Kathmandu Valley got half its annual average rainfall in 36 hours on 28 September last year, unleashing deadly floods. Since then, there has not been a drop of rain. A prolonged winter drought in central and eastern Nepal has sparked off an early start to the annual wildfire season, with multiple fires reported across the country, including around Kathmandu Valley. A NASA Fire Information Resource Management System (FIRMS) infra-red satellite image on 20 January at noon shows at least 85 fires burning across the country, even in the western mountains which have seen snow and rain in the past weeks.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025012016014_449f06b054e16c05ee21daed90505441beedda84df17d8036c7076ded32ff158.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025012016014_449f06b054e16c05ee21daed90505441beedda84df17d8036c7076ded32ff158" data-rendition-name="original" width="2590" height="1308" loading="lazy" alt="wildfires in Nepal"> <figcaption>A NASA FIRMS image taken on 20 January at noon pinpointing wildfires all over Nepal. The ones visible from Kathmandu were the multiple fires below Ganesh Himal in Dolakha, an out of control fire in Langtang National Park and a new fire that started on Chandragiri Ridge southwest of Kathmandu.</figcaption> </figure>  Usually, such fires are lit by grazers in early spring to ensure that new shoots sprout from the ashes when the rains come. But lack of soil moisture and high winds have fanned flames which have quickly spread up the slopes. Nepal has doubled its forest cover in the past 30 years to 46% of its area. Depopulation of the mountain districts also means that with less harvesting of deadwood and leaves for fodder, forests have accumulated a lot of flammable dry undergrowth.&nbsp; Several westerly systems have passed through Nepal, but most have dumped much of the precipitation in the west of the country.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025012016014_29c2695e53d5c044a11c3276874fffd2c6cb0fe26b43343cd78b60cb20f53ffb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025012016014_29c2695e53d5c044a11c3276874fffd2c6cb0fe26b43343cd78b60cb20f53ffb" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="wildfires in Nepal"> <figcaption>Smoke from multiple fires in Dhading shroud Ganesh Himal in brown smoke on Sunday afternoon, as seen from the south-east corner of Kathmandu Valley. ALL PHOTOS: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption> </figure>  The National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA) has been monitoring the wildfires, but besides expressing concern about the lack of rain and counting the number of fires, there has not been much by way of preparation. Fire prevention needs a nationwide awareness campaign and enforcement, but it is difficult to monitor fires when they are 5,000m up the mountains. When even countries like the US find it difficult to fight fires like the ones that ravaged Los Angeles in the past week, Nepal just does not have the resources to fight rapidly spreading fires in remote mountainous terrain.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025012016018_425e285eb9abf9922efc480c7006065e8c900af413c55c3276c5384dacd65c57.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025012016018_425e285eb9abf9922efc480c7006065e8c900af413c55c3276c5384dacd65c57" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="wildfires in Nepal"> <figcaption>A fiery sunset on Chandragiri Ridge southwest of Kathmandu on Monday evening.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025012016018_873e4ce3492476a1ecc8fa9778b08fd21995511b35dd2d5ddf4c8660677008ae.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025012016018_873e4ce3492476a1ecc8fa9778b08fd21995511b35dd2d5ddf4c8660677008ae" data-rendition-name="original" width="1882" height="620" loading="lazy" alt="wildfires in Nepal"> <figcaption>A wide angle view of the Ganesh Himal and Langtang Ranges with red circles showing multiple fires on Sunday evening.</figcaption> </figure>  Last spring saw a record number of wildfires across the country in April-May, many of them lasting days and blanketing the sky with smoke. The reason then was also an exceptionally dry winter. When soot particles from wildfire smoke and air pollution are deposited on glaciers and snowfields in the mountains, they cause them to melt faster because of the reduction in their reflectivity. This year, Nepalis and visitors to Nepal have been greeted by iconic mountains like Machapuchre, Annapurna and Gauri Shankar devoid of snow cover looking like black pyramids.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025012016018_c09d70e61008de3999598cefd43aba027f4faa101c3a011d32226577b6be7aec.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025012016018_c09d70e61008de3999598cefd43aba027f4faa101c3a011d32226577b6be7aec" data-rendition-name="original" width="2268" height="4032" loading="lazy" alt="wildfires in Nepal"> <figcaption>The Langtang fire was still burning on Monday morning.</figcaption> </figure>

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Wildfire season starts early in Nepal

It took <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-it-rains-it-pours-ksqprbu3">the Great Flood of 28 September</a> for the residents of Kathmandu to finally realise how much trash they were throwing into the Valley’s sacred rivers. Even three weeks later, plastic bags wave like flags high up on the branches of trees at Teku and Sankhamul, reminding us of just how high the water level rose on that fateful day. There are pieces of cloth, styrofoam, plastic bottles and other garbage still strewn along the ruins of pavements and embankments. This was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-revenge-of-the-rivers">the revenge of the rivers</a>. The Bagmati, Vishnumati, Manohara, Nakkhu were getting back at city dwellers for treating the once sacred rivers as dumpsites. The rivers threw the trash right back where it came from. "If we do not want such garbage being washed away during the monsoon, we should prioritise waste management. We should focus on every aspect of waste generation," says Shilashila Acharya of Avni Ventures, a recycling company in Kathmandu. “Dumping sites are often near the riversides. So, we might also want to rethink the locations of the dumping sites.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_6c5aa3e6e413cf39fe6e7468c34897c41ddfa676a190f248261809e4e1388746.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241020131032_6c5aa3e6e413cf39fe6e7468c34897c41ddfa676a190f248261809e4e1388746" data-rendition-name="original" width="1807" height="1206" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_8eabed5914f6cd188997ca0e38c7c53d42b31601b85dcae93929fda6e08246a0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241020131032_8eabed5914f6cd188997ca0e38c7c53d42b31601b85dcae93929fda6e08246a0" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_88cb0411a16b270393d5b9b3d3a93351a80c646cdfc586edc7e60dbaf3dd5de9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241020131032_88cb0411a16b270393d5b9b3d3a93351a80c646cdfc586edc7e60dbaf3dd5de9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1364" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_8f009f0fd28e5890a4da1077ba3bd59615c5d9c0935268ac83e918e1109a93f9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241020131032_8f009f0fd28e5890a4da1077ba3bd59615c5d9c0935268ac83e918e1109a93f9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/industrial-scale-litter" target="_blank">Single-use plastic</a> is the biggest source of trash in Kathmandu Valley which uses up an estimated 5,000,000 plastic bags a day. About 800 tons of this non-biodegradable material is dumped in the river, or in landfill sites every day.&nbsp; The thicker plastic of bottles and other discarded household items are collected by waste pickers for recycling, but plastic below 20 microns in thickness is thrown away after being used once to carry vegetables or other food purchases. One plastic bag takes 500 years to completely biodegrade, and microplastics contaminate drinking water and find its way into the human food chain. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/a-plastic-republic/" target="_blank">Plastics thrown haphazardly</a> into rivers can clog up drainage channels, harm the water cycle and poison aquatic species and wildlife. Waste collecting companies have realised that there is money in trash, and are doing good business recycling the plastic, but since thin plastic bags are not recycled it ends up being swept down the Bagmati to the plains. “Cleaning campaigns are not enough. When we clean, we pick up the waste from one site and throw it off in another likely a landfill. This does not deal with the main problem of waste,” says Nabin Maharjan of Blue Waste to Value which recycles waste and turns them into sellable products such as cooking utensils.&nbsp; He adds: “But what we can do instead is pick the waste in a segregated form, reduce them to products and sell them. And that is how a circular economy can thrive. The government and local authorities should be involved.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131028_068e6e8d53e5687b4ce6bdb9019dd4e54d75a987e9524edab1a1389628fee105.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20241020131028_068e6e8d53e5687b4ce6bdb9019dd4e54d75a987e9524edab1a1389628fee105" data-rendition-name="original" width="1631" height="1085" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_c4c12fd8b57429ba670a9daeb824986a056add949421ada0301ad4a1cc875463.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20241020131032_c4c12fd8b57429ba670a9daeb824986a056add949421ada0301ad4a1cc875463" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_29bfdadf2b9c12b70cc025bb28364b7851e1229fdb7d92b9e6a9f96135e8efcc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20241020131032_29bfdadf2b9c12b70cc025bb28364b7851e1229fdb7d92b9e6a9f96135e8efcc" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_e84f74c0a64de669c3cb337ab29215805bf33f4aa2fdd439d94bf159d0d1288b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20241020131032_e84f74c0a64de669c3cb337ab29215805bf33f4aa2fdd439d94bf159d0d1288b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1728" height="1152" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>  Nepal’s governments tried to <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/plastic-free-new-year,2174" target="_blank">ban polythene and single-use bags</a> below 20 microns in thickness several times in the past, but these regulations were hastily withdrawn due to lobbying by importers of plastic pellets who have political connections. Hanging from railings on the Bagmati banks, and swinging from trees at its confluence with the Vishnumati in Teku are at least seven types of plastic. The lowest grade are single use thin plastic bags which have to be banned at source. But half-buried in the silt of the Bagmati’s floodplain are PET (polyethylene terephthalate) bottles, which can easily be recycled. Waste collectors do remove most of these and other types before they are dumped, but many do find their way into the river. Without extended producer responsibility, the Nepal government does not consider it mandatory to require manufacturers to ensure recycling. “The first and foremost step of waste management starts is the segregation of biodegradable and non-biodegradable trash at source. Secondly, there should be more planned landfills within a community. While we prefer landfills to be away from the city, planned smaller landfills help better manage the waste of a community," adds Acharya. "Third is the partnership that can exist between government authorities like Kathmandu municipalities with private organisation who are already working in waste management. This collaboration can help them better manage the waste," she says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_48605d7ecf39c69de5baa2fa40884c7358a5da04d0e3cf8a6d35a5d97ca81052.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20241020131032_48605d7ecf39c69de5baa2fa40884c7358a5da04d0e3cf8a6d35a5d97ca81052" data-rendition-name="original" width="1728" height="1152" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_58c1a09be67c49863c27ad47a8c98f044c095d5f34b2376309f1e155fe4c6601.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="20241020131032_58c1a09be67c49863c27ad47a8c98f044c095d5f34b2376309f1e155fe4c6601" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_43b3c1b4234be87fba985880b1f345e6d44ccccf76571771e9a56059dc1b24ce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20241020131032_43b3c1b4234be87fba985880b1f345e6d44ccccf76571771e9a56059dc1b24ce" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1367" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>  Kathmandu Valley produces an estimated 1,500 tons of waste every day, most of this ends up unsegregated at the landfill site at Banchare Danda of Nuwakot, after another site at Sisdole got filled up in 2022. Nearly 65% of it is still organic household waste, and can easily be turned into compost and does not have to end up at the landfill at all.&nbsp; Much of the paper, plastic bottles, metal and glass can also be recycled easily if they are segregated at source — as Mayor Balen Shah promised in his election campaigning. This could reduce the volume of garbage that has to be sent in fleets of tipper trucks every day to the landfill.&nbsp; Residents living near Banchare already suffer serious health risks from water contaminated with leachate from the dumpsite. Says Nabin Maharjan: “We have to start working on minismising the waste generation. Until waste prevention is not taken seriously, this cycle of people throwing waste and people cleaning it up will never end.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_b209d360e5c016d6f639d5abe07c4d56aecf0fd5743a53bbec02a67b7a5cefa3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="20241020131032_b209d360e5c016d6f639d5abe07c4d56aecf0fd5743a53bbec02a67b7a5cefa3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_0d36428ba5bf27a36984dd0418d2df6cc98ac79068f1568f0d6d54fec5af01c9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_17" data-image-id="20241020131032_0d36428ba5bf27a36984dd0418d2df6cc98ac79068f1568f0d6d54fec5af01c9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241020131032_826b4fca2bcad775298e2a362c6cfba1f0ff675c76a7504ed553ed145bf6dcc7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_18" data-image-id="20241020131032_826b4fca2bcad775298e2a362c6cfba1f0ff675c76a7504ed553ed145bf6dcc7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1994" height="1329" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu's garbage crisis after the floods"> </figure>  &nbsp;

Kathmandu’s flood exposes garbage crisis

112 dead, 65 missing in Nepal floods

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.