Last week was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/maha-shivaratri">Shivaratri</a>, and this week it is <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/everyday-as-if-it-is-women-s-day">International Women’s Day</a> on 8 March. What better way to marry the two than to investigate Shakti, the feminine creative aspect of the universe.&nbsp; Shiva’s consort has many names: Parvati, Shakti, Durga, Uma, Gauri. She is the embodiment of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/midwives-to-the-rescue-in-nepal">motherhood</a>, love and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/future-proofing-nepal-s-population-strategy?s=04">fertility</a>, and she balances Shiva’s destructive attributes with creation.&nbsp; Alongside the triumvirate of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-hindu-gods-of-buddhist-thailand">Brahma the creator and Vishnu the preserver</a>, is <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6983">Shiva the destroyer-creator</a>. He is the Lord of making things end so that the new can take their place.&nbsp; Hinduism may be perceived and practised as a multitheistic religion, but in its tenets, all is one, the gods and their many avatar are but different names given to the one truth of existence and reality. And in this, Shiva can be referred to as the Supreme Being. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/tolerating-nepal-s-religious-tolerance">Tolerating Nepal’s religious tolerance</a>, Shekhar Kharel Shiva is considered masculine, and conceptualised as <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/communicating-existence-through-art">pure consciousness</a> -- call it soul, transcendent spirit, whatever that exists beyond the material. Shakti is feminine energy and is a dynamic reality. The union of Shiva-Shakti symbolises creation and the coming together of male and female energy.&nbsp; One of the most sacred texts in <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11957">Hinduism </a>is the Shiva Purana, and it describes Shakti as having a ‘parturient’ trait. Parturient is used to describe a woman in labour, so Shakti is thought of as fertile, and always on the verge of creation if the pure consciousness of Shiva wills something. This may seem to suggest that the feminine aspect is submissive and waiting for the masculine form to act and uphold the need for creation. But we have to see this as a human conceptualisation to make sense of our own existence and the need to explain reality.&nbsp; Another way to interpret the gendering could be that the masculine is not of much use if the feminine does not exist. In other words, what good would it be if there was nothing to be conscious of, and there was only a destroyer. It is the feminine form that holds the power of creation.&nbsp; Parvati may have been regarded as feminine because she creates, gives birth. And consciousness as masculine because of its association with Shiva, the yogi-ascetic.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/a-thousand-sadhus-and-a-hanuman">A thousand Sadhus and a Hanuman</a>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025030813038_5393d1feffb9952b8c3df26d0cd6142ffaef9cf503b163b0e866c478e64e0625.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2025030813038_5393d1feffb9952b8c3df26d0cd6142ffaef9cf503b163b0e866c478e64e0625" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="980" loading="lazy" alt="Shiva"> <figcaption>This 12th century stele of Uma Maheswar depicting Shiva and Parvati was stolen from Tangal Hiti in Patan 45 years ago and returned to Nepal in 2018 from The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.</figcaption> </figure>  The Shiva Purana perspective is that both are balanced and the same, and neither can exist without the other.&nbsp; ‘Just as Shiva, so also the goddess. Just as the goddess so also Shiva. No difference shall be thought of between the two as between the moon and the moonlight’, says the text, which is part of the Shaivite literature corpus. In fact, the composite deity of &nbsp;‘Ardhanarishvara’ expresses precisely this union and can be translated as ‘the Lord who is half woman’. Ardhanarishvara is a depiction of a being that is split straight down the middle: the right half is traditionally Shiva with his masculine features and Nandi the bull consort, and the left side is <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/swasthani-lecture">Parvati or Durga </a>with feminine traits and a tiger consort.&nbsp; “The paintings and statues of Ardhanarishvara show that Shiva and Shakti are both inseparable and the same,” explains historian and author Govinda Tandon.&nbsp; “This is all the Hindu concept of ekam sat vipra bahudha vadanti, that truth is one, but called by many names,” Tandon adds, pointing out that the the bull and tiger consorts co-exist in the divine pair, although they would be prey and predator, further reinforcing the concept that opposing characteristics can prevail in the same being.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/giving-a-face-to-a-deity">Giving faces to a deity</a>, Shaguni Singh Sakya The Shiva-Shakti postulation of the coexistence of opposites exists in other faiths as darkness giving way to light. It is an attempt to understand the universal truth that what appears to be antithetical are essential to reality, and meaningless without the opposite aspect.&nbsp; Other philosophies also share this understanding of dual oneness. Ancient Chinese belief systems came up with <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14536">Yin-Yang</a>, where Yin is receptive and dark, and Yang is active and bright, each containing a seed of the other.&nbsp; The message is not to rank one better than the other, but that maintaining a balance between the two is key to living in Tao, or the natural path of the universe.&nbsp; Western thinkers have also described the two as Chaos and Order, or Nature and Culture. Too much chaos, and nothing sustains itself (think <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-geopolitics-of-nepal-s-politics">Nepal’s politics</a>). Too much order, and everything stagnates, like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/a-creeping-coup">in a dictatorship</a> where anything that deviates from the strict command is punished, and nothing truly new and revolutionary is allowed to foster. All of these ways to see the duality somewhat echo each other, although they may not be exactly the same. But what is common to all these ideas of Shiva-Shakti, Creation-Destruction, Ying-Yang, Light-Darkness, is the same overarching message: that both forces are inseparable and must exist in a cosmic dance for it to be optimal.&nbsp; Nataraja is another manifestation of Shiva, where he dances with wild abandon (Tandava), symbolising the creation and destruction of the universe. In Tantricism, creation follows destruction as Shiva and Shakti join in this union.&nbsp; This notion also aligns with the latest discoveries in<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17254"> astrophysics </a>of matter and antimatter, and the singularity in a black hole where time and space merge. The Shiva-Shakti duality can also be regarded as a singularity. A photon, for example, is a quantum of light and can be both a particle and a wave. In the ‘wave-particle’ duality, light can behave as a particle when hitting something, but act as a wave when travelling through space.&nbsp; Or, take the Observer Effect in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-destroyer-of-worlds">quantum physics</a>. Electrons fired at a card with two slits will behave like waves, creating ripple patterns beyond the slits. But introduce a detector, and the electron behaves like a particle, the ripples disappear.&nbsp; Shiva is tangible reality, Shakti is pure energy. Some physicists who study sub-atomic particles say that the deeper they investigate, the more they begin to see the hand of a Supreme Being.&nbsp; The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-script-of-the-scriptures">scriptures</a> and their depictions of the divine transcend and exist in the everyday world around us. Evolution, for example, is possible because of natural selection through the act of reproduction, the fusion of gametes from two parents that creates the genetic variation so they can ‘be fruitful and multiply’.&nbsp; Govinda Tandon used to be the chair of the Pashupati Area Development Trust committed &nbsp;to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/remembering-nepal-s-conservation-heroes">managing and conserving</a> the temple dedicated to the benign manifestation of Shiva, one of the holiest Hindu shrines in the world.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-healer-of-pashupati">The healer of Pashupati</a> The temple itself is regarded as the site where Shiva and Parvati once took the form of antelopes on the forested banks of the Bagmati. For Tandon, there is a strong message from the divine union of Shiva-Shakti, Uma-Maheswar, Gauri-Shankar, Shiva-Parvati: “The masculine and feminine principles existing in the same form as equals should inspire us. Societies, families work best when men and women respect each other as equals. One complements the other.”

Vishad Raj Onta

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The sacred female energy of Shakti

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171116/63692f929c7e80680e03c0b1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1070"/><figcaption>Photo: Kunda Dixit</figcaption></figure>Dasain is here again, a festival of shopping, family reunions, feasting – and controversies. Fierce debates again rage online and offline about whether <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/dasain-goes-global,3950" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Dasain </a>is indigenous or not, if there should be so many days off. But the loudest arguments in recent years are about the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/ode-to-goat,3321" target="_blank" rel="noopener">cult of animal sacrifice</a>.Going by previous trends, almost a million goats, sheep, buffalos and poultry will be killed during the fortnight of festivities. Not all are ritually sacrificed, some are slaughtered by butchers to meet the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-goat-rush,3320" target="_blank" rel="noopener">increased Dasain demand for meat</a>.Maya Thapa and her husband sell goats, sheep, chicken and ducks at the animal market in Kalanki. She says: “Dasain sees a peak in sales. During other times of year, we mostly supply animals to slaughterhouses, but in Dasain the animals are sold for household sacrifices.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=14800&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Octoberfest</a>, EditorialMost Hindu sacrifices do not involve animals at all, but <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/vegetables-and-famous-veggie-dishes-this-Dasain,3951" target="_blank" rel="noopener">vegetables </a>or dairy products. But in Nepal, the Kali cult manifests itself in <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16522#.W782MXszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">animal sacrifices</a> which are not just killing for the sake of killing, but hold a larger symbolism. By sacrificing goats and buffalos, devotees believe they are killing self-centredness and malice – humans are removing the animal instincts present in themselves.Cultural historian Madan Mohan Mishra explains that sacrifices are a sign of respect to the Goddess Durga (in her various forms such as Kali, Bhawani, Mai) to confront and defeat the Mahisasur buffalo demon. His killing is represented by sacrificing multiple buffalos in front of Durga temples around Nepal at Dasain.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/ode-to-goat,3321" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Ode to goat</a>, Ketan DulalPriestess Mohan Maiya Jha of the Char Narayan and Bhai Dega temples in Patan adds: “Human sacrifice used to represent the ultimate sacrifice – there was nothing to hold one back from attaining true liberation (moksha). But human life is much too precious to be left to religious symbolism which is why the practice was replaced with animal sacrifice. As social consciousness evolves and the times change, the practice of animal sacrifice may also die out.”But she is opposed to the protests against sacrificing animals and the ruling of the Supreme Court to ban animal sacrifice at the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Overkill-in-Gadhimai,1794" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Gadhimai festival</a>. “There should be no interference in religious traditions. Protests and the courts cannot start or end a custom. Such matters, good or bad, must be left to society.”However, the cult of animal sacrifice goes beyond religious customs. Webb Keane, Professor of Anthropology at University of Michigan, makes the case that sacrificing animals came about after humans evolved as natural hunters and possessed predatory instincts.Read also: <a style="font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 0.15px; background-color: #ffffff;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16522#.W782MXszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Animal fights</a>, Rabi ThapaBut as societies evolved and institutionalised religions developed, such taking of life for food came to be regarded as morally wrong as humans were capable of producing food through agriculture without the need for violence. Early civilisations therefore developed ritualistic sacrifices to the Gods to justify the killing of animals for meat.The hunter instinct is deeply rooted in humans to this day, and most religions, tribal and mainstream, possess one form of sacrifice or the other – in Islam it is Qurbani, in Christianity the sacrificial lamb, and in Hinduism the Bali.“Animal sacrifices are not unique to any one religion – it is a universal theme driven by our innate animal instinct,” says Keane.Read also: <a style="letter-spacing: 0.15px; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: bold;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14100#.W782NnszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Scapegoats</a>, Tirtha B ShresthIn response to international activism against animal sacrifices, the Nepal government has outlawed the mass slaughter of animals in Gadhimai. Individual sacrifices at home in Dasain are also being gradually replaced by buying meat from supermarkets or the neighbourhood butcher.Says animal rights activist Sujan Shrestha: “Beheading animals at home makes children impervious to violence, they get used to the sight of blood-letting. You do not have to be a psychologist to know that this risks normalising violence in the minds of youngsters.”The usual justification for <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14100#.W782NnszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">animal sacrifices</a> is that they appease the gods and replace human bloodshed. But given the massacres and wars in Nepal’s history, that argument does not seem to hold. More than 90 nobles were killed in the Bhandarkhal Massacre of 1806 that brought Bhimsen Thapa to power, 55 were killed by Jang Bahadur in the Kot in 1846, and the 2001 massacre nearly wiped out Nepal’s royal family.Today, the Kot Massacre is still marked at Dasain not by non-violent rituals, but by the mass slaughter of hundreds of buffalos, goats and birds.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/vegetables-and-famous-veggie-dishes-this-Dasain,3951" target="_blank" rel="noopener">This Dasain, vegetate</a>, Sonia Awale<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Overkill-in-Gadhimai,1794" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Overkill in Gadhimai</a>, Lucia de Vries and Deepak Adhikari

The sacrifice of animal sacrifices

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

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

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

The <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/DQtSOT6ilFC/?img_index=1">post on Instagram </a>has an image of Sudan Gurung. Over the top is the message: ‘We wont let this year’s election happen if Gen Z’s demands are Ignored’. The account’s bio is ‘Uniting Nepalese Through Independent Investigative Research.’ Post like these have become a template for the information ecosystem in the aftermath of the GenZ revolt in September. Social media feeds are saturated with content that uses multimodality of captions, video, audio, to convey alarm and warnings about how GenZ aspirations are being subverted. Research by MIT showed that on X false news reaches 1,500 people six times faster than the truth. Fake news goes ‘farther, faster, deeper, and more broadly than the truth’, researchers concluded. Narratives compete on platforms, and users gravitate to the shock-value of the news and not to factual precision or nuance.&nbsp; “On social media misinformation easily mutates into disinformation,” says media literacy trainer Deepak Adhikari. “The news we see on social media are often out of context, with little information that misinforms more than inform.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251203121236_6daaeaf8ed255fda4a431d0419d9ae1a0908259af14529835034ce48653064a9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251203121236_6daaeaf8ed255fda4a431d0419d9ae1a0908259af14529835034ce48653064a9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1501" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Doomscrolling democracy NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251203121232_8a7a41b8bd1892137d1dd97fd1c1408d2879ff96fa69a4d6d5acff7239869d4b.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251203121232_8a7a41b8bd1892137d1dd97fd1c1408d2879ff96fa69a4d6d5acff7239869d4b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1601" height="340" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ instagram"> </figure>  Indeed, today’s ‘Post-Truth Society’ is characterised by a media environment where users give more credibility to their pre-existing beliefs and emotion rather than objective facts or subjective nuance. Post-Truth does not refer to what comes after the truth, but rather a cultural or information environment where pre-held personal beliefs shape public opinion, not facts.&nbsp; Rumour, bias and propaganda have always been a part of the informationsphere, but what makes it different today is the velocity at which falsehood spreads. The news cycle is short, and before content can be verified the damage is already done.&nbsp; Adhikari says that pre- and post-publication fact checking can be a potential antidote. However, when a video with misleading content goes viral, and even after fact-checkers catch up to correct it, the fear-mongering, anger or hate has already spread.&nbsp; In Nepal’s social media, apparently everyone is tarred as guilty, or funded by a foreign government. Calls to dismantle federalism, restore the monarchy, or teach political leaders a lesson by supporting authoritarian alternatives are no longer fringe ideas discussed in private. They circulate routinely in the algorithmic streams legitimised not by evidence but sentiment. When misinformation becomes the default, nostalgia for a mythical prosperous past begins to look like a rational response. While these positions are not new, their algorithmic amplification gives them perceived legitimacy that makes it hard to estimate, or far exceed, their actual political support. “We have not highlighted the achievements of our multiparty democratic system, and the new generation has not experienced authoritarianism,” Adhikari explains. “Therefore statements like federalism is expensive and the monarchy was better have taken up space, because the evidence of the counter narrative is underreported.” There is a positive side to social media. The GenZ movement took on momentum, and the protestors organised and supported each other through the very platforms that are now full of content that can potentially derail the democracy they wanted to strengthen. Just like it was trendy to be revolutionary during the protests, it is now trendy to be skeptical and to distrust the very people who were installed in the interim government through online voting. Such is the architecture of social media: it rewards immediate reaction over reflection, and due to its interface design, it not only shows what could be relevant ‘for you’ but also tells you what others are thinking about that. The role of the mainstream press as the traditional gatekeeper of information has been superseded by the digital sphere — both in access and sharing. This poses new challenges because social media content may not be news, and just because a page claims to be a news site that does not mean it is journalism. Social media feeds are not chronological newspapers but an algorithmic marketplace. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, YouTube all rely on recommender systems, now powered by AI to keep users on their platforms for as long as possible. The feeds then collapse the distinction between credible news, speculation, parody, and deliberate disinformation, especially in a politically volatile environment.&nbsp; Everything appears in the same vertical stream, formatted with similar fonts, voiceovers, and music, making a platter of content that they know you are most likely to consume. For Nepali users, this has created personalised and parallel political realities. Two people living in the same household may open TikTok and encounter completely different idea of the problems and solutions of Nepal. One is fed content in favour of elections in March, while another pushes conspiracy theories about anti-GenZ activities aided and abetted by foreign powers. None of these feeds reflect the whole picture. Each reflects what the algorithm has learnt will capture user attention. Academics have long found that social media sites do thousands of A B testing to silently optimise which colors, captions, or video formats users respond to most intensely.&nbsp; Tests help design the most addictive feeds. Interface interference allows platforms to limit discoverability of certain features such as the ‘Logout’ and ‘Privacy’ settings so the system remembers users preference for the next time they are scrolling the platform. When faced with such infocalypse, we have the option to withdraw and not engage with our feeds or our phones. But billions of dollars have been spent by Big Tech to keep us hooked. We need more structural revisions that integrate the need of a safer online environment. Media and digital literacy must be woven into both formal education and public institutions. It cannot be an optional topic or a workshop for a select few.&nbsp; Students must learn how algorithms work, how misinformation spreads, and how to verify information before sharing it. Adults need community-level programs that help them navigate the online world that now shapes politics.&nbsp; Content creators also must be held accountable. Profiles posing as news sites must also be brought under the same scrutiny as the mainstream press. Directives for social media journalism, a section in the Press Council’s Journalism Code of Conduct can be introduced as provisions that foster transparency and ethical journalism practices on social media. Creators should pledge to verify facts, cite sources, and clearly label opinion or commentary. While this will not entirely curb disinformation, it can be the first step towards a digital public sphere that can host democratic dialogue with nuance and facts.&nbsp; Says Adhikari: “Journalism doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and our knowledge space, academia, think tanks, research centres, archives, are scaffolding to support journalism, and we must make them stronger. The role of journalism can be to humanise the news and journalists can be storytellers, but the responsibility of the information ecosystem does not rely on journalists alone.” Ayusha Chalise is a communication and development scholar specialising in how politics is experienced in the digital space.

hindu-culture

The sacred female energy of Shakti

The sacrifice of animal sacrifices

A new normal

Things eventually work out

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

Doomscrolling democracy