<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a54479c7e80680e05239fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="936" height="578"/><figcaption>The celebrated New Zealand's All Blacks will be defending their Rugby World Cup title in Japan next month, here shown triumphant in 2015</figcaption></figure>I was hemmed in on all sides by a resonating wall of damp dark jackets, the wide bodies of my enthusiastic neighbours. The crowd was on its feet roaring and whooping, the joyous chants as intense as any South Asian festival throng.Fuelled with drink and devotion, unadulterated passionate approval greeted the latest score. Sheets of winter rain fell steadily on the green grass field, droplets glistening in the glare of the arc lights above us, but nothing could dampen the mass ecstasy.I was in the midst of the unlikely temple precinct of Eden Park, Auckland’s sports stadium and the shrine dedicated to New Zealand Rugby Union. The worship of New Zealand’s All Black team is well known to inspire national religious fervour, the adoration accorded to the elite players up there with divine beings and Himalayan gods. Team selection is headline news, coaches are considered heroes, deaths of past players are marked with respectful silence, and any match lost, god forbid, is mourned as a national disaster.The collective veneration, power of the pack and crush of bodies adulating a selfless common cause had all the hallmarks of a spiritual jamboree — the festive throng of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/my-sweet-lord/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Krishna Jayanti</a>, the orange host of Pashupati’s Shivaratri sadhus, the glittering red sea of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-folk-songs-move-beyond-love-and-loss/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tij</a>, acres of cross-legged Kalachakra Buddhists, and the multitude of pilgrims at India’s Kumbh Mela, the huge gathering held every 12 years in northern India.Granted, the Kumbh crowd is counted in tens of millions rather than mere tens of thousands in Auckland and, instead of black jerseys and protective headgear, most devotees are naked except for a loin cloth, matted hair, sacred threads or vibrant saris.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a544a9c7e80680e0523a0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="788"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Although from a country of less than five million people, the All Blacks are respected throughout the world as the side to beat, the champions hardly ever knocked off their rugby number one slot. Masters of the oval ball, their intimidating Maori haka is performed before each match, calculated to inspire awe in the opposition with beefy knees bent, eyes wide, tongues protruding. The squad of massive, muscled, tattooed athletes are household names in New Zealand, nurtured, trained and toned as the global Kiwi sports symbol — the silver fern logo was recently proposed to replace the national flag.‘Great win last night!’ The country rejoices, quiet satisfaction unites the hordes of black-clad supporters filing out after the game. Kiwi reserve and natural politeness keep the mob from overt gloating, but the yellow sweaters of the defeated Australians are treated with quiet disdain.My excitement at these great international clashes is recently acquired, and my grasp of the finer rules of the game is slender. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/a-working-mothers-guilt/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Both sons</a> played at school, but I had been a neglectful ‘soccer Mum’ seldom on the sidelines. Sangjay captained the school First XV and even made the under-18 Victoria side for a precious few minutes before a knee injury had him carried off the field.With a twice broken nose and dislocated shoulder between them, the boys decided discretion was the better part of valour and retired before the terrors of college league games, lined up against the big guys from the Pacific Islands. That’s a relief for a mother, as the injuries get worse as the stakes rise.My early interest in international rugby centred on the post-match revelry in the busy bars of Edinburgh’s Rose Street that followed the Scottish internationals played at Murrayfield. Not that we actually ever got to watch the game, just shortcut straight to the pub parties afterwards, either celebrating a win or drowning a defeat. In the final year of my stifling Scottish school, dusty classrooms and echoing corridors behind the grim grey façade of George Square, I left with disappointing marks and a general impatience with what I perceived as an oppressive establishment.My dishevelled school friend Kate and I would rock up after weekend work at her family cafe, a groovy spot serving vegan delights and fresh chopped vegetables  from their farm along the Moray Firth. It still exists as a favourite Edinburgh eatery, upgraded to Henderson’s Salad Table and now run by the next generation or two. Kate and I were no doubt wearing miniskirts, deeply inappropriate for the chilly climate, or weird flared trousers fashionable in the 1960s, and unsuitable heels, lethal on the wet cobbles of Scotland’s gloomy capital city on a late Saturday night. We were relieved to be out of the constraints of navy school uniforms, crumpled white shirts and hideous burgundy striped ties.Kate’s counter-culture Mum was my first conscious contact with the Himalaya that became my home. She had returned from a Karma Cola spiritual quest to India with amoebic dysentery — wonderfully exotic and evocative in contrast to the predictable cold and flu afflictions of the dreary British north. It was not long afterwards that I finished school, graduated from the rugby pubs, found a way to break the oppressive bonds, and set off on my restless journey. It was a long circuitous quest that would eventually lead me to Nepal.Next month the 2019 Rugby World Cup kicks off in Japan, a six-week bonanza in which 20 nations battle for the coveted championship. New Zealand’s All Blacks are defending their reigning title, and supporters worldwide are preparing for the ultimate clash of the giants. Held every four years, this is the first time the tournament is being played in Asia, outside the traditional heartlands of rugby union. You can guess who I am supporting.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a544d9c7e80680e0523a1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200">

Lisa Choegyal

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The religion of rugby

<h2>As the sun sets on 2018, Nepali Times takes you back to the most popular videos of the past year on its YouTube Channel, the ones that readers viewed and discussed the most:</h2>		
		1. A Kiwi takes to GundrukMost Nepalis love gundruk, it is almost our national dish. But it's rare to find a foreigner enjoying its strong aroma. New Zealand journalist and writer Thomas Heaton didn't just make gundruk sandheko from scratch, but also relished eating it. This video was the most widely shared and commented in 2018.<a href="http://bit.ly/a-Kiwi-takes-to-Gundruk-nt" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read story here</a>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0qar21iDPA		
		2. US-Bangla plane crash A US-Bangla Bombardier Q100 aircraft from Dhaka to Kathmandu crashed at Kathmandu airport on 12 March killing all 67 passengers and crew. Among them were Nepali medical students returning to Nepal after completing their studies. This recording of the conversation between the pilot and Kathmandu air traffic control shows that the Captain was incoherent and disoriented during the flight’s last moments. The clip was shared by over half a million readers, and generated vigorous debate about the nature of the crash.<a href="http://bit.ly/Us-Bangla-plane-crash-analysis-nt" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read story here</a>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oDAvHQJZK_M&t=17s		
		3. Fire and IceThis video of the Khumbu by Kunda Dixit presented dramatic proof of the impact of global warming on the glaciers below Mt Everest. The film was widely shared among the international scientific community, mountaineers and gained a lot of attention.<a href="http://bit.ly/thin-ice-in-khumbu-nt" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read story here</a>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTnxJKo97DI&amp;t=67s		
		4. Bartika RaiYouTube sensation and US-based singer-songwriter Bartika Eam Rai was in Kathmandu for her first Nepal concert tour, and spoke to our reporter Sewa Bhattarai about her new full-length album, her childhood, the therapeutic power of songwriting and her future plans. Her fans were delighted, and flooded the Nepali Times feed with best wishes for the star.<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxM6MEqCDOI" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read story here</a>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxM6MEqCDOI		
		5. The Boy Gods of Kathmandu We have all heard of Kathmandu's Living Goddesses. But much less visible than the Kumari, are the male gods Ganesh and Bhairab who are also worshipped and join the chariot procession of the Living Goddess during Indra Jatra. Sahina Shrestha followed the Boy Gods of Kathmandu on their daily routines at school and home, and in the festival.<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://bit.ly/The-Boy-Gods-of-Kathmandu-nt" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read story here</a>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TIXDttAce0g

Viral videos of 2018

The dawn air in Muktikot is dewy as the sun sets over the horizon in the mountains of western Nepal. A sad farewell song drifts across the village from a mud plastered house.&nbsp; Rani BK sings a half melody, half lament: “I feel like my own hands are being cut off as you leave.” She is bidding farewell to her youngest brother, 37-year-old Ranne, his wife Akashe. They are going to Bangalore in India to find work. Neighbours gather quietly in the gathering light, some wiping their eyes, others joining in song. “Please, don’t cry,” Ranne says softly. “These tears will haunt us on the journey.” Migration is not new to Muktikot, but the tears are. For decades, nearly every household here has sent its men to India every winter to work. They return in spring to plant their crops.&nbsp; What is new is that women like Akashe BK are now also going, and for longer periods. The couple is leaving their two of their children behind, and will be away for at least five years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Daughter and son left behind with Rani BK after departure.</figcaption> </figure>  Ranne has been a daily wage labourer since he was 17, moving across Nepal and different parts of northern India. This journey is different — it will be to southern India.&nbsp; He had borrowed Rs50,000 from a local lender to cover the travel cost, hoping to recoup it from his earnings as a security guard. Aakashe plans to work as a household helper.&nbsp; “We would not go if we have a choice,” Aakase says quietly, her eyes fixed on “We are forced to leave our children. We cannot afford to educate them, there is little to eat here, no water, no work, no electricity.” Their daughter Sitala, 12, and son Dipson, 10, put auspicious red tika on their parents’ foreheads. Aakase sobs as she asks relatives to look after their children and their house.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Departure of Ranne BK.</figcaption> </figure>  “We may return by the time you finish school,” Ranne tells Sitala, who is in Grade 6. Sitala stands forlorn by herself, not saying anything. Across Muktikot, women who once stayed back to raise children and manage households now join their husbands in India to support families in these remote mountains of western Nepal.&nbsp; Unnati BK, 30, and her husband Barune BK decided to migrate to India after their home was damaged by landslides in 2021 and the family was nearly killed. The arid farms did not produce enough food as rains failed. “Nothing grows here,” says Unnati, who is also leaving for Bangalore with her husband, along with Ranne and Akashe.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Unnati BK</figcaption> </figure>  After 54 families lost their homes in landslides four years ago, the district administration has set aside Rs500,000 for families including Unnati and Barune. But although nearly complete, they have received only Rs175,000 each. Unnati had realised and told her husband that if they stayed in the village, their sorrows would multiply. So they planned to leave, hoping that a little extra hardship in India would allow them to pay for the education of their three children, who are 11, eight, and six years old. “We chose Bangalore because relatives told us it is easy to find jobs there for both men and women,” Barune says. They plan to leave their children with Unnati’s parents for now, and later send them 250km away to Kailali to attend school.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Landslide four years ago caused 54 families to lose their homes.</figcaption> </figure>  More than 75 couples from 350 households in Muktikot have left for cities like Mumbai and Bangalore in the past three years alone, leaving behind their children either with their in-laws or in the Tarai cities where they go to school. Ajay Kumar BK, chair of the rural municipality of Muktikot says, “There is a clear intention to leave the village altogether.” &nbsp; Diksha BK, 25, has three sons aged six, three, and one. Her husband Dhirjan works in Surkhet. She and her husband have given up on Muktikot, saying they see no future there. DISASTER-PRONE Muktikot is populated mostly by Dalit families, and used to be named Dumkot after a derogatory term used by higher caste people for Dalits. During the Maoist conflict, many Dalit boys joined the guerrillas and the rebels renamed it Muktikot, meaning ‘freedom’.&nbsp; The village clings to a steep mountain flank wrinkled with rain-fed farm terraces. Many of the men who have left for India have never come back, and now even the women are leaving. The 2020 Disaster Preparedness and Response Plan of Bajura identifies Muktikot as a disaster-prone area, making its rain-fed agriculture vulnerable to droughts. The denuded slopes above are at risk of landslides.&nbsp; The 2021 International Migration in Nepal report counted 13,482 people migrating to India from Bajura alone that year. There are an estimated 3.5 million Nepalis living and working in Nepal — mostly from the western mountains.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Houses being built under resettlement plan.</figcaption> </figure>  National Environment and Equity Development Society (NEEDS) Nepal found that 70% of households in Sudhurpaschim Province have had at least one member migrating to India at some point in their lives. “Female migration used to be low, but there is now an observable trend of women migrating for work from Sudhurpaschim,” says Prakash Madai of NEEDS Nepal. However, anthropologist Jeevan R Sharma says female migration is not new, what is different is the scale and duration of women migrants. Increasing demand for part-time household help in India makes it a pull-factor for Nepali women from the rural west to enter the informal workforce. “Women used to go only when opportunities arose, working for half a year to maximum two years, and frequently going back and forth,” says Sharma. “The potential rise is likely due to the need for greater income driven by rising cash-based expenses for health, education, food, and purchase of consumer goods.” COST OF LEAVING “Previously people struggled for basic needs, and we did not have the money or the roads to travel to Kathmandu, which is why most people went to India for manual work,” says Kartik Kami, 60, of the rural municipality. “Migration trends have changed because both men and women can make money washing, cooking, and cleaning in cities. Soon, there will be no one to conduct weddings or funerals, only children will remain.” While women from other parts of Nepal began participating in foreign employment three decades ago, women from traditional Sudurpaschim families are only now venturing into the Indian labour market. “This surge is filling a labour vacuum in India created when its domestic migrants shifted their focus to Gulf countries,” explains historian Yadab Devkota. Yet, research paints a social cost. A 2020 study found that children of migrant parents suffer loneliness and neglect due to the absence of parental care and love. Children fall back in studies, and girl children are burdened with excessive workload managing the household and siblings.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Sitala BK, daughter of Ranne and Aakashe.</figcaption> </figure>  The emotional toll is manifested in anxiety, stress, depression, and in some cases, suicide, especially for those whose mothers have migrated.&nbsp; “The significant shift towards couple migration is driven by families making difficult and high-cost decisions in the hopes of breaking the cycle of poverty,” says Arjun Kharel at the Centre for the Study of Labour and Mobility (CESLAM ). “Migration remains primarily a strategy for subsistence rather than development, it is a calculated family decision made in the absence of local opportunities.” Migration to India remains largely invisible to the Nepal government. The country’s foreign employment framework does not extend to migrants going to India. And because they travel through the open border, they are not regulated by formal systems.&nbsp; There is no accurate count of how many Nepalis are working in India, or of Indians in Nepal. According to the Indian Population and Housing Census, there are 600,000 Nepalis working in India, but this is a gross underestimation.&nbsp; A study by Aapti Institute describes Nepali migrants in India as ‘liminal’ neither fully protected as citizens nor recognised as foreigners there, exposing them to exploitation and risk.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Ranne and Aakashe's last night at home.</figcaption> </figure>  “Nepali migrants in India are not covered by compensation if they fall sick and or if die, unlike migrants to other overseas destinations who can receive compensation of up to Rs700,000,” notes labour migration expert Saru Joshi. The recent draft National Labour Migration Policy 2025 of the Ministry of Labour, Employment, and Social Security offers a flicker of hope for migrants to India with provisions for welfare, social security, and mental health support for families left behind. The draft also mandates better data collection of the movement of people.&nbsp; It is unlikely that these initiatives will make any difference to the people who remain in Muktikot. Many like Ranne and Akashe are likely to go to India for work. “If I had only two or three children, I would take my wife to India too,” says Jaya BK, 46. But he has seven children, including newborn twins, whom he has stayed behind to help his wife look after this time, rather than leaving for Uttarakhand in winter like he usually does.&nbsp; With the support of Internews' Earth Journalism Network.

Mass migration from Muktikot

The Himalayan mountains are also known as the Third Pole because it is the largest repository of water stored as ice outside the two polar regions. However, it is divided by political boundaries that nature does not recognise – be it the air pollutants that flow or migratory birds that fly over the peaks. The Himalaya is also a geopolitical and climate change hot spot. In these geopolitically and environmentally challenging times, it becomes even more important to create oases of conversations, where candid and future-oriented discussions can take place at a people-to-people level. Platforms dominated by inter-governmental agencies have been able to do little. The Himalayan Future Forum (HFF) aims to be a platform that stands at the crossroads of climate, community, and connectivity, fostering dialogue and promoting citizen-led action. Growing up in the Indian Himalayan town of Kalimpong and spending the nascent stages of my career helping in setting up offices of the award-winning Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) that fostered community involvement in conservation, I have witnessed transformations both good and bad.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_6e2087b11fff0cc6704eebaee6f169848a9cfd57c4a02d7d1fd45db2526d2f67.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260205070244_6e2087b11fff0cc6704eebaee6f169848a9cfd57c4a02d7d1fd45db2526d2f67" data-rendition-name="original" width="5559" height="3711" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  There are initiatives like Nepal’s forest cover doubling in 30 years, or Bhutan’s drive for high-end sustainable tourism. At the same time, I have seen landscapes destroyed by bulldozers and tall buildings competing for air and sunlight in expanding cities. From crony capitalists patronised by political leaders engaged in plundering natural resources to citizen-led initiatives on cleanliness drives and waste management, the Himalayan region is full of stories from both ends of the spectrum of disappointment and hope. Life is about observing and, in one’s little sphere of influence, taking baby steps towards catalysing positive transformation. This is why, Nepal Economic Forum (NEF) had been hosting the Himalayan Consensus Summit in Nepal from 2014 to 2020 following which the Himalayan Future Forum (HFF) was incubated since 2023. HFF is an initiative to encourage multi-faceted dialogues on the topics of climate, community, and connectivity in the Himalayan region by bringing together leaders, experts, institutions, and practitioners from different countries and sectors.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_a7e673507dcdb6e265cb6f76f2890f17af36f17006a7f6d0f2f0e1a288c89a09.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260205070244_a7e673507dcdb6e265cb6f76f2890f17af36f17006a7f6d0f2f0e1a288c89a09" data-rendition-name="original" width="5364" height="3581" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  In this year’s edition, there are a series of sessions on 6 February with 34 speakers including ten international panelists. On day two the Himalayan Haat aims to showcase a variety of local, indigenous, and sustainable products. As in 2024, it is believed that the conversations and interactions at the HFF will lead to more partnerships and collaborations from climate financing to managing disasters to taking Himalayan brands global. YOUNG FELLOWS Beyond this, there are sessions on topics such as geopolitics and the Himalaya, as well as on migration which are especially relevant considering the past few years that have seen many events which impacted the global world order. One of the key features of HFF, guided by our ethos of bringing together experts, experiences, and enthusiasm, is also to ensure stronger youth representation through the HFF Youth Fellowship. This year, following a rigorous screening process, youth fellows were selected out of an overwhelming response. Those chosen will be able to attend the events as well as collaborate in future research and publications. Selected fellows will also be provided with full scholarships to the public policy program at Takshashila Institution, an independent centre for research and education in public policy in Bangalore. In a region where half of the population is under 25 years, it is important to get the future generations also in the room.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260205070244_3416bd14d5249afeb357b11f760f49b0cd1d77feeac71d820406b2d9e86696bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260205070244_3416bd14d5249afeb357b11f760f49b0cd1d77feeac71d820406b2d9e86696bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="5273" height="3520" loading="lazy" alt="HFF 2026"></figure>  Nepal presents an ideal location to hold meetings such as this, where no-holds-barred conversations can take place face-to-face. The country has good air connectivity and one of the most liberal visa policies in Asia. And while Davos is a good example to follow for convening global voices, we need not have so many private planes burning fossil fuel, as we can have participants take scheduled commercial flights or have regional participants simply take a road trip. Ultimately, the Himalayan region is also about festivities. No exchange of ideas is complete without immersing in art, culture, culinary experiences, and music. This is why HFF envisages graduating to a Himalayan Jatra, rooted in a region where people smile from the heart, and teach the world to smile with them. Join us at HFF 2026 as we move closer to this vision. See the schedule <a href="file:///Z:/%231297%20February%206/pix/page%209/HFF%202026%20Program%20Schedule%20(1)_compressed.pdf">here</a>. Sujeev Shakya is Chair of Nepal Economic Forum and Convenor of the Himalayan Future Forum.

Himalayan Futures Forum 2026

When I landed in Kathmandu last November, I arrived with a Diwali hangover. Not the festive kind, but the coughing, dust-coated, throat-scratching kind gifted by North India’s winter air. After a decade of breathing in Delhi’s seasonal gas chamber, my lungs were in an open revolt. But within days of landing in Kathmandu, my cough vanished. It felt almost miraculous. The air was crisper. The Air Quality Index was kinder, and the Himalayan peaks rose on the horizon.&nbsp;
But by the third week, the familiar grey veil returned. First as a faint blur, then peak by peak the Himalaya began to disappear. Locals said it had been getting worse every year.&nbsp;
Much of this haze is not Kathmandu’s doing. What drifts into Nepal each winter is a toxic spillover from the plains of North India and Pakistan: black carbon, brown clouds, and fine particulate matter carried across borders by seasonal winds. Kathmandu’s bowl-shaped valley simply traps what the region exhales.
Abid Omar, founder of the <a href="https://pakairquality.com/" target="_blank">Pakistan Air Quality Initiative</a>, put it bluntly: “We often view air pollution and climate change as separate silos, but in the Himalaya, they are one and the same.”
Black carbon is essentially soot from diesel emissions, brick kilns, and crop burning. It may be short-lived in the atmosphere, but when ash settles on snow and ice, it reduces reflectivity and accelerates melting.&nbsp;
Omar adds, “Black carbon is a threat to the water security of the entire Indus and Ganges basins.”
What burns on both sides of Punjab do not stay in Punjab. It ends up on glaciers that feed rivers, sustaining hundreds of millions of people downstream.
In November 2024, AQI levels in New Delhi hovered near 500 and about the same time Lahore briefly became the world’s most polluted city, with the AQI count crossing 1,100. These numbers are not abstract.
According to the <a href="https://www.stateofglobalair.org/resources/archived/state-global-air-report-2024" target="_blank">State of Global Air 2024 report</a>, India recorded more than 2 million deaths attributable to air pollution in 2023. Bangladesh and Pakistan each saw over 200,000 deaths. Air pollution is now one of the leading causes of premature death across South Asia.
Nepal, often imagined as cleaner by default, tells a sobering story of its own. Air pollution in Nepal led to an estimated <a href="https://www.worldbank.org/en/news/press-release/2025/06/17/air-pollution-is-the-number-one-health-risk-factor-in-nepal#:~:text=Vehicle%20Emissions:%20Continuing%20to%20electrify,airflows%20carry%20pollutants%20across%20borders." target="_blank">48,500 premature deaths</a>, with the loss of more than 1.4 million disability-adjusted life years. The University of Chicago’s <a href="https://aqli.epic.uchicago.edu/post/nepal-capital-chokes-as-wildfires-rage-en" target="_blank">Air Quality Life Index</a> estimates that particulate pollution cuts 3.4 years off the life of the average Nepali. In the Tarai region, life expectancy drops by nearly five years. In Kathmandu, residents lose 2.6 years.
Says infectious disease specialist Anup Subedee: “Air pollution is killing at a far higher rate than Covid-19 did during its worst years in Nepal. People are dying in their twenties of cancer, or having heart attacks and strokes in their thirties and forties.”
Nearly <a href="https://www.icimod.org/press-release/kathmandu-choked-on-polluted-air-for-75-of-the-last-90-days/?utm_source=chatgpt.com" target="_blank">40 per cent of winter particulate pollution in the Kathmandu</a> valley originates outside Nepal. Black carbon carried from Punjab, Haryana, and Uttar Pradesh in India, besides parts of Pakistan, rides the winds north, settles on Himalayan snow, and accelerates glacier melt by absorbing heat.
“The pollutants travel across borders within shared airsheds, creating one gigantic plume of polluted air over India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Pakistan several times a year,” says Subedee.
In some Himalayan regions, <a href="https://www.icimod.org/success-stories/chapter-2/black-carbon-and-glacier-melt/" target="_blank">scientists estimate</a> that black carbon can increase localised melt rates by up to 30%. Yet global climate negotiations continue to treat glacial loss primarily as a carbon dioxide problem.&nbsp;
CHINA’S APPROACH
The South Asian story is transboundary, and more immediate as well as more preventable. This is not only about emissions. It is about coordination, and China offers an instructive contrast.
Since 2013, China has dramatically improved its air quality by declaring a '<a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2025/12/12/what-new-delhi-can-learn-from-chinas-war-on-air-pollution#:~:text=In%20the%20following%20years%2C%20Beijing,29.3%CE%BCg%2Fm%C2%B3%20in%202024." target="_blank">war on pollution</a>'. A major air pollutant, suspended PM2.5 levels fell sharply through strict controls on coal, vehicles, and industry, massive investment in renewables, and legally binding national action plans.
Crucially, China shifted from city-by-city firefighting to a regional airshed approach. Provinces shared data, coordinated emergency responses, enforced unified standards, and tied environmental performance to political accountability. South Asian countries have done none of this.
Isolated national actions are insufficient when pollution itself ignores borders. India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Pakistan share the same airshed. Without cooperation, each country keeps breathing its neighbour’s mistakes.
“As the government representing the largest population affected by air pollution, India should lead this effort. Instead, the region has drifted away from cooperation, and the cost is becoming catastrophic,” Subedee says.
The haze over Kathmandu is not only Nepal’s burden. It is a <a href="https://sapannews.com/2024/12/27/could-climate-diplomacy-be-the-googly-a-gamechanger-for-regional-cooperation/" target="_blank">regional failure</a>. The melting of South Asia’s glaciers is not just a global warming story. It is also a local one, written in the smoke rising from our own fields, factories, and highways.
If we keep ignoring black carbon, the Himalayas will keep losing time, snow, and stability. The disappearing peaks of Kathmandu are not a metaphor. They are a warning.
And like the air itself, that warning is already crossing borders. ©Sapan News
Pragyan Srivastava is an Indian journalist and associate editor at <a href="http://www.sapannews.com/" target="_blank">Sapan News</a>. <a href="mailto:pragyan@sapannews.com" target="_blank">pragyan@sapannews.com</a>

Cleaning up the Himalayan airshed

On full-moon nights in October and the Nepali New Year in April, hundreds gather to worship at the sacred pond of Mai Pokhari in Ilam. According to legend, the pond was born thousands of years ago from the union of the holy Mai and Tamur rivers in eastern Nepal. Another story tells of an elderly couple whose death gave rise to a life-giving pond meant to quench human thirst. The nine corners of the pond are each believed to house a goddess capable of granting health, fertility, good harvests, and protection from landslides and storms. In every version, one message is constant: when people polluted the water, the goddess moved away. Fear of losing her protection still shapes how people treat the sacred water body today. Besides ponds, wetlands are areas that are saturated with water, permanently or seasonally, including marshes, swamps, and bogs – representing some of the world’s most biologically diverse ecosystems, with distinctive soil, plants and animals. In 2008, Mai Pokhari earned the status of a Ramsar site – a wetland of global importance – for its ecological significance.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Mai Pokhari"> <figcaption>Mai Pokhari in Ilam. Photo: JITENDRA RAJ BAJRACHARYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  Its mid-elevation broadleaved forests provide habitat for many epiphytic orchids that grow without soil, attaching themselves to trees, and protected species such as the white-rumped vulture (Gyps bengalensis), leopard cat (Prionailurus bengalensis) and Eurasian Otter (Lutra lutra). For the people of the area, this is more than a wetland. It is a living mother, an ancestral guardian, and at the heart of their cultural identity. But long before it was recognised internationally, it was already being protected through belief, respect, and traditional knowledge passed quietly from one generation to the next. This pattern of faith-based stewardship is repeated across the Himalaya. Spirituality has shaped conservation in ways no law ever could. Fishing, hunting, and polluting wetlands and rivers are strictly forbidden, not by force but by faith. When erosion threatened the pond in the 1930s, villagers planted pine trees along its edges. As forest degradation increased, the community organised itself, establishing community forests in 1992 and 2001. In 2004, the area surrounding the pond was formally recognised as a religious forest –- a recognition based on local devotion rather than outside instruction.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017" data-rendition-name="original" width="919" height="540" loading="lazy" alt="Map of wetlands in Hindu Kush"> <figcaption>Map showing four wetlands in the Hindu Kush Himalaya. Source: RAMESH KATHARIYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  In the lowland forests of western Nepal, lies Ghodaghodi, a wetland complex consisting of large and shallow oxbow lake with 13 associated marshes and meadows surrounded by tropical deciduous forest on the lower slopes of the Siwalik range along the southern edge of the Himalaya. These wetlands and forests serve as a critical wildlife corridor between the lowlands and the Siwalik, supporting several globally threatened species of plants and animals, and rare wild rice. To the people who live around it, especially the Indigenous Tharu, Ghodaghodi is alive – a sacred presence shaped by gods, ancestors, and centuries of belief. The name Ghodaghodi, which means horse and mare, carries ancient memories. Elders tell stories of divine beings who once moved through the landscape in animal form, leaving behind a lake infused with spiritual powers. The waters are believed to be the dwelling place of gods and goddesses, particularly Lord Shiva. This belief has shaped how the wetland is viewed: not as property to be owned, but as a holy space to be respected. Each year during the festival of Agan Panchami, thousands of pilgrims gather at Ghodaghodi, walking barefoot along forest paths with offerings of flowers, fruits, milk, and water. Polluting the water or harming its creatures is believed to invite misfortune. These unwritten cultural rules have conserved the wetland for generations, long before it was declared a wetland of global importance. In the central highlands of Bhutan lies the Gangtey-Phobji in a wide glacial valley. The Ramsar site is the prime wintering habitat for the globally vulnerable, black-necked crane (Grus nigricollis).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="998" loading="lazy" alt="Black necked crane"> <figcaption>Black-necked crane in Phobji. ALEX TREADWAY / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  An annual festival at the Gangtey monastery welcomes the arrival of the cranes in November. Locals revere the birds as sacred messengers, and they are believed to bring blessings and prosperity. It is these beliefs that have helped preserve Bhutan’s flagship Ramsar site. In West Sikkim, the Khachoedpalri wetland was declared a Ramsar site in 2025. This Himalayan high-altitude wetland ecosystem and its surrounding temperate forests provide critical habitat for many species of flora and fauna, and the wetland serves as an important habitat and stopover site for migratory birds. But more importantly, it has religious significance as a pilgrimage site and is revered by both Buddhists and Hindus as a wish-fulfilling lake. It is these values that have supported its conservation from time immemorial. These wetlands are recognised internationally as Ramsar sites for their ecological and other attributes. However, the very cultural practices that preserved these wetlands, along with new external pressures, now threaten them. Many are now increasingly under threat due to growing human intervention – including misplaced practices such as the ritual release of exotic fish by the faithful. Some religious bodies now advise against these practices. Many others are drying out, silting up, or polluted by upstream activity. As these changes intensify, there is concern that not only biodiversity, but also the cultural practices and spiritual values tied to the wetlands may begin to fade. As we mark this year’s World Wetlands Day on 2 February with the theme ‘Wetlands and Traditional Knowledge: Celebrating Cultural Heritage’ it is a reminder that wetlands are not only ecosystems – they are rich cultural spaces. Traditional knowledge and belief systems have quietly conserved these wetlands for centuries, showing that when people revere nature, protection becomes a way of life. It is this profound connection, where culture nurtures ecology that we must safeguard to ensure neither wetlands nor the heritage they hold fade away. Sunita Chaudhary is the Biodiversity Lead at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD).

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