<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131124/637233919c7e80680e0c48ebjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1787" height="1334"/><figcaption>Climate change has been melting the ice even high on Mt Everest, exposing rock and making it more difficult to climb. Photo: DAMIEN FRANÇOIS / NEPALI TIMES ARCHIVE.</figcaption></figure>Climbing Mt Everest at 8,848.86m is on many people’s bucket list. Even just reaching Base Camp in northeastern Nepal, at 5,364m, is a difficult trek. But for Kami Rita Sherpa climbing Everest has been a routine for over two decades, sometimes twice or even three times a year.Born in Thame in a side valley of Khumbu district, he started working as a porter for trekking companies when he was just 12.Now 52, Kami Rita climbed Mount Everest for the first time in 1994 when he was just 24. This year, Kami Rita reached the summit for the 26th time, a new world record.On a sunny monsoon morning in July, he spoke to The Third Pole in a café in Kathmandu. The rainy season is when Mt Everest is closed for climbing, and Kami Rita had a bit of leisure time between the spring and autumn climbing seasons.The Nepal government <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-61828753">reportedly wants to move Everest Base Camp</a> to a lower elevation, because of risks associated with climate change. The Khumbu Glacier on which the camp is located is melting, with a river running through the ice. There is also a waste disposal problem in spring, with 1,500 climbers camped out for at least two months. But as Kami Rita explains, the plan is not supported by all. Excerpts of interview:<figure><figcaption>"Moving base camp will create chaos," says Kami Rita Sherpa. Photo: RAMESH BHUSHAL</figcaption></figure>What is your opinion about the government’s plan to move Everest Base Camp?There is no valid reason to move it. Do you think climate change has impacted just Base Camp? What about the other camps on the Everest route? Where will you shift them? If you say climate change has impacted Base Camp, then don’t you think the other camps have also become riskier due to rapid melting of the ice?Moving Base Camp will create chaos. The camps were established on the basis of the availability of a suitable and safe place, identified through experience and practicality. If you move Base Camp lower, say to the village of Gorak Shep at around 5,150m, then it will just be a stopover to the current base camp, as it’s nearly impossible to hike from the moved Base Camp to Camp I at 6,150m. And you can’t stay anywhere in between, as there isn’t any suitable spot except the current base camp. It will be just an added camp, not an alternative.But the government says it’s becoming more dangerous, and that the decision would create a safer environment for climbers and support staff.I don’t really think Base Camp has become unsafe or less safe. I think it’s the safest point to camp for preparation before heading up and there isn’t a place nearby that’s more suitable. If you move down a little, it’s even more dangerous. Currently, Base Camp is on the edge of the Khumbu Glacier, and moving it down a bit will take you near the foot of Pumori mountain. That’s the place where an avalanche occurred during the <a href="https://www.thethirdpole.net/en/livelihoods/over-750-killed-in-himalayan-earthquake/">2015 earthquake</a> and killed scores of climbers and Sherpas.If you move it further down to Gorak Shep where a flat area is available, which is over three kilometres to the south, then how would you provide water? There is no water source nearby and you must walk for an hour or so to get some water from the ice. Currently, Base Camp has meltwater from glaciers, and even when there is no meltwater, we can cut out the ice and melt it to drink. It would be nearly impossible to carry out expeditions at lower levels so far from glaciers unless there is a continuous supply of water. It’s about feeding over 1,500 people for over two months including climbers, porters and support staff, and we need a large amount of water every day.The Everest climbing route from Camp I to IV is on the Khumbu Glacier. Studies have shown that the <a href="https://www.thethirdpole.net/en/energy/almost-all-everest-glaciers-may-disappear-by-end-of-century/">glacier has been shrinking</a> due to rapid melting resulting from global warming. How has this affected climbing?Rapid melting exposes more of the rock face on mountains and it’s harder to climb rock than ice-covered terrain. It also increases the chances of rockfalls that could cause serious injury or even death. I have noticed more exposed rock, and the length of rock that has to be climbed has increased in the past two decades. Between Camp III and Camp IV, there used to be about 50m of rock when I started to climb Everest, but now it’s over 70m.Likewise, the Geneva Spur on the Lhotse Face at 7,300m has more rock as well. Between Camp IV and The Balcony near the summit, there is a vertical face that used to about 100m of rock to climb, but now it’s about 130m. The rock face on the Hillary Step is also taller than it used to be.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131124/637233959c7e80680e0c48ecjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1399" height="741"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>What other changes have you seen on Everest since you started climbing?There are lots of changes. I can say that the amount of ice on Everest is less than when I climbed for the first time in 1994. Ice is melting at a faster rate and this change is moving higher up, but the bigger problem is that the timings of rain and snow has become irregular. In 1994 and the following expeditions for some years, there would be no water at Base Camp at the beginning of climbing in late April. The Glacier was all ice. We used to crack the ice and then melt it to drink. But now there is a stream of water running through Base Camp, and there are melt pools even at Camp II. This year in April, we got water in Camp II. Now I feel like Camp II is the new Base Camp.If shifting Base Camp is not a good idea, what do you think the government should do to ensure that climbing Everest in Nepal is safe?I think if a decision is made to move Base Camp, more expeditions will just move over to the north side in China. It’s already expensive and challenging to climb Everest from the Nepal side. The Tibet side in China has a lot of facilities and it’s easier to climb from the northern side rather than the southern one. China has electricity and roads right up to the Base Camp on the Rongbuk Glacier. You can go up to 6,500m on yaks. Why would someone come to the Nepal side if you prolong their stay without reason by creating a longer route?Instead of moving Base Camp, the government could spend money on providing electricity at the camp, so that we can reduce the use of gas to cook food. [The use of gas canisters by climbing expeditions <a href="https://everestchronicle.com/base-camp-diary-how-climbing-everest-have-changed-over-time/">has been suggested</a> as a factor in the warming of the area.] One expedition uses three gas canisters per day, and there are about 50 expeditions a year. One expedition takes around two-and-a-half months from Kathmandu and back, and most of the stay will be in Base Camp. You can reduce the use of gas if you provide electricity.Secondly, the government can spend money on providing folding toilets to all expeditions so that we don’t have to carry them every time, and they can charge for the usage. They could invest in providing more reliable weather information and focus on clean-up campaigns [of rubbish left by climbers] along the trail up to the summit.Just doing things to make a news headline won’t solve any problem. There are many more things that could be done to create a safer climbing environment and save the mountains, but an easy fix, like moving Base Camp down, is just a waste of time.What is your message to the world, which has responded very slowly to reduce carbon dioxide emissions, causing snow and ice in the mountains to melt faster?The mountains are not just ours. It’s not just Sherpas who would be impacted, or Nepal that would lose revenue from tourism if the snow and ice melts. It’s the source of water for billions of people. It’s the heritage of the world. If it’s gone, we are done. I think the only way to keep our mountains white is to reduce emissions from factories, planes and vehicles.I remember the Dalai Lama saying that one day we will die because there won’t be water to drink. I feel like that will happen some day soon. I would urge the global community to think about it seriously and act immediately. I can’t do much as a climber, except inform people about the situation out there.I just want to say that the ice on the mountains is vanishing. That’s my information based on experience and it’s up to you to make a decision.This article first appeared on <a href="https://www.thethirdpole.net/en/climate/moving-everest-base-camp-a-ridiculous-decision-says-record-holder-climber/">The Third Pole</a>.

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“If the ice is gone, we are done”

https://youtu.be/RTnxJKo97DIFor many tourists trekking to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/re-measuring-mt-everest/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mt Everest</a> Base Camp this autumn, the trip will be an adventure of a lifetime. The thin clear air, stark landscape, and ice-tipped peaks pierce the inky sky providing great Instagram backdrops.However, what is stunning scenery to tourists is for climate scientists an apocalyptic sight. They see dramatic evidence all around of a rapidly warming atmosphere.Visitors returning to the Everest region after 20 years also notice changes: large lakes where there were none, glacial ice replaced by ponds, boulders and sand, the snowline moving up the mountains, and glaciers that have receded and shrunk.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/climate-for-change/the-great-himalayan-thaw/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The great Himalayan thaw</a>, Ajaya Dixit<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171112/63692eea9c7e80680e03c079jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"/><figcaption>HIMALAYAN MELTDOWN: The Khumbu Glacier is the highest in the world and receding at 30m/y. It is also shrinking: Base Camp is now 50m lower than when Hillary and Tenzing climbed Mt Everest in 1955. Pics: Kunda Dixit</figcaption></figure>All these features are visible from ground level right from the start of the trek in Lukla. The banks of the Bhote Kosi still bear the scars of the deadly flash flood in 1985 which washed off a long section of the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2014/05/19/everest-climbers-continue-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Everest Trail</a> and the hydropower plant in Thame. It was caused by an avalanche falling into the Dig Tso glacial lake, causing it to top over.Further up near Tengboche, the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/not-out-of-danger-the-big-one" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Imja Khola</a> also bears signs of a huge glacial lake outburst flood that thundered down the western flank of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12870#.W7XuTHszbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Ama Dablam</a> in 1977. And below the formidable south face of Lhotse is Imja Tso, a lake 2km long that has formed and grown in the last 30 years. It does not exist on trekking maps from the 1980s. All these lakes were formed and enlarged as a result of global warming melting the ice.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171112/63692eee9c7e80680e03c07ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="990"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171112/63692ef19c7e80680e03c07bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="800"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The terminal moraine of the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Book-Review/The-Everest,428" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Khumbu </a>Glacier looms 400m above Dughla. This is the debris bulldozed down from Mt Everest and surrounding peaks over millions of years, and represents the extent of the glacier’s advance in the last Ice Age. Today, the surface ice on the world’s highest glacier is all but gone due to natural and anthropogenic warming.For an even more dramatic glimpse of how global warming is changing the Himalayan landscape, there is nothing like an aerial perspective. Nepali Times got a chance last week to take these striking images of the terrain below Mt Everest. The barren beauty foretells of a time when this terrain will be stripped of much of what remains of its ice cover.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/melting-mountains-shake,3073" target="_blank" rel="noopener">When melting mountains shake</a>, Kunda Dixit<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/ice-to-water-glacier-lake-outburts-himalayas-nepal,4197" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Ice to water</a>, C Scott Watson<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171112/63692ef49c7e80680e03c07cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171112/63692ef79c7e80680e03c07djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The Khumbu Icefall funnels ice from the Western Cwm below Everest, Lhotse and Nuptse to the glacier below. The ice here has receded at an average of 30m/y in the past 20 years, but it has also shrunk vertically, losing up to 50m in thickness. Everest Base Camp was at 5,330m when <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2018/01/13/commemorating-edmund-hillary/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Hillary </a>and Tenzing climbed Mt Everest in 1953, today it is at 5,270m.The glacier is also getting flatter: the darker debris makes the ice beneath melt faster near Base Camp, but the thicker layers of boulders and sand further down insulate the ice. Glaciologists say this flatter profile means the ice moves slower, leading to more ponding, and more rapid melting of the ice underneath.The velocity of the glacier is 70m/y at Base Camp, and it slows down to 10m/y further below, but is zero at the terminus situated at 4,900m. This means the ice is decelerating as it is squeezed, and the pressure is being released by the melting of the ice mass.Researchers monitoring the supraglacial ponds say their area has grown by 70% in the past ten years alone. The ponds are fringed by ice cliffs and caves which accelerate the melting. The melted ice has carved an outflow channel through the left lateral moraine, so there is no large glacial lake on the Khumbu like as elsewhere in Nepal.Scientists conclude that the Khumbu Glacier is not about to vanish, and the Icefall is not going to turn into a water fall any time soon. However, the permanent ice catchment of the glacier above 6,000 could start to deplete under the worst-case ‘beyond catastrophic’ scenario of +5°C warming.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/interview/interview-with-david-molden-icimod,3074" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepalis paying price for climate change</a><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/going-green-environment-day,3064" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Climactic change, Editorial</a><h4>Climate Eco Tourism</h4><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171112/63692efa9c7e80680e03c07ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="934">Will more tourists visiting areas threatened by global warming spread awareness and help save the planet, or will the energy they burn contribute to making the earth warmer?Both. Tour operators offer Antarctic cruises, trips to Greenland and the Arctic to observe calving glaciers up close. Many have scientists on board instead of tour guides, and the travel companies say the trips help spread environmental awareness.However, mass tourism also comes with its own enlarged carbon footprint and the very act of visiting the Himalaya to see melting glaciers may contribute to thawing them faster. The carbon emitted by a holiday charter plane to the Maldives, for example, leads to sea level rise that may ultimately submerge the archipelago nation by the end of the century.However, as awareness grows about the effects of global warming in the poles and the ‘Third Pole’ (as the Himalaya is called) there is also increasing interest among the public to see up close the impact of climate change on the mountains. Many trekkers visiting Nepal are eco-conscious and aware that their travel and stay in Nepal comes with a carbon cost.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16562#.W7XuDHszbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Defrosted</a>, Kunda Dixit<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Book-Review/The-Everest,428" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Everest Industry</a>, Kunda Dixit<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171112/63692efd9c7e80680e03c07fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>As they share their impressions on social media, there is evidence that climate tourism can indeed turn many visitors into environmental activists, or at least convince them to lead less carbon-intensive lifestyles when they get back home.Many environmentally sensitive visitors to Nepal these days calculate their carbon footprint from the aviation fuel per passenger on their flights to Kathmandu and Lukla, in taxi rides, and even the carbon emitted by the LPG gas in lodges along the Everest trail. And they try to offset all that by donating to agencies working on adaptation or mitigation of climate impact.Even so, there are critics of carbon offsetting who say that it is cosmetic and does not address the wasteful consumerism that is at the root of the climate crisis. They say trekkers on Everest hikes who buy carbon offsets are simply washing off their guilt, and shifting the responsibility to do something about global warming on someone else.On balance, however, there is a case to be made for climate eco-tourism creating jobs and benefitting the Nepal economy, ultimately allowing the tourism industry to introduce less carbon intensive technology. Tourists from all over the world can also see for themselves how the people suffering the most from the effects of climate change are the ones least responsible for it.There are websites to calculate your carbon footprint and how to offset the cost to the climate of your tour. There are also trekking agencies and airlines that try to minimise their carbon footprints.<a href="http://www.carbonfootprint.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Carbon Footprint</a><a href="http://www.responsibleadventures.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Responsible Adventures</a>:Mountain Helicopters: 01-4111032<h4>HOW MUCH CO2 DID YOU BURN TO GET HERE?</h4><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171112/63692eff9c7e80680e03c080jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="850" height="314">An economy class roundtrip passenger on a flight from London Heathrow to Lukla via Kathmandu emits 2.9 tons of carbon. The emission can be offset by contributing to verified climate protection projects that do not just contribute to reducing greenhouse gases and creating carbon sinks through forestry, but also for sustainable development.Readers' writePowerful article and photos -- nothing like it. So impressive and informative and depressing. Especially useful, the last sidebar: How Much Carbon Did You Burn to Get Here?- Jon Swan

Kunda Dixit

On thin ice in the Khumbu

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

We often see ourselves reflected in the other. For someone who grew up in Kathmandu Valley in the eighties and nineties, this maxim comes alive with an even greater force. Nepal’s media ecosystem was dismal, the school curriculum was narrow and did not provide opportunities for creative expression. Perhaps that is why I became obsessed with MTV videos and Bollywood films. I saw my developing self reflected in these story-lines and razzmatazz. When the media and education system do not engage the public and reflect myriad interests, aspirations and lifestyles of the population, citizens get detached and disconnected from their roots. I left for America for further studies, and was somewhat determined to never return to Nepal. It was a country full of potholes and black-outs. But foreigners have been fascinated with our country for decades. In the early 19th century, Francis Buchanan-Hamilton led a pioneering expedition and documented more than a thousand species of plants native to the region. Almost a century later, in 1905, Frenchman Sylvan Levi published ‘the first attempt to produce a comprehensive study of Nepal’, drawing on not just indigenous but available Chinese and European sources as well. After Nepal opened up in the 1950s, different kinds of foreigners have traveled here -- most notably, cold-war era spies disguised as diplomats, and later came the hippies. I returned to Nepal in 2013 and was primarily struck by two major demographics - the artists and the expats. Energised by the recent revolution, the creatives were making vibrant, powerful works. The expats, on the other hand, demonstrated a different way to navigate life in Kathmandu Valley. These two groups of people re-introduced Nepal to me and I began seeing my country and my hometown with a renewed perspective. Which is why one particular image from Giovanna Caruso’s ongoing show at the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank">Kalā</a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank"> Salon</a> curated by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/facades-and-flowers-from-nepal-to-italy" target="_blank">Sophia L Pandé</a> instantly caught my attention -- rather, it called out to me, as if it was composed for me, framing a key moment from my own life. Its title is, coincidentally, 2013. Like most of her other works, the pen-and-ink drawing is punctuated by an explosion of watercolour: a woman standing confidently in front of a Newa-style house, a leg arched up, as if she is fixing a strap around an ankle before stepping out on an adventure. The watercolour depicts a rainbow streaming out of a pot through a second-floor window. The rest of the details are rendered in realism – clusters of garlic and onion hanging to dry from the rafters, and further down a stack of corn. There are towels drying, even an old water pump.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="art review Kala Salon"> </figure>  When I walked over to this artwork with Caruso, she chuckled, “Ah, this work is a celebration of my 30 years in Nepal.” It was while trying to calm a restless group of students during her teaching days in Italy that Caruso first came across an iconic image of Kathmandu Darbar Square. She had found an old box of slides and while projecting images from the Himalaya to engage her students, the artist was determined to travel to Nepal. The first flat she rented was close to the square and the view from her rooftop was the same as the one she had encountered inside her classroom. She has been traveling to Nepal every year since. Some of her favourite drawings depict Khokana in morning fog. From 1993-2006, she drew murals at Ram Mandir and Pashupatinath, asking sadhus to guide her and correct her depictions. Caruso received a classical education, which means she was trained to focus on perspective and geometry while capturing mainly portraits and still lives. She is influenced by M C Escher and his explorations of mathematics and symmetry. No wonder she finds the Darbar Square architecture so compelling. She also names as inspiration Gustave Dore, whose style is different from Escher’s and I can see how she has fused these influences in her body of work: Escher’s austerity complimented and slightly dislodged by Dore’s comics and caricatures. “Before starting, the painting needs to be complete in my mind,” she explains as we pass a series of portraits titled Saraswati, Lakshmi, Kali Dancing, and Durga dominated by a roaring tiger. “These are all real people, I ask my friends and family members to sit for me.” The Kali in the drawing has the artist’s fiery copper red hair and she is dancing, surrounded by various men with flowing hair. The artist seems to have experimented here, drawing the revelers from above, and indulging in playful abandon. Depictions of Nepal are often in danger of being exoticised. But Caruso is familiar with her subjects, knows our alleys and temples intimately. Her colours and compositions are passionate and dense. In an essay, Anirudh S Chari writes the artist’s work is splashed with rapturous energy and most drawings have a carnivalesque element. ‘Kali Dancing’ illustrates this idea perfectly in that she has turned Kali’s usual fearsome portrayal on its head by depicting and embracing another feminine principle - the capacity to celebrate and create joy. Apart from drawing inspiration from Hindu goddesses and Nepal’s multi-colored rituals, Caruso has also drawn the Sumerian Ianna and Lillith and the Egyptian Nut. She enjoys drawing Nataraja, and says it is because “Shiva is a good husband”. We stand another painting titled 100 Days a Lion. “There is a saying in Italian, Better one day as a lion than a hundred days as a sheep, but I thought why not 100 Days a Lion?” This sentiment captures this nomadic artist’s spirit spanning four decades, in which she has captured urban energy as well as the sacred imagery of ‘life diaries on canvas’. From Venezia to Kathmandu and Journeys In Between Giovanna Caruso The Kalā Salon Chhaya Centre Mall, Thamel Till 12 December 10am- 8pm

Looking at Nepal from Venice

This is the 75th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.

Things eventually work out

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

khumbu-glacier

“If the ice is gone, we are done”

On thin ice in the Khumbu

A new normal

Looking at Nepal from Venice

Things eventually work out

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal