Kathmandu, the UNESCO-designated city of film, is all set to celebrate cinema with the 22nd edition of KIMFF from 28 May to 1 June. The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/kimff-turns-21-wz756ixn">Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival</a> this year features a selection of 65 films from all over the world on the theme of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/knowing-our-mountains-43v4iyvo">mountains</a>. The festival opens with the Nepal premiere of Jeremy Power Regimbal’s documentary ‘Between the Mountain and the Sky’ featuring Surkhet-based educationist and CNN Hero Maggie Doyne.&nbsp; Launched in 2000 by a journalists’ collective, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/kimff-2019-p8070ipt">KIMFF has evolved over the years</a>, bringing in new themes like climate breakdown, indigenous groups, tourism and Himalayan culture. “This time we are prioritising people-driven stories and, most importantly, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/homecoming-with-music">Nepali voice</a>,” says KIMFF convener Ramyata Limbu.&nbsp; This year’s films reflect broader changes in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-cinema-s-melodramatic-realism">Nepal’s filmmaking landscape</a>, as access to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/tech-and-transition-in-nepal">technology</a> and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-have-stories-to-yell">storytelling platforms</a> expand. Kimff’s Nepal Panorama section over the years has become a launchpad for many of the country’s leading independent filmmakers. This year, The festival is widening its scope with its inaugural Kathmandu DocLab. This is a five-day incubator designed for the South Asians by the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/documenting-the-anthropocene">South Asian filmmakers</a> and aims to foster local talent from the region and equip them with the tools to craft globally resonant stories.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052209054_6ae4c176750255257e98b623cec24307747b6d6ae08bd0c7c0aeaae014219f59.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025052209054_6ae4c176750255257e98b623cec24307747b6d6ae08bd0c7c0aeaae014219f59" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2025 NT"> </figure>  “DocLab is a place for filmmakers to come together to work on their ideas and to make the stories even more engaging,” says its director Alok Adhikari. “Documentaries are regarded as a boring genre. We want to change the narrative by learning to tell engaging stories.” The DocLab aims to demystify fund-raising for films outside South Asia and simulate a real-world <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/documentary-films-come-of-age">film market</a>. The nine selected participants will be mentored by Anam Abbas (Pakistan-Canada), Arun Bhattarai (Bhutan), and Rintu Thomas (India). “In <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12940">documentary filmmaking</a>, a regional context is even more crucial, which South Asians inherently understand,” explains Adhikari. “Too often, when these ideas are pitched to Western investors, key cultural elements get lost in translation.” After the workshop, participants will pitch ideas to audiences and filmmakers. The top three projects get prize money, and DocLab will also connect them with international industry partners to secure funds.&nbsp; This year’s festival will also host a Cut.Katha Documentary Pitch, supported by the British Council, in which five <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/she-is-the-story">Nepali women filmmakers </a>will pitch short documentary projects. Other highlights include a Nikon Youth photography/filmmaking workshop and a VR installation of &nbsp;Maya: The Birth of a Superhero. “Kathmandu is now a regional hub for documentary filmmaking, offering industry connection, creative collaboration and access to the global film market much like the world’s biggest film festivals,” says Ramyata Limbu. The festival is taking place simultaneously at QFX Chhaya Centre, Astrek Park, and GAA Hall in Thamel.&nbsp; <h2>Watchlist</h2> <h2>Have you seen my gods?&nbsp;</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052209054_82a2592d31907b782dadc670056d256424aec941d472803839252979377faed6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="2025052209054_82a2592d31907b782dadc670056d256424aec941d472803839252979377faed6" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="533" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2025 NT"> </figure>  A compelling and deeply personal journey to track down the whereabouts of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-deities-in-transit">Kathmandu’s stolen sacred deities</a>, many of which are displayed in museums across the United States. To honour his grandmother’s final wish, Joshi looks for stolen gods. &nbsp; 60 min | Nepal/United States | 2025&nbsp; English/ Nepali Director: Amitabh Joshi&nbsp; <h2>Butterfly Bhutan &nbsp;</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052209054_8e90fc879ea35a62ea29fd7a25de1d3b591805ddabaa1ee88f8b553abeebc803.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="2025052209054_8e90fc879ea35a62ea29fd7a25de1d3b591805ddabaa1ee88f8b553abeebc803" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2025 NT"> </figure>  Sonam Phuntsho, a devoted Buddhist, starts questioning the environmental impact of acrylic prayer flags. The documentary follows Sonam as he starts removing flags, getting push back from his own community.&nbsp; 30 min | Bhutan | 2024 Dzongkha Director: Sonam Yangzom <h2>Songs of Love and Hate&nbsp;</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052209054_2cde15daafd995354ae1f84a4cd5b1c85114181768bce612244d00ccd7a220f2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="2025052209054_2cde15daafd995354ae1f84a4cd5b1c85114181768bce612244d00ccd7a220f2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1065" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2025 NT"> </figure>  Prem hosts a popular radio program on relationship advice. Afflicted by a heartbreak himself, he navigates an emotional rollercoaster of love along with his listeners.&nbsp; 17 min | Nepal | 2024&nbsp; Nepali Director: Saurav Ghimire&nbsp; <h2>The Lama’s Son&nbsp;</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052209054_d70f429797cafa56b540be1b7167a6349fe0288c040645a7dfe5107f9cf8952b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="2025052209054_d70f429797cafa56b540be1b7167a6349fe0288c040645a7dfe5107f9cf8952b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2025 NT"> </figure>  A Bonpo Lama waits for his sushi chef son to return from New York. But he does not want to come back threatening the family’s ancestral lineage.&nbsp; 72 min | Nepal | 2025&nbsp; Lo-Kay/Tibetan Director: Kesang Tseten&nbsp; <h2>Kottukkaali</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025052209054_d02176866a12a849d966afe64a25afcb09b1b788d1e3e7422efa87e24b7e040e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_17" data-image-id="2025052209054_d02176866a12a849d966afe64a25afcb09b1b788d1e3e7422efa87e24b7e040e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2049" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2025 NT"> </figure>  A woman falls in love with a man from a lower caste, and spotlights the dangerous discrimination still dormant in Indian families and society.&nbsp; 101 min | India | 2023&nbsp; Tamil Director: Vinothraj PS

Pinki Sris Rana

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Festival of mountain films

KIMFF 2024 is once again set to gather Nepali and international filmmakers, aficionados, scholars and mountaineers in a celebration of visual storytelling. Given dire warnings of how climate breakdown is affecting the ice caps on the world’s mountains, this year’s festival offers a new sense of urgency under the theme ‘Echoes of Change’. The festival from 29 May-2 June will take place at the Rastriya Sabha Griha and Nepal Tourism Board, featuring over 60 documentaries, fiction, features, and short films from 22 countries, including Nepal, Bhutan, India, Iran, South Korea, Colombia, and Tunisia. The festival’s Nepal Panorama section will showcase almost 30 films about contemporary Nepal by local filmmakers, the largest number Kimff has featured yet. “Kimff’s objective has always been to provide a platform for local stories and talent,” explains festival director Ramyata Limbu. “We hope the filmmakers and audiences will appreciate and enjoy this.”&nbsp; Kimff 2024 will kick off with the Asia Premiere of Italian director Brando Quilici’s The Tiger’s Nest. Filmed on location in Nepal, it follows a young boy embarking on a dangerous cross-country adventure to save a tiger’s cub from poachers. “Hopefully, films like these will open up the space for and spark conversations about more co-productions and collaborations in Nepal,” adds Limbu. The closing documentary on 2 June is No Monastery No Village about mountain people fighting to preserve their community and cultural heritage from a climate-induced disaster. The international jury includes director/producer Dina Mufti from the UK, Nepali anthropologist Suresh Dhakal, and film editor Regina Baertschi from Switzerland. &nbsp;They will pick winners from three shortlisted international feature films, 11 feature documentaries, and 16 fiction films for the Nepal Panorama section, among others. Kimff will also celebrate a century since pioneering attempts on Everest with a film screening and a photo exhibition titled Everest Revisited 1924-2024. It will also mark half a decade of bilateral ties between Nepal and South Korea with the screening of films from Korea’s Ulsan Ulju Mountain Film Festival. This year’s line-up will also include a panel discussion on Women Behind the Camera, screenings and an interactive session titled Championing Young Filmmakers, and a Nepali documentary pitch session by the forum Cut.Katha. Participants can also participate in an editing masterclass with Regina Baertschi. Kimff 2024 is co-hosted by Kathmandu Metropolitan City and promoted by Nepal Tourism Board with support from the Swiss Agency for Development and Cooperation, the British Council, US Embassy, Film Development Board, Nepal Mountaineering Association (NMA), Mila Productions, Pasang Lhamu Foundation, Daya Foundation, Voices of Women Media (VOW), Contemporary Art of Nepal Foundation, Toni Hagen Foundation, Bagmati Communications Registrar, Himalaya International Mountain Film of China (HIMF), GIZ, WWF, ICIMOD, North Face Nepal, and Sonam. &nbsp;&nbsp; <h2>HIGHLIGHTS</h2> <h2>The Tiger’s Nest</h2> 94 min | Italy/Nepal | 2022 Original Language: English Director: Brando Quilici &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_63b09ce3fbb8a63f27e8e0097631ab6338785b5ac2a4dc748b93d5189c6f2ae7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240524120520_63b09ce3fbb8a63f27e8e0097631ab6338785b5ac2a4dc748b93d5189c6f2ae7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1012" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  This opening film is the story of a young orphan named Balmani, who has grown up hearing about the legend of a guru who once flew through the Himalaya on the back of a female tiger. Where he landed, a cave on a sheer cliff, now stands a monastery called The Tiger’s Nest. One night, Balmani saves a tiger cub from the clutches of evil poachers and makes for the Tiger’s Nest, which he believes will be a safe haven. With the smugglers in hot pursuit, the boy and cub travel from the lush grasslands of central Nepal, through the chaos of Kathmandu, and into the high Himalaya, forming an unbreakable bond along the way. <h2>Andro Dreams</h2> 63 min | India | 2023 Original Language: Manipuri Director: Meena Longjam  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_d5e6c25f326dbd602325c706a3be1d451ceec3f92cfc6c455125bc7ad008d0fa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240524120520_d5e6c25f326dbd602325c706a3be1d451ceec3f92cfc6c455125bc7ad008d0fa" data-rendition-name="original" width="1621" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  This is the story of a love affair between the spirited Laibi and her all girls' football club in a village in rural northeast India. Laibi’s club battles economic challenges, the patriarchy, and orthodoxy. Andro Dreams was the opening film for the non-feature section at the International Film Festival of India 2023. <h2>कुलैं तौल कुछ नि जमदु (Nothing Grows Under The Pine Trees)</h2> 32 min | India | 2023 &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Original Language: Garhwali Director: Sachin Rana&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_20729c87454d7e3c1e6b13c0427d6cbb61b29796251d861e5f0120b786719f1a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240524120520_20729c87454d7e3c1e6b13c0427d6cbb61b29796251d861e5f0120b786719f1a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1663" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  In the hills of India’s Uttarakhand state live two sisters. The elder is pragmatic while the younger one is given to flights of fancy. When their parents deem that their firstborn daughter has crossed a line that would make her an outcast in society, they begin to make arrangements for her marriage. Her younger sister mistakenly comes to believe that she is the one whose wedding is planned. Nothing Grows Under The Pine Trees is the saga of a people who disguise their prejudice as tradition. <h2>Climbing For Gold</h2> 22 min | Belgium/ United States | 2024 Original Language: Dutch/ English Director: Vincent Groos &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_ed33d46e5907f2edd82423f7d50d4479451fcf9975622e682f6008aa08eb47c8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240524120520_ed33d46e5907f2edd82423f7d50d4479451fcf9975622e682f6008aa08eb47c8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  Vincent Groos’ documentary follows paraclimber Fré Leys as he trains for and competes in the 2023 Paraclimbing World Championships in Salt Lake City. Climbing for Gold explores Leys’ unrelenting training regimen, the bureaucracy of sports, and his competitors. It is a celebration of hard work, determination, and the human spirit. <h2>My Radio My Life</h2> 68 min | India | 2023 Original Language: English/ Hindi/ Marathi Directors: Bidit Roy, Makarand Waikar&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_d3b926ef391f6f96f84594575f133776010a981d18d31e15b8306e7bc15a60f5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20240524120520_d3b926ef391f6f96f84594575f133776010a981d18d31e15b8306e7bc15a60f5" data-rendition-name="original" width="1895" height="1068" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  Set in the 21st century, the film revisits the golden era of radio in India through people whose lives were shaped by the medium. Some of the cast of characters include a former announcer for Voice of America who broadcasted the Apollo 11 moon landing; a woman who found her calling, and later a life partner, through radio; an octogenarian who is determined to bring his treasured valve radio set back to life; a man who restores radios and displays them in his museum; and a woman who overcomes her conservative family through her passion for HAM radio. <h2>A Childless Village</h2> 82 min | Iran | 2022 &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Original Language: Azerbaijani Director: Reza Jamali  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120528_f83f6b93f0e30cffff2d488bda7a7caaad06c3fe12ae9b011208efb0ab7f7446.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240524120528_f83f6b93f0e30cffff2d488bda7a7caaad06c3fe12ae9b011208efb0ab7f7446" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  Two decades ago, an elderly filmmaker named Kazem made a documentary about women in a remote Azeri village, all of whom are childless. The women stole and burned the footage, but 20 years later, it emerges that it is actually the men in the village who are infertile. Determined to complete his project this time, Kazem heads back to ask new questions. <h2>The Whispers of a Qareen</h2> 15 min | India | 2024 Original Language: Hindi Director: Maaria Sayed  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_7e192e35e6ad30732c87893324dc91d38859e85d69ff5f86901ba83f155a186f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240524120520_7e192e35e6ad30732c87893324dc91d38859e85d69ff5f86901ba83f155a186f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="942" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  12-year-old Jahaan is visited by something strangely familiar in her Himalayan village. Her new companion gradually reveals its true identity. As the days blur, games played in wild playgrounds and trivial gossip passed back and forth among friends in the shadow of the holy tree near her home begin to feel distant. It is almost as if the world around her is disappearing. <h2>Arkesta</h2> 18 min | Nepal | 2023 &nbsp;&nbsp; Original Language: Nepali Director: Safal Pandey  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_aa42543291b9d3782fc4f7a2b23021e6572d6715e97657b662b2c2c2f5f3c44a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240524120520_aa42543291b9d3782fc4f7a2b23021e6572d6715e97657b662b2c2c2f5f3c44a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1497" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  As a single father, Gokul’s world tilts on its axis when one day, he sees his son dance in a feminine manner in public. Gokul then commits to changing how his child conducts himself in order to protect his reputation in his community. In the process, Gokul learns more about the different facets of his son’s personality. <h2>No Monastery No Village</h2> 27 min | Nepal | 2024 &nbsp;&nbsp; Original Language: Tibetan Director: Tashi Lhazom  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_e50992e83393095fa21e994ffac52c476c5ec81067ed6c7fa8ae8e5cc678c7ad.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240524120520_e50992e83393095fa21e994ffac52c476c5ec81067ed6c7fa8ae8e5cc678c7ad" data-rendition-name="original" width="1133" height="586" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  Nestled in the shadow of a glacial lake in the Himalaya lies Halzi village, home to the ancient Halzi Rinchenling Monastery, the cornerstone of Humla’s cultural heritage for centuries. It now faces a growing threat from a glacial lake upstream. A poignant exploration of faith, resilience and the fight to preserve a way of life in the face of climate change, the documentary follows villagers caught between deep devotion to their heritage and impending disaster.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240524120520_f9f4b3983e17ce8cf0285e0fbb4ee96161ef84d3784a34a28f6465bd760b9bc8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20240524120520_f9f4b3983e17ce8cf0285e0fbb4ee96161ef84d3784a34a28f6465bd760b9bc8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1241" height="665" loading="lazy" alt="Kimff 2024 NT"> </figure>  21st Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival Rastriya Sabha Griha and Nepal Tourism Board, Pradarsani Marga, Kathmandu 29 May-2 June 2024 For the complete festival line-up, visit the <a href="https://kimff.org">website</a>.

Kimff turns 21

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

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.

Doomscrolling democracy

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

kathmandu-international-mountain-film-festival

Festival of mountain films

Kimff turns 21

A new normal

Things eventually work out

Doomscrolling democracy

My father’s son