna III and IV.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024102411104_5f8fc736c86ea3c08d7bef43bb727081d3cc1a2caa55ae2b441717e6044de7e9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024102411104_5f8fc736c86ea3c08d7bef43bb727081d3cc1a2caa55ae2b441717e6044de7e9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="High living below the Himalaya NT"> </figure>  The soil here is conglomerate that has solidified like concrete, and the boulders were extracted by heavy earthmovers. It is intriguing to think that these metamorphic rocks as big as cars, rounded by glacial grinding, were once a part of a much higher Annapurna IV. Even for those with little interest in geology, Sungava is an ideal place to contemplate the tectonic forces that pushed these peaks into the sky to be sculpted into delicate shapes by wind, snow, earthquake and avalanche over millions of years. The view of the Himalayan panorama from Sungava’s many balconies are breathtaking when not obscured by clouds, or the haze that drifts in from across the southern border. On most days, just watching the towering pyramid of Machapuchre (Tamu name: कतासुँ क्लिको) play hide and seek with the clouds is mesmerising. There are rocks aplenty at Phulbari, and it is probably the flowers that grew along the flat terraces e that gave the place its flowery name. The boulders will hopefully be turned into a rock garden while landscaping. An nearby restaurant complex is making the best use of the stones in its design, using flat rocks as outdoor benches and tables. Sungava was designed by the husband-wife architect team of Deepak Sherchan and Jyoti Joshi of <a href="https://thedarkmermaidamarbshrestha.blogspot.com/2013/12/creative-builders-collaborative-cbc.html">Creative Builders Collaborative (CBC)</a>, which also built Heritage Plaza, Indreni Apartment and numerous other projects in Nepal. Sadbhavana retains CBC’s trademark Newari-style masonry and here it borrows from the orange brickwork of the old town of Pokhara, integrating it with modern design elements. A few of those heritage houses are still standing in Ganesh Tole and Ram Krishna Tole in Pokhara’s old quarter.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024102411108_5eb64a4885961b6d30781cefeb1e8a313da313ac5227c7a66b60f0c7d48d6fab.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2024102411108_5eb64a4885961b6d30781cefeb1e8a313da313ac5227c7a66b60f0c7d48d6fab" data-rendition-name="original" width="1362" height="595" loading="lazy" alt="High living below the Himalaya NT"> </figure>  About 400m from the apartment past a bend on the river, and down below three tiers of terraces in the canyon is a suspension bridge. Below it, the Seti is still swollen with post-monsoon flow as it tumbles away in a hurry to head down south.&nbsp; Back at the apartment, it is quiet, far away from the hubbub of Lakeside a 15 minute drive away, and in the lap of greenery. There are 52 units at Sungava and it already has a close-knit prospective community of professionals, including doctors, publishers, engineers, and businesspeople from the renewable energy and IT sectors.&nbsp; Some residents say they opted for a second home in Pokhara to make it a ‘base camp’ to explore the Annapurnas with its many hiking trails made newly accessible with new roads. With the NRN citizenship law, overseas Nepalis can now also buy the flats. &nbsp; The floor plans include options for north and south-facing 3-bedroom apartments with verandas, and the facility has underground parking has EV charging, heated pool, sauna and gym. There are still some unsold apartments with panoramic views of the mountains and one can imagine oneself at the kitchen with its huge window, humming a ditty while preparing breakfast: “खाना पकाउँ हिमाल हेरेर...”

High living below the Himalaya

Dasain is here, the festival of family and travel. The spirit is dampened this year because of the flood disaster, and many highways are still blocked.&nbsp; But Nepali Times takes the occasion of this ten-day festival to present Top Ten Peaks that are <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/women-on-the-move">off the beaten trek</a>, and offer stunning views. They are not too demanding but take you far from the madding crowd. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-journey-is-more-interesting-than-the-destination">Escape</a>. 1. Kori Peak Most visitors to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/letter-from-sikles">Sikles </a>are en route to Kapuche, the l<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kah-phu-che">owest glacial lake in Nepal</a> (2,450m). But for better views hire a local guide, and cross the Madi Khola to climb to Kori (3,800m), a ridge-top summer pasture. There will be no trekkers on this little known jewel of the Himalaya. Lamjung Himal is dead ahead, and the adventurous may want to continue on to Namun La, the old trading route to Manang. 2. Panchase Hill&nbsp; This long ridge walk can be stretched as long as you want. Start at the Peace Stupa above Pokhara, and hike the forested ridge overlooking Phewa Lake with spectacular 120 degree panoramas of Dhaulagiri to Himalchuli. Along the way are villages untouched by the trekking industry. The highest point at <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/economic-benefits-of-saving-the-ecology">Panchase</a> Hill is ‘only’ 2,500m. Binoculars are a must for bird-watching.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004041056_a62462e446decb0356b35138abd277ca122af0e8baa404087c8ae980c12fc114.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241004041056_a62462e446decb0356b35138abd277ca122af0e8baa404087c8ae980c12fc114" data-rendition-name="original" width="1363" height="669" loading="lazy" alt="Trekking map NT"> </figure>  3. Khumai Peak Directly north of Pokhara is this 3,245m peak that is becoming popular since a road to Hemja now cuts short the trek for a two-day-up-one-day-down hike. At the top you look up to the imposing south face of Machapuchre. The trail is not well trodden yet (that is why you are there) but lodges have sprung up. Hike further up to Korchan Danda (3,710m) for the magic of a Himalayan sunrise. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 4. Mulde Peak If you have been there and done that on Poon Hill, then<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/mulde-peak,1759"> Mulde (3,637) is higher, wilder and quieter</a>. The trail branches off at Tadapani from the Ghandruk-Ghorepani route and climbs steeply through thick forests draped with lichen and orchids. There is a lodge at the base for overnight stay. Next morning ascend for one hour to the top for a breathtaking sunrise over the Annapurna ramparts, Machapuchre and Dhaulagiri. For more, trek on to Khopra Ridge and Hidden Lake.&nbsp; 5. Pikey Peak  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004051028_2d1071364abec8b2a37fa620c1a641c7e4c8449b8bc4384a36ffc58f34c67c7f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20241004051028_2d1071364abec8b2a37fa620c1a641c7e4c8449b8bc4384a36ffc58f34c67c7f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1001" loading="lazy" alt="Pikey peak "> <figcaption>Photo: MANISH PAUDEL / NEPALI TIMES ARCHIVE</figcaption> </figure>  The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/lifetime-experience-on-pikey-peak">must-climb in Solukhumbu is Pikey</a> (4,065m) that none other than Edmund Hillary described as one of the best lookouts in the Himalaya. On a clear day you see eight eight-thousander peaks all in a row: (east-west) Kangchenjunga, Makalu, Lhotse, Everest, Cho Oyu, Shishapangma, Manaslu and Annapurna. If the highway to Phaplu is not repaired by Dasain, fly to Phaplu from where it can be three days and two nights up and down. 6. Pathibhara Peak Combine pilgrimage with a hike to climb up to Pathibhara (3,794) after either driving or flying to Taplejung. Nepal’s most scenic peaks all have temples on top. The view from Pathibhara of Kangchenjunga, Jannu, Makalu and Lhotse-Everest feels sacred even if you are not religiously minded. It is one day up, and half-day down. Good idea to strike Pathibhara off your bucket list before the cable car gets there.&nbsp; 7. Gokyo Ri  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004051028_83417ded1111fd19aaa2b321625681fedd3a1c7aa47f28c44444a343d691e3d2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20241004051028_83417ded1111fd19aaa2b321625681fedd3a1c7aa47f28c44444a343d691e3d2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="View from Gokyo"> <figcaption>The last light of the day highlighting Mt Everest, Nuptse and Lhotse 20km away, captured from the Gokyo Ri. Photo: AÏSHA MACDOUGALL / NPALI TIMES </figcaption> </figure>  Everest Base Camp is crowded and desolate, with no view of the highest mountain in the world. Head off, instead, from Khumjung to the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/go-gokyo">Gokyo Valley and along the Ngozumba</a> (Nepal's longest glacier) to a village by the lake that is the highest all-year human settlement in the world. Charge your head torch, and head off on a 2-3 hour climb up to Gokyo Ri (5,357m) to watch the sun set with all its glory on Mt Everest, Lhotse, Makalu, Kangchenjunga, and Cho Oyu. The trek can be extended up Renjo La to Thame, or Cho La to Everest Base Camp. &nbsp; 8. Sailung Peak&nbsp; Take a right turn on the Jiri Highway at Mude along a rough road till Lamche Ahal and then hike the next morning to Thulo Sailung Peak (3,146m). This is one of the highest points in southern Dolakha district and the view is spectacular with everything from Manaslu to Numbur, a 200km sweep of the horizon. Dominating the scene is Gauri Shankar (Chomo Tseringma). Nepali hikers have started going to Sailung to shoot YouTube videos. 9. Panch Pokhari This is one of the nearest and most accessible treks from Kathmandu, starting after a five hour drive to Okhareni via Chautara to five sacred lakes dominated by a ridge (4,250m) with full frontal views of Dorje Lakpa and Phurbi Ghyachu of the Jugal Himal Range. You have the trail mostly to yourself. The path climbs through forests of dwarf rhododendron teeming with birdlife.&nbsp; 10. Kyanjin Peak  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004051036_4eab1082528a9bc8ce5ee6429bdb6f6edbb2caf15460dd6a7c10056146930fd7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20241004051036_4eab1082528a9bc8ce5ee6429bdb6f6edbb2caf15460dd6a7c10056146930fd7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Kyanjin NT"> <figcaption>Kyanjin is the highest settlement in the Langtang Valley. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption> </figure>  Langtang National Park is the closest real wilderness area near Kathmandu that also offers culture and adventure. Start walking from Dhunche, one night stop and we are in Langtang Valley passing the village that was buried in the avalanche after the 2015 earthquake. Kyanjin Gompa (3,835m) is now called ‘Thamel on the Hill’, and that is not a complimentary description. But it is a good base camp to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-story-of-langtang-cheese">explore the Valley</a>, including climbing Kyanjin Ri (4,773) for a grandstand view of Langtang Lirung (7,234m).

Peak Season

This late monsoon storm was not a surprise. Weather forecasts had warned of heavy precipitation a week before, the Met Office predicted heavy rain on 27-28 September, SMS warned people to take precaution, radio stations issued bulletins, and night buses were banned in 56 districts.&nbsp; The tragedy was compounded because we knew what was coming, and did not do enough to prepare. The accurate weather forecast made no real difference on the ground. When it started raining on Thursday morning and did not stop till Saturday, there was no sense of the scale of this emergency. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/60-dead-64-missing-in-nepal-floods">More than 200 people lost their lives, dozens are still missing.</a> Thousands of homes were swept away, Nepal lost nearly half its electricity generation capacity because of damage to power plants, Kathmandu has been nearly cut off with bridges and sections of highways swept away. Yes, this was primarily a natural disaster. Kathmandu Valley and its surroundings got half the average annual precipitation in just 40 hours, the heaviest rainfall measured since records started being kept in 1972. But the high death toll was totally manmade.&nbsp; Three buses were buried by a mudslide in Dhading, killing at least 35 people. This was an eerie reminder of the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/100-101-102-hh5uvzf9">Simaltal accident on 12 July </a>when two intercity buses were swept by a mudflow into the Trisuli River at night, killing 62. The buses have still not been found.&nbsp; In both cases, heavy rainfall on a poorly engineered local road up the mountains triggered the initial landslide that swept debris to the highway below. This was manslaughter, not an ‘accident’.&nbsp; We said it then, and we are saying it now: most mountain roads follow no reason or science. It is a corruption-fed activity in which local governments and their cronies plan roads ad hoc and rent their own bulldozers. Debris accumulated during construction is dumped over the edge, where monsoon rains wash them to settlements, farms and highways below. Last weekend’s disaster is a warning that accurate weather early warning is just the first step – it is not enough to prevent a huge loss of life. After the warnings, there should have been door-to-door miking along hazardous river banks urging people to move to higher ground, shelters should have been in place, rescue equipment and rafts pre-positioned, live monitoring of precipitation in the catchments. The National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA) was just posting situationers on social media. The Home Ministry became a Ministry of Condolences and Empty Promises.&nbsp; This disaster is a reminder of the 1993 Central Nepal cloudburst that hit the Lothar Khola in Chitwan, the Kulekhani areas, and highways blocked highways marooning Kathmandu for weeks. More than 1,300 people were killed.&nbsp; The death toll in Kathmandu this time was compounded by the fact that the city has spread into the floodplains of the Vishnumati, Manohara and other tributaries of the Bagmati. Natural waterways have been hemmed in by streets. The rivers were just reclaiming what was theirs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240930150944_1221b4fb442a21e8d2dbf1aeeca61b7a8d791c117d6a93401f15ba2a95d49a69.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240930150944_1221b4fb442a21e8d2dbf1aeeca61b7a8d791c117d6a93401f15ba2a95d49a69" data-rendition-name="original" width="1949" height="1299" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal floods"> <figcaption>Kathmandu Valley, especially its southern fringes looks like an epicentre of a major quake following the rains. Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Urban pressure has also forced settlements to move up the Valley’s rim, below steep hillsides with topsoil already saturated in the late monsoon. The torrential downpours caused the slopes to fail. The damage to Upper Tamakosi and dozens of other hydropower plants also is a warning not to put all our eggs in one basket. The Sikkim disaster exactly this time last year was proof that these are at high risk from glacial lake floods and landslide dammed rivers suddenly bursting. More logical would be to build smaller, better designed, plants on many rivers. The Himalaya is also the youngest and most fragile mountain range on earth, Nepal has always had either too much or too little water, and climate breakdown is making this contrast more extreme. Combined, this means we in Nepal live in a multi-disaster prone country with seismic, hydrological and climate risks.&nbsp; After multiple floods in early 1990s, a Japanese grant helped set up the Disaster Prevention Technical Centre (DPTC) in Pulchowk, which was later renamed the Department of Water Induced Disaster Management. We have not heard much from them lately. With the government AWOL, it is ordinary Nepalis who have shown extraordinary courage in saving those being swept by flood water, rescuing babies on canoes (pictured), or digging for passengers trapped in buses buried by landslides. The Nepal Army and the Police rescued thousands, but there was an absence of coordination.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240930150944_cb55edb93eb3aad169b22bc4dec06b5478746fbe75417c628bf671ec698f7912.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240930150944_cb55edb93eb3aad169b22bc4dec06b5478746fbe75417c628bf671ec698f7912" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal floods"> <figcaption>Photo: SOCIAL MEDIA</figcaption> </figure>  Now, the attention must focus on urgent relief and rehabilitation. But that might be a tall ask just before everything shuts down for Dasain, and when governance fails, lack of accountability and transparency is the norm even without holidays.&nbsp; Sonia Awale

When it rains it pours

There was controlled chaos at the Chhaya Centre on 8 September before the premiere of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2EXOwDgrIg&amp;t=25s">Shambhala</a>, which has made history as the first South Asian film to be selected for the 2023 Berlinale in-competition lineup in three decades. <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm5336883/">Director Min Bahadur Bham</a> ran around, dreadlocks flailing, to test the DCP in the projection room and welcome an all-star lineup of guests. Even so, he found time to sit down with us for an interview in a quiet corner in the lobby. Despite visible signs of stress, Bham’s passion for his craft shines through. The premiere was the culmination of years of work, but as Bham tells it, the true essence of filmmaking is the journey itself.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240912100956_fe4bb576edb2f6ca22d460c425a8b9fdf8d3855dd4e9cac9e13fb56a69094cdd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240912100956_fe4bb576edb2f6ca22d460c425a8b9fdf8d3855dd4e9cac9e13fb56a69094cdd" data-rendition-name="original" width="616" height="585" loading="lazy" alt="Min Bham NT 3 "> </figure>  Min Bahadur Bham, 40, was born in isolated Mugu. As a boy he already knew he wanted to be a film director after his photographer and journalist father bought a cinema hall in his hometown.&nbsp; While watching Bollywood movies there, his friends all wanted to be actors and would imitate the mannerisms of their favourite stars. But Bham craved something more.&nbsp; “Even back then, I wondered who tells the actors what to do. There must be someone guiding and coordinating their performance,” he says. “I didn’t know at the time that it was done by a director, but I instinctively felt that was the person I wanted to be.”&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-director-from-kathmandu">A director from Kathmandu</a>, Sewa Bhattarai This early fascination set Bham on a journey that would take him far, far away from Mugu. In Grade 8 he was already saving money for film school, and by Grade 10 he had run away from home. He started in theatre in Kathmandu, learning acting, lighting, set design, and costume. This theatre background proved to be formative and influenced his later approach to cinema. “If I had to choose, I’d still give more points to theatre,” he tells us. “It’s a pure art form, it has a poetic and an artistic sense to it, requiring discipline and hard work, unlike the finances and glamour of cinema.” Beyond filmmaking, Bham developed a deep interest in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/medication-to-meditation-in-the-mountains">spirituality</a>. “Creating art is a form of meditation,” Bham says, his eyes shimmering with intensity. “Filmmaking, like meditation, requires pouring all of yourself into it.” His debut feature,<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/must-see/Kalo-pothi-review,3101"> Kalo Pothi (The Black Hen)</a> premiered at the Venice Film Festival in 2015, earning critical acclaim for its nuanced portrayal of two boys caught in the crossfire of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/all-is-fair-in-war-and-peace">Nepal’s Maoist insurgency</a>. The film’s success, however, left Bham ambivalent.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240912110924_b4333fc1aeefc7adc6160a183f0dfc8ca5ee8cd66df6eab085f47436d83c8c4b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240912110924_b4333fc1aeefc7adc6160a183f0dfc8ca5ee8cd66df6eab085f47436d83c8c4b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1442" height="1008" loading="lazy" alt="Movie posters NT"> </figure>  “I felt burdened by the success," he confides. “Looking back, I’m critical about its lack of cinematic language: it felt more like a film essay.”&nbsp; Read more: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Narrating-stories-of-nepal,3082">Narrating Nepal</a>, Smriti Basnet Kalo Pothi was a personal story of Bham’s own memories when his friends in school were joining the Maoists, and he heard of the disappearances. A recurring theme in both Kalo Pothi and Shambhala is childhood. “All the characters in my films are reflections of myself,” Bham confesses. “Of course, they’re manipulated for the sake of the narrative, but their essence is drawn from my own childhood when I was very fragile and introverted.” As a boy, instead of playing with children his age, Bham preferred hanging out with older people, listening to their stories: “I missed out on a normal childhood, but had a wonderful one nonetheless.” These early experiences, the memories and nostalgia, became invaluable storytelling tools for cinema, and his PhD in anthropology was an asset as well. “As a filmmaker, it’s essential to grasp the nuances of human behaviour, culture, and politics,” he explains.&nbsp; Before Kalo Pothi, Bham wanted to study political science to get a &nbsp;deeper, holistic understanding of what was happening in Nepali society at the time.&nbsp; But it is with Shambhala that Bham truly comes into his own as a director. "Kalo Pothi was my love letter to my society, and Shambhala is a love letter to my existence,” he says.&nbsp; Shambhala benefits from Bham’s own spiritual journey. He started meditating at age 12, becoming a more serious practitioner by 15. “Through meditation, I began having vivid recurring dreams of a past life as a lama in a monastery in Dolpo,” he says.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/daughter-of-chomolungma">Daughter of Chomolungma</a>, Pinki Sris Rana He travelled to Dolpo, where the terrain and people matched the dreamscape of the places from his meditation. “It was a surreal moment,” he says. “That’s when I realised I had to make Shambhala, to explore the subconscious and discover what I didn’t know.” When the film was selected for the Berlinale, Bham admits he was not very excited, perhaps because he was confident it was going to go places. In Berlin he did not attend any parties, cancelling all interviews and official meetings.&nbsp; “I wanted to be at peace and simply observe. I didn’t want to get caught up in the networking or the festivities,” he recalls. Though polyandry is a central element of Shambhala, Bham says it only serves as a backdrop to an inner quest into the meaning of existence, femininity and reincarnation. “Dolpo offers such incredible landscape that you can point the camera at anything and it will be stunning,” he says. “But it was not a love story, so I used the mountains as characters themselves.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/streaming-the-himalaya-on-film">Streaming the Himalaya on film</a>, Pinki Sris Rana The film’s protagonist is Pema (played by<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-star-shines-in-locarno"> Thinley Lhamo</a> for which she won the<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0iCvN6jHVMQ&amp;t=973s"> Boccalino d’Oro Prize for Best Acting Performance at Locarno</a> last month) whose power and freedom challenge patriarchal norms.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240912110944_491763c06fc1827cd131157b9b3750c9831ee8252fb1d378769dc800170c7f67.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20240912110944_491763c06fc1827cd131157b9b3750c9831ee8252fb1d378769dc800170c7f67" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="719" loading="lazy" alt="Berlin film festival NT"> </figure>  “Pema’s character is a reflection of inner strength and independence, transcending gender,” Bham explains. “As a male director, I also wanted to explore my feminine side to understand it more deeply.”&nbsp; Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/feminity-to-masculinity,1952">From femininity to masculinity</a>, Bernardo Michael and George Varughese He adds that, in Shambhala the male characters reflect aspects of himself, while Pema represents his feminine side: “Developing the characters, I made sure the male side did not overshadow the feminine side in me.” Bham is researching ideas for his next film which might, for a change, be set in Kathmandu or Angkor Wat to discover his artistic sensibility, irrespective of locale.&nbsp; More than a geographical journey, Min Bahadur Bham is on an artistic voyage deep into his inner being to find the meaning of existence itself. &nbsp; Shambhala is set to release on 13 September in cinemas with Nepali and English subtitles.

Min Bahadur Bham’s cinematic quest

When Winston Churchill addressed the Canadian Parliament in December 1941, he recalled that generals of Nazi-occupied France had said that England would “have her neck wrung like a chicken”. Churchill went on to quip: “Some chicken.” As the laughter and applause subsided, he added: “Some neck.” (Even longer laughter and applause) We do not know who first started calling the narrow corridor that joins India to its northeastern states a 'Chicken’s Neck', but there also was the hint of a Churcillian connotation. Akhilesh Upadhayay in his new book In the Margins of the Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck, uses this strip as an entry point to explore a region adjoining Nepal, Bhutan, China, Sikkim, Darjeeling, India’s northeast and the tectonics that shaped its geo-strategic terrain.&nbsp; Upadhyay’s Chicken Neck is an organic whole, connected through centuries by transboundary traders, travellers, monks, spies, missionaries, mountaineers, and more. And as infrastructure and connectivity improves, smaller countries like Nepal and Bhutan (and earlier Sikkim) are caught up in the region’s rivalries. The tri-junction of the Chicken’s Neck is a potential flashpoint that has obsessed India’s military strategists ever since Partition in 1947 and the formation of East Pakistan, and the Chinese annexation of Tibet. India found itself squeezed between Chumbi Valley in China to the north and Pakistan to the south. So, when Sikkim started acting too independent for its own good 50 years ago, India engineered its annexation and turned it into its 22nd state. The 1962 Sino-Indian war elevated its strategic importance even more. Alarm bells ring in New Delhi each time there is trouble around the Chicken’s Neck: the Naxalite uprising had to be swiftly crushed, the Indian military moved in to liberate Bangladesh, Gorkhaland and ULFA activities were dangerously nearby, Bhutan had to be appeased. Every once in a while things would flare up between India and China, as in the 2017 Doklam standoff.&nbsp; And last year’s regime change in Bangladesh has rattled New Delhi enough to deploy its Rafael fighters and BrahMos cruise missiles in the Chicken’s Neck. It is now the most densely militarised strip of real estate in this part of the world. &nbsp; As a journalist and former editor of Kathmandu Post, Upadhyay also peers at the Chicken’s Neck through Nepal’s perspective. After all, Jhapa (where the author is originally from) sits right there astride India’s strategic lifeline.&nbsp; Geopolitics is at the front and centre of the book that takes readers back to the time Nepal was a closed Himalayan kingdom.&nbsp; Nepal may be a yam between two boulders, but it may just as well be a thicker Chicken’s Neck as far as New Delhi and Beijing are concerned. Nepal’s rulers have always had to walk the tightrope between China and India. Khampa guerrillas, covertly helped by American and Indian intelligence, raided Chinese military convoys from bases in Nepal, and King Mahendra had to do some intricate diplomatic footwork. India is often described as Nepal’s closest friend, but our relations with China go back as long in terms of the Lhasa trade, Bhrikuti and Arniko, religious exchanges and people-to-people relations. While Nepali researchers are wary of touching on Chinese, Indian or American sensitivities, Upadhyay’s journalistic background means he has no qualms about tackling the subject head-on, and objectively. He spent more than a year researching the book, sniffing around Siliguri, Bagdogra, Naxalbari, Darjeeling and the villages on the Jhapa side. Then he travelled to Olangchung Gola to listen to ordinary people of the Himalayan rimlands. Despite the perception about rigid frontiers between nation states, the book hints at how absurd the notion is. The Chicken’s Neck is also a wild elephant migration corridor, disturbed by the India-Bangladesh border fence, new expressway embankments, airport runways, and expanding cities. Similarly, the people on the Nepal-tibet border used to cross over to graze yaks — this expanded the gene pools of not just the yaks but also the nomadic humans who moved with the herds.&nbsp; Despite the hard borders, trade flourishes. Upadhyay marvels that a shop in Phungling in Taplejung has embroidered saris from Siliguri and fluffy jackets from China. he finds that residents in the northeastern and southeastern tips of Nepal have more in common with kin across the border in Tibet or India than with someone from Kathmandu. Nepal was once one of the biggest trade hubs in ancient times, and our products were treated as equals in Indian border cities. People too, could move freely, especially if they were and are from bordering Tarai cities.&nbsp; Nepal’s rich history and culture was shaped by the proximity to neighbours, and despite borders it is still cemented by marriages and trade — especially in the Nepali-speaking lands to the east. Its geographical positioning makes Nepal not landlocked but land-linked, adjacent to the largest emerging economies of the world. Nepal needs to deploy its soft power with effective diplomacy to take advantage of these two empires, and not be choked by their rivalry. The book was going to press when the GenZ protests ignited in September, but Upadhyay nevertheless managed to insert the current political transition into the pages with deft editing. &nbsp;The final section of the book examines at least three possible scenarios that may unfold as South Asia continues to be shaped by great power rivalries and imperial contests that have weakened the unilateral influence of the west.&nbsp; Akhilesh Upadhyay extrapolates from the Chicken’s Neck, zooming out for a wider perspective on the Subcontinent. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="In the Margins of Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck NT"> </figure>

Some chicken, some neck

‘Get out of my house.’ ‘All my sickness is because of you.’ ‘You’re a millstone around my neck.’ Arundhati Roy heard these admonitions from her mother over and over throughout her life.&nbsp; This must be a singular, yet universal experience. There must be very few daughters who make it through life unscathed by their mothers. And vice-versa.&nbsp; How many of our mothers look at us and see in us the potential of all of the lives they could have lived? How many resent us for it, or want us to live those lives in their stead? And how many of us look back at our mothers and imagine what they would have achieved had they not been expected and assigned to play the role of wife, daughter-in-law, mother — had we never existed in their lives? How many mothers project their experiences onto their own daughters and continue the cycle? No daughter seems to escape it — no matter how well-behaved, docile, unruly, or rebellious. Certainly not the child who would go on to become a Booker prize-winning author. Arundhati Roy’s memoir Mother Mary Comes To Me chronicles her complex relationship with her mother Mary, or Mrs Roy, as her educator mother had her two children refer to her. In December, Arundhati Roy was in Kathmandu to sign books and briefly interact with readers at two bookshops in the city. She describes a childhood overshadowed by her mother’s volatility towards her and her brother. Mary herself was raised by an abusive father to escape whom she married the first man who proposed — Arundhati’s father who in her mother’s words turned out to be an alcoholic ‘Nothing Man’.&nbsp; Mary left her husband in Assam and eventually wound up with her two children in her town of Aymanam in Kerala, encountering other family members along the way who did not treat her, or her children with respect. The trauma and cruelty her mother endured could not be contained in her body, and spilled out onto her two children, towards whom she was physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive.&nbsp; While she treated her children with disregard, she would build a school in the nearby town of Kottayam from the ground up, educate thousands of children, take up a legal fight that led to the Supreme Court granting Syrian Christian women in India equal inheritance rights, and uplift many orphaned children and women in Kerala.&nbsp; Arundhati lived with both her mother’s brutality and brilliance. And like her daughter, readers must reconcile the indefensible parts of Mary Roy’s personality — the cruelty of calling her nine-year-old daughter a bitch, or shooting the family dog that mated with a stray — with her unyielding drive to educate thousands, fight for equal rights, and challenge the way her world viewed women.&nbsp; Mrs Roy had little kindness for her own children, but plenty for the students, children, and women whose lives she shaped, and made better. And her kindness was not rooted in empathy, but in anger at the hand she had been dealt in life. Eventually, Arundhati decided to temporarily cut all contact with Mrs Roy — not because she did not love her, she writes, but so that she could continue to love her. Her desire to get away from her abusive mother, and her fascination with the ideas inspired by the architect who built her mother’s school, would lead her to the Delhi School of Architecture at age 16. In Delhi, Arundhati became roommates with Hisila Yami before she and her Maoist ideologue husband Baburam Bhattarai went underground to lead Nepal’s decade-long armed struggle. &nbsp; But architecture was not her calling. In Delhi, the heart of India’s statecraft, Arundhati came into young adulthood against a backdrop of the country’s changing socio-politics, which began to take a turn for the hyper-nationalist, Hindu supremacist community that it has now largely become. The winds of those changes have now blown into Nepal. In the city, far from her mother, Arundhati met the man who would become her partner of many years, collaborating with him on several films and screenplays before finding the language (‘I needed to hunt [language] down like prey,’ she writes) she needed to become the writer she is now.&nbsp; She went on to write her Booker prize-winning novel The God of Small Things, but the wealth and status the book brought her did not sit comfortably. So she smashed her newly-built gilded cage, as she describes it, and became more political. Contrary to norm, she published several works of non-fiction, and would only publish her second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, in 2017, 20 years after The God of Small Things. &nbsp;&nbsp; Her fierce opposition to India’s nuclear policies, to a dam that would displace millions of indigenous people and ecologically damage the Narmada Valley, her championing of Kashmiri self-determination, and her time spent with Maoist rebels in the forests of Chhattisgarh as they took up arms to defend their land and resources against corporate interests made her an enemy of the state.&nbsp; Meanwhile, being raised by a single mother had never sat well within her Syrian Christian community. ‘I wasn't Christian enough. I wasn't Hindu enough. I wasn't communist enough. I wasn't enough,’ Roy writes in her memoir. For all her love for India, the nation did not seem to reciprocate. The circumstances might be different, but it might strike a chord with readers in Nepal, many of whom marched on the streets in September hoping for a better tomorrow, but were gunned down by the very institutions meant to protect them. It might resonate with those who are not seen as citizens of this nation simply because they might not fit into an imagined idea of Nepali nationhood.&nbsp; Arundhati’s relationship with her mother, who was simultaneously proud and disdainful of her daughter’s accomplishments, continued to be tumultuous until the end of Mary Roy’s life.&nbsp; One of Mrs Roy’s last messages to her daughter before she passed was: ‘There is no one in the world whom I have loved more than you.’ Arundhati muses that her lifelong refusal to stop loving her mother must have finally breached her barriers. One wonders if that final declaration of love was solace enough, apology enough, for all the pain caused.&nbsp; But for Arundhati Roy, her love for her mother and her motherland outweighs the cruelty both have shown her. This, too, must be a singular, yet universal experience.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Mother Mary Comes to Me review"> </figure>

The sins of our mothers

This is the first instalment of our new series Nepal Made, where we profile world-class Nepali products and the people behind them. The Himalaya is the home to Ayurveda, the preventive and curative medicinal practice that relies on the tremendous diversity of plant life. This is where Hanuman is said to have come to find a specific rare herb when Ram was wounded in battle. When he could not find it, he tore off a whole mountain and hauled it down to Lanka. Since then, herbal medicines and care products have been steadily modernised in India and Nepal. Now, one Kathmandu-based company, Herveda, is going global with an all-natural skincare brand that blends traditional knowledge of medicinal plants with modern technology. Originally a Sanskrit word, Ayurveda literally means ‘the science of life’ and promotes physical and mental wellbeing through a holistic knowledge system that is 4,000 years old. Ayurvedic products have gotten more popular as global demand rises for all-natural, chemical-free cosmetic and wellness products, instead of wasteful fast fashion and beauty trends. Herveda was founded by Prativa Pandey, a scientist-entrepreneur and mother of two. She did her PhD in nanotechnology chemistry from Northwestern University in the United States and returned to Nepal in 2015 after the earthquake, staying back to explore the market and launch her brand.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_b699e74ee82333951b99b22648705dc916deb8eef3d425c77c1e2f3b1058a64d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251218141216_b699e74ee82333951b99b22648705dc916deb8eef3d425c77c1e2f3b1058a64d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  “I wanted to do something in Nepal, but didn’t want to be a doctor or engineer,” says Pandey at the elegant Herveda showroom in Jhamsikhel. “Whatever knowledge that I had gathered, I wanted to spread it in my own country.” Nepal is rich in traditional medicinal herbs and Ayurvedic plants, but proper utilisation and mobilisation has always been lagging. Most of the benefits are reaped by large companies and not local farmers. Pandey wanted to change that. To ensure that it gives back to the community, Herveda collaborates with farmers and local traders for fair trade. “I have always been fascinated by the medicinal herbs found in Nepal, and wanted to create high value products with them. It was a way to combine valuable indigenous knowledge with my academic research background,” adds Pandey. “I did not require a huge investment, just a proper marketing strategy.”  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_350f6eb1511523ea54a8aba468f20a7dffcb5def3fade4dcced30324417f83bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251218141216_350f6eb1511523ea54a8aba468f20a7dffcb5def3fade4dcced30324417f83bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  According to the Trade and Promotion Center under the Ministry of Industry, Nepal’s import of cosmetic products is increasing every year, driven by demand from a younger population. These younger customers are also more conscious about the products they use. For brands like Herveda, it is important that customers engage in wellness and skincare in an ethical and sustainable manner. Apart from being all natural, Herveda’s flagship store in Jhamsikhel has a reuse box where consumers can drop used bottles, which are then recycled. The store also displays products from 35 local businesses. Pandey believes that Nepali brands should cross-promote and complement each other: “Rather than competing, I believe we should support each other. 1+1 can be 11, and not two.” Effectiveness and functionality hold great importance for Herveda. which employs 25 scientists to develop and lab test its products at its research institute. Currently, there are products ranging from Rs400-2,000, which include lip balms, serums, and essential oils. A signature product is the Berry Boost Radiance Mask, which contains Spikenard (Jatamansi), Ashwagandha, Orange Peel, and Rhododendron.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_7ec1104e0dd63db2fbbfe666034b468fe5b7e6876fde8b5446cb9d9fe27566cf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251218141216_7ec1104e0dd63db2fbbfe666034b468fe5b7e6876fde8b5446cb9d9fe27566cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  Herveda exports to the United States and plans to expand to China and Europe. The products get a 50-100% markup in the international market. The company recently received a grant from UKAid to expand the market as well as build capacity to scale up. It has partnered with Agriplayer software to help to develop QR codes on its products, which consumers will be able to scan to track the product sources and evaluate pricing. Nepal lags behind in rules and regulations, and the lack of monitoring has allowed low quality cosmetic products to penetrate into the market. Herveda has got an international certification from USFTA, which is important for its foray into the export market. “For the cosmetic industry to scale up, there should be a central testing facility that is well equipped and meets international standards. Additionally, export should be made easy,” adds Pandey. “If there are too many barriers to entry, no one will be willing to invest.”

Looking good by doing good

Samrat Upadhyay’s newest novel <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/10/books/review/darkmotherland-samrat-upadhyay.html" target="_blank">Darkmotherland</a> imagines a Kathmandu in political turmoil after a large earthquake. In the aftermath, Home Minister Giridharilal Bhagirath Kumar stages a ‘koo’, and has convinced people that he is the answer to the crisis.&nbsp; He is now known as ‘PM Papa’, and picks up classic dictatorial ways — propaganda, statue-making, history-revising, and a gang of Shiva-worshipping ‘Fundys’.&nbsp; We are introduced to two complicated protagonists. The first is Kranti, a fetching young woman and ‘Madam Mao’, her Communist professor mother. The chef father loved classic rock and died by gas cylinder suicide. Kranti hates her mother, and the Communist group which congregates at her home to plot against PM Papa, although they seem to take forever to get anything done.&nbsp; Kranti has a complicated relationship with the handsome Bhaskar, the middle son of the Ghimirey family oligarchy that is aligned with the dictator. She loves him, but as Bhaskar gets more and more involved with her mother and the Communist group, finds herself heading out to the ‘Bhurey’ (Bhu-kampa Rey-fugee) tents, to spend time with poet Kabiraj.&nbsp; Kranti is also given to delusions, paranoia, and psychosis, convinced that Bhaskar’s family is spying on her, and that one in the Communist group has supernatural powers of suggestion that led to her father’s suicide. Despite mental issues, she marries Bhaskar and into the Ghimirey clan, and the complex nexus between business and politics.&nbsp; The second is Rozy, initially the genderqueer lover of PM Papa who he discovered in the streets, and is described as a ‘gorgeous homosexual’. She turns heads due to her sexuality and beauty, and gets more and more politically powerful as the story moves along.&nbsp; Upadhyay tells us Nepali writers writing in English often feel a pressure to create an “all-embracing world” (interview), but that is what he seems to be getting at with the monumental plot of his novel. Unlike the realism in his previous novels, this one drifts off into magical realism. His narrative blends the ever-present risk of a big earthquake and the actuality of political tremors. The speed of political upheaval seems a little unrealistic for anyone who lived through the 2015 earthquake, although the GenZ protests showed just how quickly a regime can be reduced to a heap of rubble. The age-old question: oppression can be overcome, but what comes after? The PM Papa character is a Gyanendra-Oli-Deuba-Prachanda-Modi-Trump-Papa Doc composite who is good friends with the not even thinly veiled President Corn Hair.&nbsp; Through the character of Kranti, Upadhyay conveys the dynamic between a parent and a child who is now a full adult, on relationships in Kathmandu as marriage looms, on pervasive corruption which one might denounce but have to take advantage of to get things done.&nbsp; Through Rozy, Upadhyay brings attention to the non-binary identity, one that has existed forever in Nepal, and although is discussed a lot in the West lately but not so much here. Upadhyay explores the origins, the present, and the various advantages and disadvantages of the queer.&nbsp; Storytelling in the early parts of the book oscillates between the real and absurd fantasy amidst the physical and political backdrop that does not have to be Nepal -- it could be Modi's India or Trump's America.&nbsp; The reader sees the world through Kranti’s psychosis, or PM Papa’s displays of power, such as when a ‘Sweej’ wrestler is beaten to death with a mace in a wrestling spectacle.&nbsp; These elements <a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/authors/profiles/article/96329-samrat-upadhyay-wants-you-to-expect-the-unexpected.html" target="_blank">coagulate in the novel</a>, and Upadhyay has all the pages at his disposal to prod and push them against one another to see what happens. The novel is still at its best and most engaging when describing vulnerable scenes, of Kranti and her mister, or of Rozy’s messed-up childhood.&nbsp; Any Nepali reading his weighty novel can recognise the allusions and nudges such as the Tourist Area: Thamel, Open Stage: Khula Manch, Tri-Moon: Tri-Chandra etc. But anyone not from these parts may have a tough time keeping track. Keeping a notebook handy may be useful.&nbsp; Ultimately, the novel does work, it provokes and entertains. For best results, serialise the reading over 30 days, not 3 like this reviewer.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Darkmotherland NT"> </figure>  <h2>More things change, more they remain the same</h2> First US-published Nepali Samrat Upadhyay is the award-winning author of novels and short story collections like Arresting God in Kathmandu, The City Son, Mad Country, and Buddha’s Orphans. Upadhyay is also the Martha C. Kraft Professor of Humanities at Indiana University, where he teaches Creative Writing.&nbsp; Recently in Kathmandu, he talked to the Nepali Times over coffee in Boudha about his writing, his teaching, and his newest novel, DARKMOTHERLAND.&nbsp; Nepali Times: Darkmotherland is 732 pages long. What was it like writing a much longer book? Samrat Upadhyay: Torturous Ha ha ha. Around 2014 I started a story. I knew it was going to be a novel. It was about this woman who is accused of being a Mangalik. Then the big earthquake happened in 2015. I was in the US but my parents were still here, they were living in tents. Then I started thinking, what would happen if a dictator came to power. That’s how PM Papa was born. I think mostly because of his character the novel exploded. I had never written a character like him before. I don’t do any plot outlines when I write. Let’s see where it goes. I like the process of writing to lead to discoveries. If I knew everything then I’d get bored. Not knowing where the storyline might go is very exciting. All these different threads started coming in, the character of Kranti started taking on a big role. Her mother, a Communist-leaning professor, started taking shape. Kranti also had a love-interest from an oligarchical family. The novel just took off and I just continued writing. A novel is as long as it needs to be. The initial draft was 1,700 pages. I was writing pretty fast. I don’t pause to see if the sentences are pretty. I whittled it down, and by the time I sent it to my agent it was 1,100 pages. He was able to sell it to Soho Press. I worked with an editor who suggested some further cuts and expansions. The editing part was even harder than the initial writing, because by that time I was tired of looking at the novel. There was a bit of a delay because of Covid, then we got back on track. What’s your daily process of getting the words on paper? I am a morning writer. I get up in the morning and start writing. You can have all kinds of theories but there is this saying, Shut Up and Write. The writing is where the meat is. You encounter difficulties in writing that you may not encounter when thinking about it. I see this in my students. I knew this was a big project so I knew that if I wanted to get it out I would need to write a lot per day. I got a couple fellowships in the university that gave me a few semesters off teaching. I would write for about 4 or 5 hours. Sometimes I would give myself a 1,000 word deadline, but I’m flexible with it if I don’t get there. You have to be kind and patient. What is your inspiration behind the gender-queer character, Rozy? I’ve always been a strong supporter of LGBT. I would say that at this point half of my students are non-binary or on the gender spectrum. Some of them are going through transitions. In some ways Nepal has become more accepting, but in other ways not. I did a workshop with Blue Diamond Society, and heard pretty harrowing stories. I didn’t intend to create a gender-queer character, but it seemed like the novel was demanding that. Especially in terms of the tyrannical stronghold that PM Papa has over the entire country, it made sense that there would be a counterpart, I wanted to put these things in motion and see how they interact. As I was writing Rozy, her character became very formidable. How much do you draw from Nepali politics? Do you form characters off people you know? Not in a very concrete sense, but I’m always drawing from them. I grew up in the Panchayat System, and lived in Lainchaur. The palace was there. The monarchy was such an institution. But then I was in the US, so I wasn’t here when the pro-democracy movement happened. In some ways it felt like things had changed, but were the same in other ways. I feel the same way now. I do draw upon people. I think my father makes an appearance in my work in various forms, I disguise him, of course. You’ve taught creative writing for a while now, how is literature changing?&nbsp; My students are also writing non-binary characters, because they want to be reflected in the stories. This is something new that we didn’t have. White authors, characters were the default. People of Color on the margins. African American and then Hispanic, South Asian authors were always pushing back on this status quo. When I was growing up in the classroom we were reading a lot of white male authors, but in my own life I was reading Salman Rushdie, African, South African friends and writers. My students have a lot more interest in fantasy, many are writing dystopian. One student is writing a novel where the characters start playing a game, and then they enter the game, and an entire new world opens up. On the one hand there are complaints that students aren’t reading enough, which is true, but my students are producing smarter work. Writing that is a lot more insightful. The calibre of discussion in my graduate-level novel writing classes is mind-boggling to me, and makes me want to keep on teaching. Do Nepali writers who write in English feel a certain pressure, from the market or self-imposed, to make their stories more Nepali? My experience for a long time was that there was a pressure, I felt it true in my case, I was supposed to be the representative of every Nepali. But Nepali writers writing in Nepali are not asked, how are you representing Nepal. At that time there was a lot of pressure to write a novel that is all-embracing, that is supposed to speak on all aspects of the country. Politics felt like an integral part of it, that these novels had to make big political statements. I always felt like this was wrong. I mean, people have to write what they want to write. &nbsp;You write what you want to write, and if it resonates with readers, that’s great. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too. Art isn’t going to speak to everyone. We do a competition every couple of years called Writing Nepal. We make a call for stories, and we decide the best ones. I find it refreshing now that the writing isn’t all about Nepal. The best stories are quite varied. What are Nepalis writing about?&nbsp; Several of the stories are about the role of women in our society, done with a lot of nuance, about the sort of multitasking they have to do. Some of it was deeply historical, some dystopian, the coming of AI. Some of them have an old-timey type of feel, and some of them are very modern, contemporary. The general level of art in movies, TV shows, and novels seems to have regressed compared to say the 90s.&nbsp; I don’t think that’s entirely true. Publishing has been harder, for sure, but there are a lot of novels being published every year. My writing workshop had always been a good vehicle for short stories, but a lot of my students now—even undergraduates—are working on novels. I haven’t formulated my thoughts on AI, it is so new and has hit us so hard. Many of my students are using AI, especially when writing response papers to works of literature or peers, which I find appalling. That’s going to be a struggle. I tell my students, who are you fooling? If you feel that you want to be an artist, or a writer, then what’s the point of using AI? AI-generated stories are also just not that good. They’re almost too perfect, too well put-together, making moves that are easy to detect. There is something about human-written stories that are messy and exciting. But there are also plenty of students who want to do original work and don’t want anything to do with AI.

himalaya