Earthquakes wreck lives, and destroy towns. And when they are rebuilt, nothing is the same again.Five years after the ancient Newa towns of Khokana and Bungamati were nearly razed to the ground in the 2015 earthquake, amidst new concrete pillars are still piles of bricks of collapsed buildings.Because most of the temples and homes collapsed and reinforced concrete buildings survived, there is a belief in Kathmandu Valley that cement is stronger and will withstand the next quake. Khokana and Bungamati wards tried to protect the urban ambience of the town by issuing guidelines about how even homes rebuilt with concrete beams should have brick facades, tile roofs and reflect traditional design elements.Alas, these guidelines have rarely been followed. The gradual destruction of the traditional silhouettes of Kathmandu Valley began long before the earthquake, but the disaster hastened the process. Pressure of urbanisation, the demand for rental rooms, and a quest for safety have forced families to build box-like concrete high rises.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8daf9c7e80680e06b35fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="252" height="128"/><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8db09c7e80680e06b360jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2592" height="1456"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Ironically, the town that protested the alignment of the Kathmandu-Tarai expressway construction because it destroyed the town’s heritage, has not been able to preserve the traditional architecture that gave Bungamati its uniqueness.“The rebuilding guidelines say houses should be made in traditional style with sloped tile roof and should not be more than 10 metres high,” explained Krishna Gopal Maharjan, junior engineer at Bungmati’s ward office. “If a house is made without following the guidelines we do not issue the construction completion certificate. But the rule has been flouted.”There is pressure from local families to rebuild damaged or destroyed homes in any way they see fit, since it is their property. “People have ignored the ward’s guideline because they think it is impractical, they believe a three-story house cannot accommodate the whole family hence they tend to build a four-story or even a five-story house,” explains Jay Krishna Maharjan, 35.The most contentious issue seems to be the height limitation. In both Khokana and Bungamati, a majority of the homes that have been rebuilt has traditional brick facades, but they say limiting homes to two floors is unrealistic.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8db39c7e80680e06b361jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8db69c7e80680e06b362jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2592" height="1728"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“At first they were even unwilling to use bricks in outside walls, but at least they agreed to that,” says Chandra Shobha Dangol, social mobiliser at Khokana’s ward office who admits that the height limit has been difficult to enforce.To be sure, a house with traditional design is costlier to build than a cement house, and this is why many of the families have not even started rebuilding even five years after the earthquake.The house of 77-year-old Asta Maya Maharjan was completely destroyed by the earthquake, and she has been living in her relative’s house for the past five years. She says: “Those who have money build houses, we do not have enough money to build a house, let alone a house in the traditional style.”The government’s Rs300,000 grant does not pay for even a room, and this is why rubble from the earthquake five years ago still lies strewn across both towns. Those who can afford it, have built gleaming 5-6 storey buildings that dwarf nearby shrines. “People who have money are building homes, people without money cannot build them. It is just the way it is,” says Gyan Bahadur Maharjan, 81, in a tone of resignation as he basked in the sun in front of his family’s new house.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8dba9c7e80680e06b363jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2664" height="2000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Ashakaji Shakya, 64, whose house in Bungmati was damaged in 2015 agrees that the guidelines are too rigid, and although he admits that saving the culture is important, a safe shelter is even more important. Indeed, it seems the older generation of these twin towns have made peace with the fact that the towns of their childhood can never be brought back.Shakya asks: “Say I have a family of five sons, each son would need at least one flat for himself, and on top of that if there is an old mother the house goes up to six floors. How can one accommodate such family in a three-storey house?”Bungamati also lost its most important temple, the shrine of Rato Machindranath from where the god of rain is transported in a chariot every year through the streets of Patan. Once in 12 years the chariot is taken from Bungamati itself, an event that draws devotees from all over the Valley.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8dbd9c7e80680e06b364jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5184" height="2912"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>This year, the chariot festival has been scaled down to just worshipping at the shrine. Restoration of the temple was given to a construction company with the financial support from the Sri Lankan government. But after delays, the contract was dismissed by the National Reconstruction Authority (NRA) which then handed over the project to a local committee.Jit Bahadur Maharjan, 74, of Khokana remembers growing up as a little boy. Things were simpler then, he says, houses had thatch roofs, there was always the smell of mustard from the town famous for its oil presses. He says: “The word ‘culture’ exists, but no one knows what it means anymore. We are trying to save our culture, but if you look around, there is nothing left to save.”Indeed, the transformation of the architectural grammar of a town seems to change everything: its festivals, its traditional trade, craftsmanship, and the lifestyle of the inhabitants.Says Suresh Suras Shrestha at Department of Archaeology: “When the look of the houses along a street changes, a town loses its identity. Khokana no longer remains Khokana,”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8dc19c7e80680e06b365jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5328" height="4000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8dc59c7e80680e06b366jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="6000" height="3368"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><h2 style="font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: 0.15px;">Mixing old with new</h2>Jaa Dangol’s ancestral home was destroyed by the 2015 earthquake, he decided to build back better. He wanted not just a home, but a source of income as well.At a time when his neighbours were moving away from traditional occupations and homes after the earthquake, Dangol saw an opportunity in going back to Newa cuisine, craftsmanship and restore his building into a traditional homestay that would give visitors an authentic experience.Indeed, until the coronavirus lockdown destroyed business, Dangol was providing tourists with local food in a traditional ambience in his restaurant called ‘Laachi’, which means a place for local foods and products. “I reused 70% of the traditional materials from the house that brought down by the earthquake,” says Dangol, who says that if others in Khokana were to follow the same model they would not just augment family income, but also protect the town’s heritage.Indeed, despite the destruction and the changes of the past five years, Khokana still retains its old world charm with a pervasive smell of the mustard oil presses, women spinning cotton and weaving carpets in sidewalk shops.

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Khokana and Bungamati strive to save heritage

The people of Khokana have had enough of a state that doesn’t value their way of life<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101152/6368d5da9c7e80680e03144ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>LANDLESS: Masked dancers during the Sikali festival. The Kathmandu-Tarai Fast Track will go through a part of Sikali Chaur where the dancers rest after performance.Photos: Bikram Rai</figcaption></figure>For a long time in Nepal’s history, all roads led to Kathmandu. Two democratic movements, a decade-long war, and many political upheavals later, all roads still lead to Kathmandu. But the locals of Khokana, a sleepy farming town 10km south of the Ring Road, are asking if it still has to be so. Do the new highways and transmission lines have to go through their sacred sites?<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/a-time-to-every-purpose-occupation,3023" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Khokana is famous for its mustard presses</a>, and used to supply the oil to much of the Valley. The town used to be a living heritage museum until the 2015 earthquake destroyed many of its houses and temples. Now, the town faces a threat even bigger than earthquakes: bulldozers.Five future infrastructure projects will affect Khokana, which sits right on the planned alignments for the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/A-great-leap-forward,198" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Kathmandu-Tarai Fast Track</a> Highway, the Outer Ring Road, the Bagmati Corridor project, Patan’s satellite city and the Kulekhani 132kVA <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/acquiring-land-for-infrastructure-project-hampers-investors,1484">high tension line</a>. Khokana stands to lose almost 60% of its fertile farms and much of its heritage (see map).<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101152/6368d5de9c7e80680e03144fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="769">“Our land is us and we are our land,” says Hem Ratna Shakya, a Khokana activist. “People here have a physical, spiritual, social, cultural and economic connection with the land. We have no identity without it.”The four-lane 76km Kathmandu-Tarai Expressway project will follow the Bagmati River from the Valley to a proposed <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Airports-update,3794" target="_blank" rel="noopener">new international airport in Nijgadh</a>. Some 6km of the highway will slice through terrace farms and ritual routes of the town, erasing important cultural heritage sites.The Fast Track will start at Sikali and go through Pingah, the funeral area, Ku Dey, Jugunti, Machaga Bagar, Chankutirtha -- all important parts of Khokana’s cultural circuit on the route to the next town of Bungamati.Read Also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nepal-development-black-hole,3111" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's development black hole</a>, Lokmani RaiIn Sano Khokana where the expressway is supposed to start, Asha Maharjan will lose all his property. The fertile soil here is an important part of his family’s history and he remembers ploughing it with his parents when he was young. His eight-member family still relies on harvests for their food and income.“Maybe they can re-route it through non-arable land,” Maharjan says hopefully. “It will save us from being homeless.”Up the road from his house, the project will take up a portion of Sikalichaur, where the annual Sikali Jatra is celebrated. In October, when the country celebrates Dasain, locals in Khokana mark Sikali Jatra -- a five-day festival with masked dances for Goddess Rudrayani and other deities.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101152/6368d5e19c7e80680e031450jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="752"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“The Jatra follows a prescribed circuit and there is a specific way to perform it. If the expressway cuts through it, the place of the masked dances will be lost,” says Astendra Maharjan, another local activist. “We value our heritage, and that is not just the physical structure but the festivals and rituals as well.”Noted historian Satya Mohan Joshi agrees: "We cannot avoid development, but at the same time we cannot hurt the sentiments of the local people," says Joshi. "Their grievances must be addressed and a middle path must be found before the development can commence."For generations, Gyan Bhagat Maharjan’s family has been a member of the Jatra Ta Guthi, one of the three community groups responsible for organizing the Sikali festival, which makes the food for the gods and devotees. The guthi owns a plot of land where the annual feasts take place.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJF2Y8oETho&amp;feature=youtu.be“Without the land we won’t be able to continue with any of the rituals,” says Gyan Bhagat, “and the road will cause us to lose all our land. Our culture, our traditions will die.” The community will also lose the temple of its ancestral deity, Pingha, and the expressway will take away the funeral area from where music is played during cremations.Ku Dey is where the people of Khokana believe their ancestors first established the settlement—before moving up the ridge to its present location, says Asojh Maharjan of Lumbini Buddhist University: “It is an important archaeological site, 3,000 years old, which predates Khokana.”At Jugunti, the Jugi community of Newars will lose the cemetery where they have been burying their ancestors for generations. At Chankhu Tirtha, the expressway will go through the land where the final rites of the priests of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Red-rain-god,3141" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rato Machindranath</a> are performed.Conservationists say the new infrastructure can easily be realigned to the west bank of the Bagmati without much extra cost, which would preserve heritage sites.Says Asojh: “We are not against development, but they are forcing projects on us that threaten our way of life.”<h2>Not the</h2>first timeWhen no one listened to their grievances, and they were on the verge of losing their farms and most important heritage sites, the people of Khokana finally took to the streets.Last month, they joined others protesting loss of property to road-widening at a march from the Mandala to Parliament. The peaceful protest turned violent as police deployed its newly-acquired water cannon carrier and tear gas. Khokana finally hit the national headlines.The people of Khokana had voiced concern about their land being taken away for decades. First, it was the Army that nationalised 70 hectares of their farmlands to conduct paradropping exercises. The Army still retains a small part of it, and the rest was sold off to private housing. Khokana farmers got nothing.Then the government nationalised another 100 hectares for a leprosy hospital, a training facility for the Armed Police Force and a prison. None of the land was used for the intended purpose and was sold off to private builders.Nati Kaji Maharjan, 75, had to give up his land for the prison that was never built. Now, it will be the Tarai Expressway that will rob him of the remaining land. “We are farmers. We depend on the land, without it how are we to eat?” asks Maharjan. “How can they take our land and sell it to someone else?”Following widespread protests, the government has said it may re-route the expressway, but having been deceived so often, Khokana residents remain wary.Asks activist Asojh Maharjan: “How much more land should we give to them before they are satisfied?”Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/makers-of-machhindranath,2204" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Makers of Machhindranath</a>, Cynthia Choo

Sahina Shrestha

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“Our land is us, we are our land”

Many of us former Nepal Peace Corps volunteers (PCVs) would agree that our time in Nepal changed in significant but very different ways our perspectives on life if not the future paths we chose to follow. Of no one was this truer than Dorothy Mierow. Dorothy was born in 1920, in Colorado Springs. Her father Charles C Mierow was a classics scholar and Latin professor, who served for ten years as president of Colorado College.&nbsp; Dorothy developed an interest in animals as a child, graduated with a BA degree in natural history from Carlton College in 1942, a Master’s in biology from the University of Pittsburgh, and another Master’s in geography from the University of Minnesota.&nbsp; As a young woman, Dorothy traveled with her father throughout Europe, including a visit to ancient Greek ruins, and took a Magellan Tour by cruise ship around the world in 1958.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_0bad133ab22aada319e74bbad95d563e191371db291c08f373839fbd15440262.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025071901074_0bad133ab22aada319e74bbad95d563e191371db291c08f373839fbd15440262" data-rendition-name="original" width="903" height="1178" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>HOME AWAY FROM HOME: Dorothy Mierow as a college student in her native Colorado.</figcaption> </figure>  She was a college teacher during much of the 1940s, also teaching at a girls’ school in Hawaii. Then back to her native Colorado in 1953, where she became a curator and later director of the Colorado College Natural History Museum. She taught geography classes, and in her free time, Dorothy climbed 22 of Colorado’s 14,000-foot peaks. Traveling in India in 1960, Dorothy decided to spend two weeks in Nepal. In late 1961, she filled out an application to join the Peace Corps and specified that she wanted to go to Nepal, ‘because I admired the people so much when my father and I were there on our trip’.&nbsp; Dorothy reached Kathmandu in September 1962 as the first group of American Peace Corps volunteers in Nepal. She stood out from the others: one of the few women in that group, surely the oldest at age 41, a world traveler, and a woman who already had established a professional career.&nbsp; One doubts if Dorothy had had a husband and children whether she would ever have gone to work and spend much of the rest of her life in Nepal.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901078_68e84ade1ffb0f6c83c7f8fa5c1e7315b5f6c543217f96cde012e4d86f171515.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025071901078_68e84ade1ffb0f6c83c7f8fa5c1e7315b5f6c543217f96cde012e4d86f171515" data-rendition-name="original" width="1259" height="910" loading="lazy" alt="How th Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life NT"> <figcaption>Pokhara Bazar in 1962.</figcaption> </figure>  The Peace Corps assigned Dorothy to teach geography at Tri-Chandra College. After the school closed in the winter due to lack of heating, USAID and the College of Education asked Dorothy to help train general science teachers.&nbsp; She taught for two months and became involved in a textbook-writing project, commenting: ‘I would like the children to know something about public health, conservation (the trees are going fast and so is the soil), and learn the names of some of their common birds, trees, and flowers. They are more impressed with electricity, airplanes, and cell structure.’ When a new college opened in Pokhara in 1963, Dorothy was transferred there and lived with a Nepali family. The college boasted 30 students and no permanent buildings.&nbsp; In October 1963, Dorothy wrote: ‘Pokhara is a town of almost 5,000 people … We are in a fertile valley surrounded by foothills … There is a small Mission Hospital … a Leper Hospital and Tibetan Refugee Camp started by the Red Cross and now run by the Swiss. With winter approaching, more Tibetans are appearing in town, often with pack horses or donkeys. Some have been carrying large boxes of powdered milk,donated (by USAID) to the camp from the airport … There is no electricity, and the transportation problems make many items scarce and expensive. I am really a sort of a museum. The landlord brings all kinds of people in to see how I live and count my shoes and dresses. They express amazement at my books, pictures, tin oven, Nepali dolls from Kathmandu, screened food shelves and curtained closet.’ The standard term for Peace Corps volunteers was two years, but Dorothy extended her term and was still at Prithvi Narayan College at the end of 1965, when she wrote that she had 20 Geography students in the first-year class and 6 in the second year preparing for the IA Examination. The college enrollment was 125 students, and the foundation for a new science building was being excavated.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_c6a80e5e0db0c705b2f8733c6d30dc0386fe3abbd2238ea9d947b7d746f94a29.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025071901074_c6a80e5e0db0c705b2f8733c6d30dc0386fe3abbd2238ea9d947b7d746f94a29" data-rendition-name="original" width="902" height="605" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>Mierow and friends at Phewa Lake.</figcaption> </figure>  Dorothy noted that she ate one meal a day at the (Shining Mission) Hospital but otherwise lived on dal-bhat, momo, and potato curry at local shops. However, she had developed a new passion: to build what she initially called the Pokhara Museum of the Himalaya. In commendable Peace Corps fashion, Dorothy always worked with Nepalis and respected the culture. ‘The greatest joy and satisfaction I have had has been from the building of a Museum-Library in memory of my parents … It has been possible to feel like a wealthy benefactor with the money saved by father for the family’s education and now available for the education of others… (Father) would have loved to be in on the founding of a new college and be able to plan a library. Several hundred of the books to be in the museum-library came from his collection and were carefully selected to be of use for students in Nepal…’&nbsp; ‘The museum part is to satisfy my own inclinations and was thought of when I found how little diversion there was for the people of Pokhara… It is part of the University requirements for the college that it should have a geography and biology museum. The museum building is small but adequate.&nbsp; I have tried to design it in harmony with Nepalese architecture and decorate it with some of the art of the best artists or woodcarvers… Posts holding up the porch roof are carved by Cottage Industries to represent different peoples of Nepal in typical costumes. The door was carved by a local wood carver and has typical birds of Nepal around it. Inside are 10 roof-support carvings designed by the retired Director of the National Museum in Kathmandu, Mr. C.M. Maskey.&nbsp; They were carved by the best wood carvers in Patan very skilfully. The building has three rooms: the library, the exhibition room, and a smaller workroom which can be used by our newly formed Woman’s Club as well as other groups or classes.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_03d3359c65389d30a0134e9a4862778994121e7e833b7d28b18e06e36fc76ff8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025071901074_03d3359c65389d30a0134e9a4862778994121e7e833b7d28b18e06e36fc76ff8" data-rendition-name="original" width="629" height="599" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>Mierow with local women in Pokhara in 1969.</figcaption> </figure>  Dorothy promoted her project to influential Nepalis connected with organisations whose support she solicited: The Department of Archaeology, the Department of Agriculture, the Godavari Botanical Gardens; Tribhuvan University’s Science and Education Department, Nature Conservation Society.&nbsp; The museum was opened officially in early 1967. The Annapurna Natural History Museum, the building Dorothy designed and had constructed, is still open and features some exhibits which she created many years ago.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_54326a8a0685e980e782378076de2f5cd02d2426e9b0d94eed972d3dbe83af26.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025071901074_54326a8a0685e980e782378076de2f5cd02d2426e9b0d94eed972d3dbe83af26" data-rendition-name="original" width="1333" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>The Annapurna Natural History Museum.</figcaption> </figure>  Dorothy returned to America in 1967, but she longed for Nepal. In the spring of 1969, she again tried to enroll as a Peace Corps volunteer but was told that as she had spent more than four years, she would not be eligible for another assignment. Undeterred, she persuaded the college in Pokhara to invite her to return as a teacher.&nbsp; UNICEF and the Forestry Department sponsored Dorothy to prepare charts on trees, birds, animals and flowers in colour for distribution to the schools of Nepal. Dorothy, back in the Peace Corps, returned to Pokhara and the Museum in 1972. She formed a friendship with her former geography student from Sikles, Chandra Prasad Gurung, and in 1974, she brought Chandra to America, where he enrolled in Colorado College and studied cultural anthropology.&nbsp; Chandra subsequently earned his PhD in geography from the University of Hawaii and returned to Pokhara to become director of the Annapurna Conservation Area Project. Gurung actively promoted ecotourism, landscape conservation, and biodiversity conservation in Nepal. His life was cut short along with those of 23 other Nepalis and foreigners who perished in a helicopter crash near Taplejung in September 2006.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025071901074_322d3c3ac6f1b08ffa07c44a19998b937a7db9eb43527f7539cf6481e1546314.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025071901074_322d3c3ac6f1b08ffa07c44a19998b937a7db9eb43527f7539cf6481e1546314" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer's life"> <figcaption>Mierow's four books on Nepal and its biodiversity. </figcaption> </figure>  Dorothy worked with several well-known Nepalis to publish her paintings and photos in beautifully illustrated books. She and Hemanta Mishra of the National Parks and Wildlife Service wrote Wild Animals of Nepal (Ratna Pustak Bhandar, 1976). More than 400 photos Dorothy took on treks to the Everest region, Gosaikunda, Muktinath, Jumla and Rara Lake, as well as travels in the Tarai, appeared in Himalayan Flowers and Trees (Sahayogi Prakashan, 1978).&nbsp; The botanist Tirtha Bahadur Shrestha identified the species. Dorothy and Kesar Lall published This Beautiful Nepal (Sahayogi Press, 1981). Birds of the Central Himalayas (1988) contained Dorothy’s paintings of 250 species of birds found along the areas of the Kali Gandaki River, Pokhara, Chitwan and the central Tarai. Dorothy summed up her life and work in Nepal in Thirty Years in Pokhara (Pilgrims Book House, 1997). Dorothy returned to Pokhara and her adopted Gurung family several times during the 1980s and 1990s to celebrate festivals and meet old friends. Her final years were spent at her mountain cottage in Green Mountain Falls north of Colorado Springs. She died at the age of 79 in August, 2000. Nepal gave new meaning and purpose to Dorothy Mierow’s life. Daniel W Edwards was a Peace Corps volunteer in 1966 and is the author of several books on Nepal. The author thanks Special Collections, Tutt Library, Colorado College.

How the Peace Corps changed a volunteer’s life

· On the night of 15 May, two glacial lakes burst in Tharka in Humla and the debris flow washed away homes and bridges.&nbsp; · Last week, a slurry surge on the Kali Gandaki in Upper Mustang caused at least Rs15 million in damage, and was traced to a melting glacier. · Dozens are feared dead after <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/rasuwa-flood-likely-a-glof">an expanding glacial lake in Tibet overflowed</a>, sweeping down into Nepal and damaging four hydropower plants generating 230MW, nearly 8% of the country’s total grid supply.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250718060748_45225dc707c1e9c2968ca8dbf6e564e01e4eb6e2ff254fb8eb940cf62cdd910b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250718060748_45225dc707c1e9c2968ca8dbf6e564e01e4eb6e2ff254fb8eb940cf62cdd910b" data-rendition-name="original" width="2667" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Rasuwa flood"> <figcaption>Miteri friendship bridge connecting Nepal and China was swept away in the Rasuwa flood. Photo: PRAKASH CHANDRA TIMILSENA / NPL</figcaption> </figure>  And those are just in the past month. Climate scientists say Himalayan glacial lake outbursts are becoming more frequent and destructive, and a warning for Nepal not to put all its eggs in the hydropower basket.&nbsp; <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-it-rains-it-pours-ksqprbu3">Record precipitation last September</a> unleashed floods that killed 200 people, and temporarily slashed Nepal’s total generation capacity of 3,000MW by nearly half. The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-valley-suffers-quadruple-disaster">Melamchi flood of 2021</a> caused by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-not-so-permanent-frost">permafrost melting</a> on a glacier upstream nearly destroyed a $800 million water supply scheme, Nepal’s largest infrastructure project which four years later still has not resumed full operation. The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/sikkim-flood-is-warning-to-nepal">glacial lake overflow in Sikkim</a> caused by record rainfall in September 2023 that destroyed the $1.2 billion Chungthung Dam and caused catastrophic damage to infrastructure on the Teesta River. This was a warning to the cascade of hydropower plants on the Arun and Marsyangdi river basins.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250718060736_6f61797a6be308321e3bae26e55d2f64cba4b9e5eb262adacb9e92fb5f3c6152.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250718060736_6f61797a6be308321e3bae26e55d2f64cba4b9e5eb262adacb9e92fb5f3c6152" data-rendition-name="original" width="919" height="549" loading="lazy" alt="hydro disasters and hydropower plants"> </figure>  Nepal has set a target of generating an additional 28,500MW by 2035 -- out of the feasible 48,000MW -- but how viable is an energy strategy that is exposed to heightened risk due to climate breakdown? &nbsp; “As extreme weather events increase, we must design and build infrastructures respecting river flow and topography,” says former Energy Secretary Dwarika Nath Dhungel. “We must make the best use of our water resources, but not by letting excavators loose everywhere mining riverbeds and building haphazardly where we shouldn’t.”&nbsp; Although no project can be disaster-proof, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-smarter-himalayan-infrastructure">climate smart design</a> can minimise damage from flash floods and landslides. Recent disasters have driven up insurance premiums for energy projects in Nepal, and smaller ones cannot even afford them. The 456MW Upper Tamakosi hydroelectric project which is still not fully functional after the September floods has claimed insurance worth Rs1.8 billion. The alternative to high risk high investment hydropower projects is <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-s-cooking-in-nepal-besides-politics">energy diversification</a> to other renewables such as solar, wind or biogas. Nepal gets annual sunlight of 300 days with 6-7 hours on average to total 50,000 terawatt-hours (TWh) per year.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250718060744_4acd452b4117180ca9bb5d3be839ff46dfd5464e4d507f5ad3704cef6253bc48.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250718060744_4acd452b4117180ca9bb5d3be839ff46dfd5464e4d507f5ad3704cef6253bc48" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="solar power"> <figcaption>Farmers in Tarai using solar powered water pump. Photo: GHAMPOWER</figcaption> </figure>  The Solar and Wind Energy Resource Assessment (SWERA) calculates that Nepal could source 3,000MW from wind energy alone, considering 10% of the area with more than 300W/m2 wind power density. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/people-power/decentralising-power-in-nepal">Solar energy</a> stations are cheaper and quicker to build, and would be an ideal alternative to reliance on hydropower.&nbsp; “There has been some investment in solar power, especially from the state sector,” says water expert Madhukar Upadhyay. “But there is an issue of land acquisition since the arrays need a lot of space. It is comparatively easier to get a permit to put up a hydropower plant on a river.” As for biogas, there is simply no incentive to build on past success with household level plants to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/more-bullshit">promote industrial-scale production</a>. Scaling up biogas by integrating it with urban biodegradable waste would still be a viable alternative to LPG.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250718060744_715d44afd5eb4ba8dafa209b0ad0f19400665797b5f078f5636821e600f96684.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20250718060744_715d44afd5eb4ba8dafa209b0ad0f19400665797b5f078f5636821e600f96684" data-rendition-name="original" width="1419" height="954" loading="lazy" alt="windmill"> <figcaption>A wind mill in Hapsikot in Nawalpur. Photo: WINPOWER NEPAL</figcaption> </figure>  Nepal’s public sphere is buzzing with excitement over the discovery of potentially 430 billion cubic metres of methane gas beneath Dailekh district that, if properly harnessed, would meet the country’s energy demand for the next 50 years. Even though a feasibility study is awaited, politicians from the prime minister down see this as a petro bonanza that will make Nepal rich. But drilling, storage and distribution of CNG in the country’s current kleptocratic state make that unlikely. If Nepal was to get rich solely on its hydro-energy potential, it could have done so in the past 50 years. Says Dhungel: “This is not exactly a new discovery, but it is premature to celebrate until its extraction is proven to be cost effective. And let us hope it does not get <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/balance-of-power">tangled in geopolitics</a>, since China is involved in the prospecting and drilling, which could make India uneasy.”&nbsp; The country suffers from the Dutch Disease curse even before its resource is fully exploited. And the same cronyism, corruption and rent-seeking structure cannot deliver the riches we expect from Dailekh’s methane discovery. Now, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/right-climate-for-nepal-s-energy-transition">with hydropower in jeopardy</a>, Nepal’s planners will have to evolve a new strategy for energy security into the future. But first, governance needs to be cleaned up with long-term strategic planning that takes climate risk into account. For example, do we need to mine fossil gas when there are renewable options? Will Dailekh take Nepal away from its climate commitments? Says Madhukar Upadhyay: “Nepal has always been resource rich and management poor. And the larger the resource, the bigger our management incapacity. It is a societal malaise.”&nbsp;

Nepal’s Resource Curse

चौतारा rest stops have long been an integral part of scenic touristic town of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/pokhara-six-decades-ago">Pokhara </a>but are now rarely seen as the city bursts at the seams. They say inhabitants of Pokhara saw a plane before they saw cars. Indeed, the grass airfield was built in the 1950s, while the Kathmandu highway 20 years later. Before roads, people walked to get around, pausing to rest or even nap under the shade of banyan-pipal trees. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/pokhara-s-desperation-and-hope">Pokhara airport’</a>s ‘terminal’ in those days was a shady chautara where passengers waited for their flights. The chautara bore silent witness to daily life, whether it was travellers seeking a brief respite from the summer heat or villagers gathering for a chat in the mornings and evenings. But with the roads came vehicles, and then houses started filling up spaces, even farmlands. Pokhara began transforming from a serene village to a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/pokhara-comes-alive-at-night">bustling city</a>.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250719010724_d101fa482441ce67afdf5bc4e4547b334e7662c1cf0a20e9d31a0e8dff66f04b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250719010724_d101fa482441ce67afdf5bc4e4547b334e7662c1cf0a20e9d31a0e8dff66f04b" data-rendition-name="original" width="2147" height="1581" loading="lazy" alt="Trees of life and living NT"> <figcaption>Photo: DURGA RANA MAGAR</figcaption> </figure>  The banyan-pipal trees were chopped down to make way for wider intersections and buildings. The once-iconic rest stops that carried Pokhara’s identity had all but vanished. “Building chautara was once considered a religious duty, which is why so many of them were constructed across Pokhara,” says archivist Sunil Ulak. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10927">Ekai Kawaguchi</a>, a Japanese Buddhist monk, who visited Nepal 120 years ago en route to Tibet, documented <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/no-visitors-in-pokhara-to-admire-view">the landscape of Pokhara</a> and its surroundings. In his book, Three Years in Tibet, he reflects on the natural beauty of the town and its shady trees. A chautara used to be surrounded by ponds, where shepherds would bring their cattle to drink from while they took a nap under the shade. The gentle rustling of leaves in the cool breeze lent a soothing melody as did the chirping of birds, while the insects took refuge in the branches and leaves. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/pokhara-800-years-ago">Pokhara 800 years ago</a>, Kunda Dixit This ‘nature’s breeze’, as botanist Kalyan Panta puts it, is now history due to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/cost-of-living-in-a-big-city">haphazard urbanisation</a>. “When the wind strikes against one leaf, it creates a domino effect and other leaves start waving as well,” he explains. There were 632 chautara in the city until 1977, and by 2000 the number had fallen to 278. But in some wards the number of trees fell from 55 in 1984 to only five now.&nbsp; The gradual loss of these resting places has meant habitat <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/between-existence-and-extinction-in-nepal">destruction of birds and insects</a>, it has also damaged the environment and natural beauty of the city.&nbsp; Researcher Jagannath Adhikari’s study showed that infrastructure projects ignored the environment, and concluded that that urbanisation in Pokhara was unsustainable.&nbsp; The destruction continues to this day. Recently, old chaurata in wards 6, 13 and 14 were cleared to make way for a sacrificial ritual. In fact, ward 6 got a permit from the local government to clear its remaining trees.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250719010724_cee1d4faf8376e7ba18b9c7012ea4215b7c3fbf7e0983b0c97005df5567d6de0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250719010724_cee1d4faf8376e7ba18b9c7012ea4215b7c3fbf7e0983b0c97005df5567d6de0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Trees of life and living NT"> <figcaption>Photo: DURGA RANA MAGAR</figcaption> </figure>  But in wards 13 and 14, the Human Service Foundation cut down some 33 trees for which it is in a dispute with the metropolitan city as there is no unclear jurisdiction regarding who gives the permit. The Kaski Division Forest Office is currently investigating the matter. Elsewhere in ward 19, the ward office had launched ‘मेरो रूख, म काट्छु’ campaign due to an alleged chaos caused by monkeys in the area. The decision was rescinded after an all-around opposition.&nbsp; To be sure, there are policies in place to protect trees such as the Gandaki Province Forestry Act, 2080, and the Regulations, 2081. The province government also introduced an act in 2019 per which no tree, including pipal, silk cotton and other <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/suburban-tales/trees-trees?%2F">trees of natural and historical importance</a> shall be damaged, eroded or removed. But the local government, responsible for implementing the Act, is doing the opposite. “If this rapid rate of tree felling continues, neither trees nor chautara will survive for the future generation,” conservationist Ram Bahadur Poudel tells us, adding that old trees are being cleared under the pretext of pruning branches. Interestingly, Ulak notes that Pokhara-8 was called सिमलचौर in the past because there were so many majestic silk cotton trees, but there are very few left, if any, and hence altering the identity of a place. With modernisation, people have questioned the significance of chautara in this day and age. But they still have relevance. Urban centres in Pokhara and Kathmandu are much hotter than the outskirts because of the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/in-the-heat-of-the-moment-5xcycyot">urban heat island effect</a>. Says archivist Ulak: “While their original purpose was to provide rest, today they continue to play a crucial role in regulating temperature, beautifying the city, and preserving our environment.”

Trees of life and living

Nepalis are living longer than ever. By 2028, the country is set to join the ranks of other <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepals-demographic-window-is-closing">ageing societies</a> around the world, and by 2054, 1 out of every 7 people in Nepal will be over 65. Life expectancy at birth has risen dramatically from just 55 in 1990 to 71 today, &nbsp;thanks to improvements in public health and access. But as more people live longer, the country must also prepare for a parallel rise in age-related illnesses and the complex social and medical needs that come with an <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/need-to-prepare-for-ageing-society,3624">ageing population</a>. Extended families have always acted as a safety net for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/home-sweet-home-for-older-nepalis">the elderly</a>, with children and grandchildren shouldering most caregiving duties. But with more than 1,600 <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/migration-not-a-wish-but-necessity-for-nepalis">Nepalis migrating </a>every day, older parents are left behind with no one to care for them. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-new-equaliser">Remittances</a> from migrating youth, which account for nearly a third of Nepal’s GDP, have kept the economy afloat. But money sent home cannot make up for the chronic departure of kin and caregivers, who are often the first to catch the signs and symptoms of disease in elders. In rural areas where over 85% of Nepal’s elderly live, the absence of this daily vigilance means early signs of illness often go unnoticed until they become debilitating. As a result, chronic conditions like hypertension, diabetes, and depression are left unmanaged.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250720130748_213f2c65f2638872e9ac0550a7ac251e4960c3726dc5c76215962a23ba71dff1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250720130748_213f2c65f2638872e9ac0550a7ac251e4960c3726dc5c76215962a23ba71dff1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1064" height="701" loading="lazy" alt="Smart ageing is Nepal’s next frontier"> </figure>  Geriatric medicine is largely absent from medical curricula and there is no national plan in place to manage cognitive decline, memory loss and confusion. These are often mistaken for signs of normal ageing, instead of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/dementia-brings-new-problem-that-families-have-little%20knowledge-of,2151">dementia</a>, delaying care until it is too late. The same pattern plays out with strokes, osteoarthritis, and vision problems — conditions that could be managed early but are instead allowed to spiral into <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/changing-disability-to-this-ability-h68f6sq2">disability</a>. Nepal is not ready for an older future. It needs a strategy for ‘smart ageing’ where the focus is not adding years to life, but enhancing years lived through the intelligent application of policy, infrastructure, and crucially, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/tech-and-transition-in-nepal">technology</a>. Many models of smart ageing, however, are sculpted around modern societies where independent living in later life is the norm. Furthermore, eroding traditional family care and an underdeveloped formal care system means there is a large gap that can’t simply be filled by copy-pasting from foreign models. Nepal must shape its own version of smart ageing. The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/healthcare-moving-from-hospitals-to-homes?%2F">tech boom</a> has led to homegrown digital healthcare apps such as Hamro Doctor, Cura Health, Jeevee and Health Yaad Ayo which offer teleconsultations, online appointments, and at-home test bookings. As <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/nepal-s-new-digital-landscape">smartphones and internet access</a> extend to the most rural fringes of the Nepali countryside, geography is no longer a barrier to the use of these digital tools. What limits their use is the lack of digital proficiency among the older generation. Others find the idea of turning to a device instead of a familiar, reassuring face unfathomable. That is why <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/addressing-nepals-digital-divide?ref=blog.togglecorp.com">digital literacy</a> efforts must be paired with guided human support to build trust alongside technical skill. Such a model of community-led digital mediation is already gaining traction elsewhere. In the UK, ‘digital health ambassadors’—often young people or even schoolchildren—are trained to co-design and advocate for online platforms that resonate with peers who might otherwise feel excluded from automated health services. A Nepali version could engage cohorts of nursing students, tech-savvy youngsters and returnee migrants to assist elders in navigating digital health platforms and troubleshooting problems, and most of all, normalising the idea of health apps being a reliable recourse.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250720130748_fcb94ab76e76b5574189757e88d76fccad4e115e78dd9eae92a3bd4c882c3431.png" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20250720130748_fcb94ab76e76b5574189757e88d76fccad4e115e78dd9eae92a3bd4c882c3431" data-rendition-name="original" width="2246" height="1590" loading="lazy" alt="Smart ageing is Nepal’s next frontier"> </figure>  Nepal’s own network of Female Community Health Volunteers (FCHVs), whose credibility is rooted in long-standing relationships across rural communities, could be similarly upskilled, their roles in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/target-2030-for-maternal-and-newborn-health">maternal and child health </a>expanded and repurposed to also include geriatric tech support. However, there is a limit to how much older adults can adapt to new technologies. So, Nepal should simultaneously invest in passive technologies—tools that monitor and act for the elderly, instead of demanding active use. That is where wearables and in-home smart health devices collectively known as 'gerontechnology' come in. Picture an 82-year-old in far-flung Rolpa, away from the facilities of an urban hospital. Installed in her home are low-cost motion sensors that monitor prolonged inactivity or signs of a fall, instantly triggering alerts to the nearest health post when necessary. On her wrist, a wearable bracelet continuously tracks her sleep, vital signs, oxygen saturation, and glucose levels. This data is encrypted and synced to a digital dashboard accessible by health staff at the local post. If the system flags an acute risk—such as a potential stroke or hypoglycemia—a nearby health worker is dispatched immediately to her home. If her readings over time indicate a trend toward a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepalis-have-high-blood-pressure">chronic condition</a> like diabetes, community health volunteers step in. They help schedule a virtual consultation with an endocrinologist in Butwal. Based on the advice received, she gets a prescription and picks up her medication from the local community pharmacy, along with a smart dispenser to ensure she sticks to her treatment plan without missing doses. This is not as far-fetched as it may sound. Many of the individual devices forming this connected medical system called an Internet of Medical Things (IoMT) already exist in Nepal as imported commercial products. What is missing is a stronger framework for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/business/public-health-partnership">public-private collaboration</a>: one where health tech companies continue developing locally adapted tools, and the government actively integrates these innovations into public health delivery. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/people-power/nepal-as-an-ai-power-bank">Nepal’s tech ecosystem</a> is maturing, but policymaking must evolve in tandem, especially when it affects an older generation largely resistant to change. The backlash against the recent mandate requiring National Identity Cards for accessing social security benefits revealed the pitfalls of imposing top-down reforms without adequate preparation or support for seniors. For Nepalis to age well, community caregivers, doctors, innovators, and above all, the state, must step in where families have stepped away. The goal is not to replicate traditional care, but to build a coordinated system of support that connects everyone through technology. The future is older for Nepal, let us be wiser too. The writers are pursuing their undergraduate studies in biomedical engineering at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University.

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Nepal’s Resource Curse

Trees of life and living

Smart ageing is Nepal’s next frontier