<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b84239c7e80680e06777ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1037"/><figcaption>A view of the project from across the Langtang Valley showing the receding Langtang Lirung Glacier, and the location of the intake, penstock and powerhouse. There is a drop of 300m, and the turbines generate 100kW of electricity. Photos: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>From the edge of the terminal moraine of the Langtang Lirung Glacier, there is a 360 degree view of icy peaks, and below is the monastery town of Kyanjin blanketed in overnight snow.Towering above is Langtang Lirung with snow being blown off its 7,227m summit, with the jagged peaks of Kimshun standing like bodyguards with Tserko Ri, Yala Peak and Gang Chhenpo. And to the south is the rampart of the Naya Kanga ridge.“When I was a boy we brought the yaks up here to graze, and they could cross the ice from one side of the glacier to the other,” says Gyalbu Tamang. “This lake was formed only in the last 20 years.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b84269c7e80680e06777bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>As climate change thaws the mountains, right across the eastern Himalaya in Nepal, Bhutan and southern Tibet, hundreds of new lakes have formed at the snouts of glaciers. Some have found outlets and emptied themselves, while others, like this one, swelled up dangerously.In the past 40 years, there have been 26 <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/langtang-copes-with-quake-and-covid/">glacial lake outburst floods on Nepal’s rivers</a>, and with newer and bigger lakes forming, they pose a serious risk to new roads, settlements and hydropower plants downstream.However, glacial lakes do not just need to be a threat, as has been shown by a unique project on the Langtang Lirung Glacier. This glacial lake at 4,100m is being drained to lower its level, and the water is used to generate electricity.The Langtang Microhydro Electricity Project was built three years after the 2015 earthquake-avalanche that devastated the valley, with help from the Hong Kong-based Kadoorie Charitable Foundation. The $534,000 scheme has a weir and spillway at the moraine, and the water is taken through a fibre glass-insulated penstock pipe to a powerhouse that generates 100kW of electricity, providing 24 hours of electricity to 120 households and tourist lodges in Kyanjin and Langtang.The project is a first-of-its-kind in Nepal to power a village, and holds promise for other remote Himalayan valleys where the risk posed by expanding glacial lakes can be mitigated, while at the same time providing electricity to tourism-dependent families.“It can be a plus-plus, you need to simply drive a glacial lake to turn a turbine while simultaneously lowering the water level and reducing the pressure on the moraine dam,” says energy economist and former Water Resource Minister <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/finding-the-nexus-between-water-food-and-energy/">Dipak Gyawali.</a>The only downside would be that most glacial lakes are at very high elevations where there are few settlements, and also the greater cost of transporting equipment by helicopter. But if the risk-reduction from glacial lake outburst floods is factored in, these multi-purpose projects would be cost-effective.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b842a9c7e80680e06777cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1125" height="1500"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b842d9c7e80680e06777djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1250" height="938"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b84309c7e80680e06777ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>There are other dangerous glacial lakes in Nepal like <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Diverting-danger,3172">Imja</a> in the Everest region and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/human-face-of-a-himalayan-climate-crisis/">Tso Rolpa</a> in Rolwaling Valley, where the water level has been lowered at enormous cost, but the schemes have not added the hydropower component. Tso Rolpa had a small power unit to supply electricity to the project, but it is not in use. Imja was financed by the UNDP with funding from the Global Environment Facility, while Tso Rolpa was funded by the Dutch government.Glacial lakes have been used to generate power in the Peruvian Andes, and in the Swiss Alps existing reservoirs filled with glacial melt have been generating 4% more electricity because of accelerated melting. The Swiss are even <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/04/17/climate/switzerland-glaciers-climate-change.html">mapping future hydropower plants</a> on glaciers for a time when all the ice will be gone. In <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/nclimate2185.pdf?origin=ppub">Bhutan, a pilot scheme</a> on a glacial lake at 4,200m is trying to lower the water level using siphons, and plans to also see if it is feasible to generate electricity.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b84349c7e80680e06777fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1250" height="689"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Experts say that with a little more investment, the moraine dams on glacial lakes can be strengthened for a fraction of a cost of building a new artificial dam for electricity generation. For this, the Langtang Microhydro Project presents a working model for other glacial lakes in Nepal where there are plans to lower the water level."In previous decades it used to be expensive to build power plants on glacial lakes because they were so remote, but now that roads have reached many valleys, they are more feasible," says glaciologist Pradeep Mool.Gyalbu Tamang lost his parents and many relatives in the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/langtang-copes-with-quake-and-covid/">catastrophic earthquake-avalanche in 2015</a> that killed as many as 300 people in Langtang. But for him and other trekking lodge owners who used to depend on solar panels, the 24-hour electricity has transformed the quality of life.He says: “We can charge our phones, use appliances, the children can read at night, it is like living in a city.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/danger-nepals-glacial-lakes-are-filling-up/">DANGER: Nepal’s glacial lakes are filling up</a>, Nepali Times

Kunda Dixit

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Nepal’s first hydropower from a glacial lake

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6629c7e80680e096767jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>It was the spring of 2015, and the trekking season was off to a good start. There was a long line of hikers on the trail along the Langtang Khola from Syabru to Lama Hotel.Trekkers who had come earlier were on their way down, hurrying to catch jeeps back to Kathmandu for their flights out. Tourism was booming, and the people of Langtang had added floors to family homes to turn them into lodges for added income.Langtang’s economy depended on trekking and the cheese-dairy business, each helping the other. Every day, there were at least 150 tourists in Langtang, acclimatising before moving up the Valley to Kyanjin or camping in the yak pastures higher up.I remember the morning of 25 April well. It was an overcast day, and the mountains were covered up. I had been in Langtang village with my parents for a religious ritual, and at 8AM started walking back to Kyanjin to the cheese factory where I am manager. My three children were at home, close to the cheese plant.Just before noon, there was a deep rumble from below the ground, and the stone walls of the cheese factory began to shake, and collapsed altogether. The roof caved in and there was dust everywhere.The ground was still shaking when there was another more ominous roar from the mountains above. Even before we could see what was coming, there was a blast of wind that knocked down everyone who was outside. Some people who had rushed out of collapsing buildings to save themselves were blown away by the fierce wind.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6659c7e80680e096768jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="559" height="278">Even though it was mid-day, everything went dark. The wind was blowing in dust mixed with ice, the prayer flags were fluttering wildly. It was only then that I realised we had been hit by an avalanche.There were people with broken limbs, others had been cut by flying metal roofs, there were dead yaks near the pens. I ran home to see if my children were all right, and was relieved to see that they were safe, though shaken.My son and one of my daughters were still hiding under the bed, as they had been taught in school to do in case of an earthquake. It saved their lives because the avalanche and the blast preceding it had knocked down one window, and blown right through the room and out through the other window.My next thought was about the safety of my parents. But the closer I got to Langtang village, the more worried I became. I passed relatives and friends fleeing the village, and they told me “it is all gone”, or “don’t go there”. Yet, I pressed on.The destruction to buildings was more severe the closer I got to Langtang. The dead and injured lay everywhere. Yaks and mules had been blown right across to the other side of the valley where all the trees were flattened. The ground was white as if it had snowed, but this was all ice from the avalanche.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/langtang-copes-with-quake-and-covid/">Langtang copes with quake and Covid</a>, Kunda Dixit<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6669c7e80680e096769jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1750" height="1313"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Langtang was all gone, most of the people, livestock and houses had been blown away by the shock wave. The houses that remained were buried under 100m of ice and rock. There was no trace of my parent’s home on the western edge of the village. My father was 62, and had been grazing his yaks. We found him five days later near the river, resting with his arms under his head as if he was sleeping. His face was turned towards where the yaks would have been, his body frozen by the ice that fell from Langtang.My 65-year-old mother was inside the house, and we found her buried in the debris as the stone walls collapsed around her. Nearby were the bodies of two aunts, my younger sister and brother-in-law, a sister-in-law.There were too many deaths for funeral rituals, and we just recited our mantra as they were cremated. There were 175 local people who were killed that day, about 100 foreign tourists also perished, and there is no count of Nepali cooks, porters and support staff in the lodges. Our guess is that there were 225 of them.The avalanche also killed 27 herders and 400 yaks that provided milk for the cheese factory. The cheese-making plant was destroyed, along with all the equipment and the storeroom with 300 kg of cheese.Cheese-making was already in crisis in Langtang before the earthquake because the younger generation did not want to stay in the village, and if they did they were not interested in herding yaks.But the earthquake-avalanche had a silver lining: the Dairy Development Corporation in Kathmandu agreed to raise the buying price of yak milk to Rs120 per kg from Rs90. The Swiss came back to Langtang with compensation for herders to buy new yaks, and they put in Rs18 million to rebuild the factory with new equipment and even set up a dairy lab for quality control.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6699c7e80680e09676ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1501"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce66d9c7e80680e09676bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1692" height="1232">Langtang Cheese Production Centre after the earthquake destroyed it in 2015, and last year after it was rebuilt with new equipment, a storage facility, and a lab. Photos: GYALBU TAMANGIt is now feasible for farmers to take up yak herding again, and with tourism in the doldrums many have taken loans to expand their yak herds. Someone with 20 yaks who sells 50 litres of milk daily, for example, can now earn Rs6,000 a day. The cheese unit is collecting 300 litres of milk a day, and in the monsoon it can go up to 600 litres daily.Before the earthquake, we were manufacturing 4,500kg of cheese per year, as well as 2,000kg of butter and ghee--all of it was consumed locally. Last year during the pandemic, we sent 2,500kg to Kathmandu because there were no tourists here. If it was not for Covid, we would be back to full-scale production.The factory is now able to produce more cheese than before the disaster, the income helping raise our living standard. Lodge owners who have lost tourist income have started four new yak farms in the past year. Younger people are finding a future in cheese.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6719c7e80680e09676cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1750" height="1313"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6749c7e80680e09676djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1750" height="1313"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce6789c7e80680e09676ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1750" height="1313">Photos: GYALBU TAMANGPeople in Langtang believe that the gods punished them for being greedy and selfish, competing with each other to build taller and bigger lodges. That is why the gods sent down the avalanche to wipe out the village, while leaving the rest of the valley intact. It may have been a warning for us to mend our ways, to be kind to each other, and protect nature.We had started recovering from the earthquake when the Covid crisis struck. Once more, the economy has slowed down and tourism has collapsed. Still, Langtang is being rebuilt for the day when tourists will return, and we hope that we can revive what was best about Langtang, a beyul where the gods dwell, and look benevolently at us earthly beings.As told to Kunda Dixit_______________________<h2>Father and Son</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce67b9c7e80680e09676fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125">Gyalbu Tamang (above) grew up accompanying his father, Pasang Norbu, to the alpine meadows in Langtang's Naya Kanga, Yala and Langsisha to graze yaks. His father was one of the pioneers who worked in the Langtang Cheese Production Centre that the Swiss helped set up in the 1950s.When Gyalbu turned 18, he got a job at the centre, and he had to get up at 4AM every morning to weigh the milk, collect firewood, get the fire going, and carry the cheese from higher up the mountains to the plant in Kyanjin. All this was familiar work for him, since he had helped his father as a boy. Swiss cheese experts Sepp Dubach and Werner Schulthess were convinced that cheese had a future in Nepal even though in the 1950s Nepalis did not really eat cheese, despite the fact that churpi was always popular.The Swiss were convinced that the best way to preserve the surplus yak milk production in places like Langtang was to convert it into cheese so it could be transported to market. They felt that yak cheese from Nepal would be as good as, if not better than, Emmentaler cheese back home. They trained Pasang Norbu in Swiss cheese-making, and he in turn passed it on to his son, Gyalbu.Pasang Norbu retired from the cheese factory, but not from the business of making cheese. Dairy farming was in his blood. So with his pension, he bought ten yaks and carried on doing what he did before, and selling the surplus milk to the cheese factory. In summer, father and son took the yaks up to graze on the slopes below Naya Kanga. It was the herbs in the grass that gave the milk, and the cheese, its unique flavour.On 25 April 2015, Pasang Norbu was grazing his yaks when the avalanche came down and swept him and his yaks away. Last week in Kyanjin, Gyalbu Tamang said: “My father taught me everything I know. I am just carrying on his work.”Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-story-of-langtang-cheese/">The Story of Langtang Cheese</a>, Gyalbu Tamang

Langtang revives its cheese heritage

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce5ea9c7e80680e096739jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Kyanjin, at 4,100 metres, is the highest settlement in the Langtang Valley. All Photos: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce5ed9c7e80680e09673ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="358"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce5f09c7e80680e09673bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="412"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>After attending a night-long vigil for a dead relative, Karma Tamang was taking a nap in a room in his Panorama Guest House in Kyanjin, when he was woken up by violent shaking.He staggered out into the balcony, down the stairs and outside. All around him, stone houses were crumbling in clouds of dust. Then there was another more ominous roar from the cloud-covered slopes of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/five-years-after-avalanche-langtang-is-locked-down/">Langtang</a> Lirung directly above the town.“I knew it was an avalanche, but what we did not expect was a blast of wind so strong that it swept people and yaks off their feet and blew them away,” Tamang, 55, recalls.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4R419Ei6SiEHe ran back to the farthest room in his lodge while the dirty snow blew all around like a blizzard.“There were people with broken limbs, faces bleeding, we rescued whom we could find, and sheltered them in the lodge,” he says.Tamang then remembered that his family was in his other guest house in<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-courage-and-endurance-of-the-langtangpa/"> Langtang village</a>, and ran down the valley. He met hundreds of locals and tourists, some with grievous wounds, fleeing in the opposite direction.When he reached the Army base overlooking the village, there was no village, just blocks of black ice the size of houses that looked like giant rocks. There was no sign of his home, where he had left his wife, sister, son and two nephews that morning.“I had tried to wake up my son to bring him back with me to Kyanjin, but he wanted to sleep, so I had left him there,” recalls Tamang  his face contorted by grief even six years later. They found the bodies four days later, half-buried in ice and boulders, on the other side of the valley.No one knows for sure<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/langtang-destroyed-in-earthquake,2205"> how many people died</a> in Langtang’s co-seismic disaster just before noon on 25 April 2015, but its physical and emotional scars are still visible everywhere.There used to be up to 150 trekkers every day passing through Langtang village before the earthquake, the numbers had started picking up again and lodge owners were so optimistic that they were adding floors, and expanding restaurant space.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce5f39c7e80680e09673cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="305"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>That construction spree is still going on as families who survived the disaster rebuild lodges near where the village once was, and in Kyanjin. Every day, there are dozens of helicopter flights ferrying iron rods, cement and plywood in slings up the valley from Syabru.“We had thought we had seen the worst of it after the earthquake, and took loans to rebuild our lodge, improve the facilities, but there have been no trekkers for a year now,” says Sumjo Tamang, 29, as she prepares tea in the immaculate, but deserted, dining area of her Snow Leopard Guest House.Sumjo’s husband was in Langtang village ploughing his potato field with two yaks when the avalanche came down. His body was found 200m away. Up in Kyanjin, Sumjo picked up her baby daughter, and ran out when the house started shaking--only to be blown away by the shock wave.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce5f69c7e80680e09673djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1125" height="1500"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce5f99c7e80680e09673ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1125" height="1500"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>She was knocked unconscious, and neighbours found her baby in a nearby field, unhurt. When she came to, Sumjo could not move her leg which was broken in three places. Her two other daughters also survived miraculously, and the family spent four days in a cave waiting for a helicopter rescue to Kathmandu. It took a year for her leg to heal so she could return to the ruins of her lodge in Kyanjin.“It has been difficult without my husband and with small children, but everyone helped and we were just starting to recover. Now, they say this Covid will go on for another few years, I don’t know how to carry on,” she says.Even if trekking revives, lodge owners here worry that there will be too much competition and rates will go down as lodge owners try to undercut each other. There are 40 tourist lodges in Kyanjin alone, in what used to be a tiny monastery village. Most are padlocked and their owners are away in Kathmandu, but others are using the pandemic to rebuild in anticipation that tourism will pick up again.Alone in his empty Panorama Guest House, Karma Tamang sits by a shrine in his dining area with photographs of his wife, son and nephews who perished in the disaster.“The earthquake was such a shocking tragedy that for a time, people here became spiritual and believed that it was divine retribution for being selfish, and for leaving the path of the dharma,” he says. “But six years later, everyone is now back to building bigger houses, they are heavily indebted, and Covid has killed tourism. There is a lot of anxiety in the people.”Here in Kyanjin, it was mostly the stone structures that came down in the 7.8 magnitude earthquake in 2015. And, as elsewhere in Central Nepal, everyone is rebuilding using reinforced concrete columns, presuming they are stronger. The steel and cement is all flown in by helicopter.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121152/636ce5fc9c7e80680e09673fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="559" height="278">On a ridge overlooking Kyanjin, the town’s Ward Chair Supa Tamang is supervising the installation of a Nepal Telecom mobile tower for which he lobbied two years in Kathmandu. As a Nepal Communist Party candidate, he was elected in the 2017 election, but is far away from the political intrigue and infighting of his party in Kathmandu.“We survived the earthquake, and we will survive Covid as well,” says Supa Tamang confidently. “The new lodges, better facilities and mobile connectivity prove that the people of Langtang are hoping for a better tomorrow.”Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-story-of-langtang-cheese/">The Story of Langtang Cheese</a>, Gyalbu Tamang.

Langtang copes with quake and Covid

The story of Langtang cheese

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8cf29c7e80680e06b324jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Hanging new prayer flags near the old chorten and the newer post-earthquake Memorial Wall in Langtang village on the final day of Losar celebrations in March 2020. Photo: AUSTIN LORD</figcaption></figure>Five years ago, I was in the Langtang Valley with my parents at the moment <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/langtang-destroyed-in-earthquake,2205" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">when the earth shook</a>. The earthquake released a massive, roiling avalanche weighing over twelve million tons of material from the slopes of Langtang Lirung, carrying half the force of an atomic bomb. The earthquake brought <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/langtang-before-after-earthquake-nepal" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">loss beyond words or comprehension</a>, and even now, so much remains unspeakable and unknowable. Surviving those unstable moments and all that followed has changed my life and my view of this world, forever.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/five-years-after-avalanche-langtang-is-locked-down/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Five years after the avalanche</a>, Langtang is locked downSince that day, I have returned to Langtang again and again, and I have remained engaged with <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/%20Langtang-rising-after-april-25-earthquake,2610" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">post-earthquake recovery</a> and the Langtangpa community <a href="https://digitalcommons.macalester.edu/himalaya/vol37/iss2/12/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">in a variety of ways</a>. It has been an immeasurable privilege to see and feel <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Australian%20-researchers-after-nepal-earthquake%20,3393" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Langtang come back to life</a>. The Langtangpa have a great deal to teach us about strength, courage, resilience, endurance, and the ways we might carve out places for ourselves in a world full of uncertainties.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8cf59c7e80680e06b325jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="252" height="128">Disasters can shift, warp, and fold our sense of time in complex and unexpected ways. Anniversaries and other moments of mutual reflection, ceremony, or commemoration can help us mark time and reorient ourselves in the wake of disaster. In regathering ourselves, we might attempt to restore some kind of temporal sovereignty, if only for a moment, or perhaps give ourselves over to the uneven flows of time.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8cf79c7e80680e06b326jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption>Earthquake survivors waiting to be evacuated in Ghodatabela on 26 April 2015. Photo: AUSTIN LORD</figcaption></figure>Five years after the 25 April earthquake, fundamental questions about the time of disaster persist and recur. How and when does a disaster truly conclude, and for whom? In what ways do we navigate the tangled temporalities that shape the aftermath of disaster, or the multiple pasts of our present moment?As all Nepalis know, we do not all reckon or account for time in the same ways. And so, the ‘anniversary’ of the earthquake is itself is referred to as ‘April 25’, ‘Baisakh 12’  and ‘Bö da sumbatsebadün’ in the Gregorian, Nepali, and Tibetan calendars. This time around, each date falls on a different day, and so the anniversary is (perhaps, rightfully) distributed over an entire week.<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/langtang-before-after-earthquake-nepal" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Langtang lament</a><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-reincarnation-of-a-holy-valley/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Reincarnation of a holy valley</a>, Clara BullockThe following reflection – written based on dozens of conversations and interviews with my Langtangpa friends over the years – retraces some of the moments and feelings that have gathered around each of earthquake anniversaries in the Langtang Valley over the past five years:<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8cfb9c7e80680e06b327jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption>Langtangpas and foreigners gather at the edge of the avalanche zone to commemorate the first anniversary of the 2015 Nepal earthquake. April 25, 2016. Photo: AUSTIN LORD</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8cfe9c7e80680e06b328jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption>The lamas of Langtang lead the ceremonies for the April 25 observation of the earthquake anniversary in Langtang. April 25, 2016. Photo: AUSTIN LORD</figcaption></figure>1. Awash in uncertainty and emotion, without homes, the people of Langtang gathered. Most of them had only recently returned to the valley, disoriented and struggling to begin again. Foreigners came from around the world -- those who had lost their family members, survivors, and other supporters -- bringing a feeling of solidarity and care. A tangle of people and torn lives, gathered in the lap of the mountain, at the edge of the scar the avalanche created in the landscape. On the morning of 25 April, we gathered at the foot of the avalanche, in front of a recently built mani wall inscribed with the names of the deceased and the phrase ‘forever in our hearts’ written in the eleven languages. Every nerve was raw. A moment of silence at 11:56 AM, and then twelve minutes to read all the names of the dead, as I was asked to do.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d019c7e80680e06b329jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427"><figcaption>Inside Langtang Gompa the night before the earthquake. April 24, 2015. Photo: AUSTIN LORD</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d049c7e80680e06b32ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427"><figcaption>Destroyed Langtang Gompa and Tibetan Buddhist Texts in November 2015. Photo: AUSTIN LORD</figcaption></figure>A video projection of old Langtangpa songs and photographs. Labourers walked by carrying building materials. Both of the gompas in the Langtang Valley had been destroyed, and there was no place to conduct a puja on the earthquake anniversary. A few days earlier, on April 13, the Langtangpas had gathered for a puja that Chökyi Nyima Rinpoche conducted in a field above the village. On the same day, a few Langtangpas also gathered for prayers at the Yellow Gompa in Kathmandu one last time. One turn around the sun, and many of us were still broken. A year of grief and absence, followed by gathering and presence. Time flowing around our varied and imperfect attempts at beginning.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d089c7e80680e06b32bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="538"><figcaption>Ceremonies for the 2nd earthquake anniversary inside the newly built community centre in Langtang village. May 2, 2017. Photo: Ayako Sadakane.</figcaption></figure>2. Small houses, a community center, a larger gathering of Langtangpa. “We had made some progress rebuilding, but it was still a very emotional time.” Chökyi Nyima Rinpoche came to Langtang again on the Tibetan earthquake anniversary and conducted a serkhim puja for the protection of the village. “This puja gave people some mental support, it helped us deal with all the tension.” Rinpoche also conducted a puja at Seto Gompa in Bouddha that day, since there was still no gompa in Langtang. Tearful speeches in the community centre, bittersweet reflections on change. A large prayer wheel spun inside the recently built Memorial Stupa, sending prayers to the heavens for all the deceased in their new lives. The herders moved more confidently this year, as a Japanese NGO had helped them buy zomos to replace some of the animals that had died during the disaster. The prayer flags of the prior year were taken down and burned, new flags hung. The rhythms of the valley were slowly layering onto each other again.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d0a9c7e80680e06b32cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="402"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d0f9c7e80680e06b32djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="359"><figcaption>Ceremonies for the third anniversary of the earthquake in the newly rebuilt monastery at Kyangjin Gompa in April 22, 2018. Photo: Ayako Sadakane.</figcaption></figure>3. The three-year period of collective mourning came to an official and imperfect end. The gompa at Kyangjin had just been rebuilt, Chökyi Nyima Rinpoche came again to lead the ceremonies in this beautiful new space. Most of the official work of reconstruction had been completed, and the cheese factory had also been rebuilt, so people finally felt some sense of material comfort. The night after the puja ceremonies, some people were singing, for the first time since the earthquake. A few days later, Drukpa Rinpoche, who had lived here earlier in his life and also in one of his past lives, returned for the first time in many years. After these ceremonies, many people said that they could see that everyone’s hearts were lighter, there was a little more hope. A few months later in July, the Langtangpa gathered in Kyangjin Gompa, some excitedly and some tentatively, for the Dukpa Tse Shi, the first major festival celebration since the earthquake. It was a powerful moment of transition and rejuvenation, one which many Langtangpa referred to as “a time for singing again.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d129c7e80680e06b32ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption>Kyangjin Gompa Under Construction in July 2017. Photo: AUSTIN LORD</figcaption></figure>4. A different kind of ceremony, and a return to more conventional ritual rhythms. The community organised a tsok puja and a seven-day reading of the Kangyur (a set of one-hundred and eight texts considered a core part of the Buddhist canon). There was laughing and dancing in the evenings when the ritual labour was done. There were more tourists in the valley. Carefully, the Langtangpa continued the slow work of reweaving their lives back into more familiar tempos. Sometime a few weeks later, the last of the compacted ice still remaining in the avalanche zone finally melted. We celebrated Dukpa Tse Shi again during the summer, and this time some of the archery competitions were held. Everyone said this year’s festival was better than the last, but also that the festivals of the coming year would be even better, like they were before the earthquake.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d159c7e80680e06b32fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1440" height="900"><figcaption>An international group of people who lost loved ones in Langtang, foreign survivors, and Langtangpas gather online at 11:56 AM NST on April 25 2020. Photo: Austin Lord</figcaption></figure>5 . The time of the virus, a kind of bardo all its own. On 9 March almost all of the Langtangpa gathered in Langtang village for a public celebration of the final day of Lhosar, for the first time since the earthquake. A large puja was planned for the 25 April with Rabjam Rinpoche and many other high lamas, but it had to be cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic. “We were hoping that this would be the last collective puja for the earthquake anniversary.” A large group of foreign mourners and survivors, as well as some Langtangpa – some of who had cancelled their plans to return to Langtang for this anniversary – gathered virtually at 11:56AM on 25 April. We read the names of the dead, tried to honor the memories of those who died, and reflected on time gone by – sharing some of ourselves again. People called each other throughout the week, seeking connection across social and physical distance. Meanwhile, the lamas of Langtang began preparations for their own puja on the anniversary according to the Tibetan calendar next week. At the time of writing, they did not yet know how many Langtangpa community members would be able to attend given the ‘lockdown’. “We hope that we will be able to host the Rinpoches later this year, on an auspicious date, or maybe on the sixth-year anniversary,” they said. “Whenever we are able to do this puja, then that will be the last ceremony for the earthquake, maybe... possibly.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d199c7e80680e06b330jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption>Langtang Avalanche Zone. November 2015. Photo: AUSTIN LORD</figcaption></figure>The Langtangpa, like many of us, are both looking backward and looking forward. Amid the confusion and liminality of the pandemic, there are some silver linings. Many of the children and youth of Langtang are back at home, reconnecting to their place, speaking their mother tongue. In the past few weeks, many people in Langtang have again begun planting fields that have lain fallow since the earthquake. Looking out at these fields and the children working alongside their parents, some people are saying: “पहिले जस्तै लाग्छ” (it feels like before).In Langtang, as elsewhere, the temporalities of disaster and aftermath are woven together with long-term processes of social and intergenerational change, dreams of progress, memories of fading pasts, and the cycle of births and deaths. The wind comes. Rivers and glaciers carve through mountains forever rising and falling apart. Pasts and futures flow together and eddy around us, today and every day.Austin Lord is a PhD Candidate in the Department of Anthropology at Cornell University and a Fulbright-Hays DDRA Fellow who conducted his dissertation research in Nepal in 2019-2020. He would like to thank all of his friends and sources in the Langtangpa community who helped him piece together this narrative, for sharing their experiences, their words, and their time.

The courage and endurance of the Langtangpa

<figure><img width="960" height="720" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8c969c7e80680e06b308jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>The Dorje Bakery and Coffee Shop in Kyangjin Gumba after it was rebuilt following the earthquake and avalanche in 2015. </figcaption></figure>Minutes before noon on 25 April 2015, the earth rattled and shook. But then another thunderous sound approached from above. A whole section of the icefield below the summit of Mt Langtang Lirung had been shaken loose by the quake, and it fell on the glacier, bulldozing it over a cliff to the village below. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/%20Langtang-rising-after-april-25-earthquake,2610" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/%2520Langtang-rising-after-april-25-earthquake,2610&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1587700922068000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEu1Jy9m_bQSZOvNrIGOTm_Pm_feA">Langtang was obliterated and buried</a>. A shock wave preceded the avalanche and blew everything away to the other side of the valley where trees lay flattened as if hit by a nuclear explosion. Nearly <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/langtang-destroyed-in-earthquake,2205" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/langtang-destroyed-in-earthquake,2205&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1587700922068000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFHWWVPI6kgIUv5OvpdiYCAoXjWsw">300 people were killed in the disaster</a>, half of them Langtangpa. The survivors were airlifted to the Yellow Gumba monastery in Kathmandu, and some of them got trekking guide and lodge management training at the Nepal Academy of Tourism and Hospitality Management and the women were trained in baking and making hand-knitted woolen products.On the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/langtang-before-after-earthquake-nepal" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/langtang-before-after-earthquake-nepal&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1587700922069000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFKty3lUyWdxf3xTkQV2WzpQg9zaw">fifth anniversary of the disaster</a> this week, Nepali Times caught up with some of the survivors of the disaster.  <h2>Lhakpa Tamang Jangba</h2> <img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8c999c7e80680e06b309jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="900" height="600">I never thought I would be a baker. Once, when I was with my father in Kathmandu for his medical checkup, he said he wanted to start a bakery in Langtang. I bought him all the equipment, but a few days later he died. I wanted to turn his unfulfilled dream into reality and learnt to bake.Initially, the internet recipes I relied on failed. A trekker in my lodge even said:This is the most horrible chocolate cake I have ever tasted. But I kept trying. Another guest helped me bake properly, and brew coffee.When the earthquake hit, I was having coffee at the lodge. The guests ran out. Then I heard the roar of the avalanche coming down from Langtang Lirung. I saw my kitchen collapse in front of my eyes, and the hotel crumbled. We hid in a corner, and watched this huge cloud of snow and dust cover Kyanjing Gumba. It was hard to breathe.The avalanche stopped, but rocks kept falling. People were crying. The helicopters finally came we evacuated injured tourists and neighbours. I was rescued on the fourth day, and when I met my family who was in Kathmandu, we held each other and cried. We had become homeless refugees in our own country.But the young Langtangpa in Kathmandu started a reconstruction committee in a Swayambhu monastery where the head Lama gave us permission to stay as long as we needed. We focused on fundraising because we knew that the government’s Rs300,000 government grant would not go far.It has been five years, and my Dorje Bakery Café and Coffee Center named after my late father has been rebuilt. We had revived tourism, and life was going back to normal when this virus happened. It has destroyed our livelihood once again. We do not know now this will end, but we survived the earthquake and we will overcome this crisis too. There will be more earthquakes and disasters, but future generations need to know how we did not give up hope even when everything was destroyed. <h2>Tsering Choephel Lama</h2> When the earthquake struck, I was living in Swayambhu. We spent a few nights in an empty field because of the aftershocks, but my mind was in Langtang. My village had been wiped off the map by a huge avalanche triggered by the earthquake. I was in shock.  After the Langtangpa were airlifted to Kathmandu we moved to the Yellow Gumba where I volunteered in the camp -- helping to keep it clean, cooking and taking care of those who had been injured. The Langtangpa were not used to the heat, and my fear was they would fall sick. We therefore tried to keep the camp as clean as possible.  <img width="640" height="800" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8c9c9c7e80680e06b30ajpeg.jpg" alt="">Some of the volunteers advised me to go to the United States to study, and that is where I am now. Life in America is very different, I am now a biomedicine undergrad. At the moment school is closed because of the COVID-19, but I want to finish my studies and work in the medical field so I can be useful for my people in Langtang.  <img width="1440" height="1440" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8c9f9c7e80680e06b30bjpeg.jpg" alt=""><h2><a href="https://www.facebook.com/jangbu.tamang.1" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.facebook.com/jangbu.tamang.1&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1587700922069000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFffjY0FpDX-yBiDJm6UqI-2IU8Cw">Tsering Jangbu Changnyempa</a></h2> When the earthquake stuck, I was doing my +2 college in Kathmandu. My final board exam got shifted because of the earthquake, and I stayed at the shelter in Yellow Gumba. I got my guide license during my stay at the monastery and enrolled in a Bachelor in Travel and Tourism Management. I worked with an organisation called Langtang 7221, and travelled to Italy to raise funds for Langtang and tell Italians about Nepal. Apart from several fundraising dinners, I also took a two week pizza-making course. I opened Sunrise Guest House in Kyanjin Gumba in 2017, and I run the place during college break. Business was picking up when the coronavirus lockdown hit us. I think the last five years has turned me from a boy into a man. I have learnt and experienced a lot, and got to know the world better. I will keep moving ahead positively, be a decent person, and help my society and Nepal.  <figure><img width="2592" height="1728" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8ca29c7e80680e06b30cjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Tsering Choephel Lama​ and Kartok Lama (at left) in a class on hospitality together after the 2015 earthquake.</figcaption></figure><h2>Kartok Lama</h2> Five years after the earthquake, we had finally started a new life, tourism was gradually picking up again. We had planned to commemorate the 5th anniversary this week with blessings from His Holiness <a href="https://tseringpaldron.wordpress.com/teachers/h-e-shechen-rabjam-rinpoche/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://tseringpaldron.wordpress.com/teachers/h-e-shechen-rabjam-rinpoche/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1587700922069000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGwUlLB1fK5YQY_gYx_TS6JQBmu_w">Kyabje Shechen Rabjam Rinpoche, but it had to be postponed  due to COVID-19. We had great hopes for Visit Nepal 2020, but the lockdown has wrecked tourism once again in Langtang. This uncertainty has most of us deeply worried. </a>The village is not the same as before the earthquake, and will never be. But we have preserved our culture and some of us have gone back to farming, and livestock rearing for the cheese factory.  <img width="720" height="960" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8ca59c7e80680e06b30djpeg.jpg" alt="">The oldest monastery in Langtang was destroyed by the earthquake, but it was rebuilt after two years with support from the Japanese, and two other shrines are being reconstructed. Restarting our new life in Langtang was difficult. The virus has made it tougher. But we did not lose hope then, and we will not lose hope now.

Five years after avalanche, Langtang is locked down

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79d39c7e80680e064724jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"/><figcaption>Chitlang, Makwanpur. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>While humans all over the planet are being challenged by the COVID-19 pandemic, it has given nature everywhere a respite.Carbon emissions have dipped, there is almost no carbon monoxide in the air over large parts of India and China because vehicles are off the roads, NOx and sulphur dioxide concentrations in the air have dropped. The concentration of particulate matter like soot given off by industries and diesel trucks have also decreased, improving air quality over Asia’s most-polluted cities.Here in Nepal, Mt Everest and Himalayan peaks have got a much-needed respite after the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-economy-already-weak-takes-direct-hit/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">government cancelled all expeditions and treks from the mountains for the spring climbing season</a>. There has been an <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/most-days-its-not-so-crowded-on-mt-everest/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">international uproar last year after photos of a traffic jam</a> on the summit ridge of Mt Everest went viral. Garbage and corpses on the mountain have gotten a lot of media attention.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79d69c7e80680e064725jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="720"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The sunny spring sky in Kathmandu was brilliantly clear on Tuesday, the first day of a week-long nationwide lockdown. With no traffic, and flights all grounded, there is no noise pollution in the street or the sky.But the happiest must be wild animals in Nepal’s national parks, including those popular with tourists like Chitwan, Bardia, Langtang and Shivapuri-Nagarjun, where visitors have not been allowed since Sunday.After the government closed schools and offices last week, Kathmandu’s residents had started arriving at Shivapuri and Chitwan by the busloads for picnics during weekend, prompting park officials to close entry on Monday.“We had to close the parks because there was an increase in visitor numbers, but with the announcement of the nationwide lockdown from Tuesday, visitors will not be coming anyway,” said chief of Bardia National park Ananath Baral.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79d99c7e80680e064726jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On Sunday, there were more than 400 visitors -- about four times the daily average -- at Shivapuri-Nagarjun, the national park on Kathmandu Valley’s northern and western rim.Conservationists say the drop in human activity will be a relief to the park’s wildlife, since any extra noise can disturb their habitat and movement. Naturalist Mukesh Chalise recalls how there was an increase in wildlife in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-economy-already-weak-takes-direct-hit/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Langtang National Park </a>after trekkers stopped coming due to the 2015 earthquake.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/between-existence-and-extinction-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Between existence and extinction in Nepal</a>, Sonia Awale“It used to be difficult to see resident fauna and birds, now there are herds and flocks of them out in the open in Langtang,” Chalise says.Due to its terrain and topographic range, Nepal has some of the richest biodiversity in a country with such a small area. There are 876 species of birds, 185 species of mammals and 651 species of butterflies in Nepal, some of them are only found here and nowhere else. National parks and protected areas cover 27% of Nepal’s area.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79dc9c7e80680e064727jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="250" height="166"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>There has been a big increase in park visitors in the past few years. Nepal’s national parks and conservation areas registered 510,000 foreign visitors five years ago, and this grew to 701,000 last year.  There is no count of the number of Nepali visitors, and if this is added it would take the numbers to nearly 1.5 million per year.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nature-without-borders/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nature without borders</a>, Sewa BhattaraiThere has also been little attempt to regulate the entry of sightseeing vehicles into national parks. In Chitwan alone, the national park issued 35 jeep permits every day for jungle safari into the core area. Bardia issued 22 jeep permits per day, with each vehicle carrying 10-14 visitors. Besides this, both Chitwan and Bardia also issue dozens of elephant safari permits.All this has now come to a halt, and has eliminated human disturbance. Chalise says this will allow wild animals and birds to be left alone for a while which will be good for nature to rebound.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79dd9c7e80680e064728jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“We had already started seeing rhinos interacting more and more with humans, and acting tame. It is very dangerous for the rhino to lose its fear of humans because this may<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/what-drives-wildlife-poaching/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> expose them to poachers</a>,” adds Chalise, who says there should be a permanent ban on human entry into national parks. Tourists should be allowed only into the buffer zone.Sindhu Dhungana at the Ministry of Forests and Environment, however, says that if local people do not see any advantage of eco-tourism they may not help in conservation, and visitors should be allowed but in a regulated numbers.“The main criteria should be how much <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/what-drives-wildlife-poaching/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">human activity is disturbing wildlife</a>, and if it is serious numbers should be regulated,” Dhungana explains.Lessening human entry into national parks will also prevent the spread of human diseases like tuberculosis to rhinos and elephants, and also stop viruses from wild animals infecting humans.Chalise also warns that the nationals parks should be vigilant about <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/in-conservation-nepal-is-not-out-of-the-woods-yet/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">increased activity of poachers </a>taking advantage of the national shutdown to hunt wild animals either for meat or tusks, horns and pelts.

Coronavirus shutdown gives Nepal’s nature a respite

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131136/636a4e149c7e80680e04fc98jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2400" height="1621"/><figcaption>PHOTO: JOANNA VAN GRUISEN</figcaption></figure>After walking to Jomsom in 1974, my next foray was to Langtang. I went better prepared this time, remembering to bring a hat and wear socks inside my humble canvas shoes.The path was precipitous, and packed by centuries of human and animal footprints. It wound through the towering forests of Nepal’s mid-mountains, taking detours into the hillside for stony stream crossings and traversing upwards into the thinning air with tantalising glimpses of rocky outcrops and soaring white peaks.In late spring, the woods were heavy with red rhododendrons, white daphne and yellow bamboo. The pervasive calls of Himalayan ravens and crows, kag, haunted the landscape. Tangled creepers and buttressed tree roots reminiscent of Tolkien’s Hobbit sent my mind skidding off into a trekkers’ trance, a flight of fancy involving mythical monsters and waning moons.But mostly I was just concentrating on putting one foot in front of another, and gasping for air.“These people must be stupid,” observed Pertemba, as we passed more men bent under the weight of bulky loads secured by a woven canvas strap across their foreheads, driving their shaggy ponies ahead of them down the trail. “Why don’t they use the horses to carry those sacks of grain?”He shook his head, smiling a wide Sherpa smile, dark eyes shining beneath a red baseball cap. Stones dislodged by the horses’ hooves spun noisily and invisibly into the void below, the sound ricocheting across the valley walls. The pungent steam of pony droppings mingled with the scent of warm pine needles and the sound of my laboured breath.It was late that afternoon that I encountered the red panda. It was definitely an encounter, not just any old sighting. Pertemba had gone ahead up the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langtang_National_Park">Langtang Valley</a> to find us a spot for the night, so I was wandering alone on a friendly stretch of hillside, the last of the fading sunlight filtering through the trees. Startled by a rustle beside the trail, I first noticed a rich orange coat and furry banded tail amidst the dead leaves of the forest floor, followed by a white snout, black nose, striped face and a pair of curious beady eyes. A current of communication passed between us, a taut pause, and he flashed away into the undergrowth.Pertemba and the locals had no idea. It took me some time to identify the creature as a <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/red-panda-conservation-nepal,1668">red panda</a>, as they are rare, highly threatened and seldom seen in the wild.Even today, wildlife viewing and bird watching in Nepal’s mountain circuits remain a lost opportunity for tourism. There is little overlap between the knowledgeable naturalists of the Tarai national parks and the sherpas (with a small ‘s) who guide our 200,000 or so trekkers with such world-renown capability.Trek guides are adept at getting their clients safely through the day, avoiding altitude sickness, cheerfully cajoling up the inevitable steep climbs, and delivering them in one piece to a lodge or teahouse for the night. On more un-serviced trails, they are super-skilled at setting up camp, wrestling with tents, packing sleeping bags and producing elaborate meals in the middle of nowhere.But few of Nepal’s 16,000 licensed trekking guides know the names of the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2018/02/07/no-tiger-no-mountain/">birds</a>, animals, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/years-of-botanical-art,3222">plants and trees</a> along the route, striding past a whole dimension of potential enchantment for their clients.  The opportunity to advocate for conservation, and explain changing lifestyles forged by modern life and climate change, is lost too.Circling eagles and vultures, flashes of woodland birds, and dozens of species of fascinating ferns, mosses and trees are passed unnoticed and unremarked. Trek itineraries disregard adjustments to maximise sightings of the hidden natural world. During my years of addiction to Himalayan trekking, flogging high and low, east and west, that red panda was the first of some of my most intense and unforgettable moments.Enduring an icy January, my brother Nick and I were braving a winter trek high in the Sagarmatha region. Iridescent pheasants and wheeling flocks of doves foraged in the naked fields, and long-tailed magpies scolded us for our intrusion. We spotted shaggy tahr and skittish musk deer driven to lower altitudes by snow and cold.Late one bright night, the eerie call of wolves dragged us from our warm sleeping bags, alerted by the shouts of villagers protecting their stone-corralled yaks. In the full moonlight, I can still see that black outline of two <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/crying-wolf/">Himalayan wolves</a> racing across a white snowfield high above the grey stone houses of Pheriche.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131136/636a4e189c7e80680e04fc99jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="844"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Snow leopards lend their ethereal beauty and spiritual mystery to the high Himalaya, a shadowy powerful presence lurking in undisturbed valleys, though sightings are a precious few. Ghana Shyam Gurung is the WWF network’s global champion for this elusive endangered cat, working with the government on research efforts that ensure Nepal’s snow leopard populations are flourishing, by tracking four individuals in Kangchenjunga to better understand their habits. The closest I came was a glimpse of a pair of snow leopards on a distant rock-strewn ridge during a 2008 trek to Mustang – or so the excited local horsemen assured us.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131136/636a4e1c9c7e80680e04fc9ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1440" height="1080"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131136/636a4e1f9c7e80680e04fc9bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1440" height="906"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/studying-snow-leopards-in-Nepal">Snow leopards</a> are never going to be a sure thing for mountain visitors, but viewing red pandas and even wolves could become an exciting feature of Himalayan tourism as their numbers recover, boosting the income of mountain village guides and adding new iconic wildlife attractions to our #VNY2020 lexicon.

Lisa Choegyal

Ever gone wildlife trekking in Nepal?

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161116/636921fb9c7e80680e03a100jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="438"/><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161116/636921fd9c7e80680e03a101jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="436"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161116/636922009c7e80680e03a102jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="438"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161116/636922039c7e80680e03a103jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="443">The blue sky was clear and early afternoon sunlight bounced off the glaciers, gullies and rock walls of the Langtang peaks, but the helicopter captain was keen to leave. He was concerned about the effects of altitude after several hours filming in the high meadow above Kyangjin Gompa. I could see the Hollywood team were groggy, hauling heavy camera equipment in the thin Himalayan air, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded myself.Director Julien Temple called to us from across the hill: “Let’s just try one more time with the flute players and local kids, but without the yaks and ponies.” Laxman had a headache and his back hurt from carrying Rinchen - the young star - up and down the ridge on his shoulders, simulating the swaying movements of an elephant against the mountain backdrop.Dazed with fatigue and breathless, the film crew once more realigned their gear, the local extras were ushered into position, silver reflectors were repositioned, the clap-board snapped action, Rinchen set off regal on his fake elephant, and the cameras rolled for the last time that day.I looked around as we quickly stowed the paraphernalia, thanked Thiley Lama, our Langtang fixer, and his friends, waved to the yak handlers and horsemen, and piled back into the big Russian chopper. We took off slowly, the rotors roaring and prayer flags flailing, as the squat stone monastery and small cluster of flat-roofed houses receded beneath us, dwarfed by the rampart of towering white peaks protecting the Langtang Valley. Soaring south, it took only a few minutes skimming above the hilltops back home to Kathmandu, but it seemed like another world.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161116/636922069c7e80680e03a104jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1075" height="696"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>It was spring 1994 and we were filming one of Asia’s first music videos – the MTV generation was still in its infancy. The Eyes of Truth, a track from Enigma’s Cross of Changesalbum, is a haunting electronic melody of buzzing bees, rhythmic chanting and wailing Mongolian shepherdesses. Julien Temple was amongs the first to pioneer the music video genre, his boyish looks belying a background with giants including David Bowie, The Rolling Stones and Sex Pistols.Read also:  <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/sun-striped-shadows/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sun striped shadows</a>, Lisa Choegyal<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-cantankerous-conservationist/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Cantankerous Conservationist</a>, Lisa ChoegyalInspired by Buddhist iconography and the Valley stupas’ all-seeing eyes, Temple and his wife Amanda had written a prescient mini-saga about an abandoned boy brought up by elephants, then driven into an unknown world by environmental destruction, where he would be hailed prince of truth, before retreating back into the jungle with his pachyderm dependents. “The Eyes of Truth are always watching you.” They asked me to arrange the film permit and logistics, as complex as any full-length feature, and to find the main character – a spiritual young boy with a generic Asian-Western look who was comfortable around elephants. That was easy. Both my sons Sangjay and Rinchen were at the British School in Kathmandu, and Malcolm McDougal was also put forward as a candidate – all boys blessed with an upbringing amongst the Tiger Tops elephant camps in Chitwan and Bardia. Four-year-old Rinchen, whose acclaimed Cowardly Lion in the kindergarten Wizard of Oz production had sparked acting aspirations, was thrilled to be selected. What could be better than to take two weeks off school, hang out with elephants, and be paid for it?<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161116/636922089c7e80680e03a105jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="523" height="815"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The pristine air quality and unbuilt vistas of Kathmandu Valley of the early 1990s enabled us to select locations and deliver The Eyes of Truth storyboard as originally envisaged in Julien and Amanda’s script. Our film support team, fresh from months working on Little Buddha, swung into action. For the ten-day shoot, hundreds of skilled Newari artistes, Nepali musicians and Valley villagers were dressed and rehearsed, domestic elephants from Chitwan and Kathmandu were booked and briefed, and Rinchen’s costumes and jewelled headdresses were designed and prepared.“I hope they can’t see up my sarong.” Little Rinchen clambered up Sita Kali’s trunk, hanging onto her patient elephant ears. My favourite moment follows the honey hunter opening sequence, when the camera finds Rinchen, angelically asleep amidst falling leaves, lying on Sita Kali’s massive body, resting supine on the forest floor. Thankfully her mahout driver and my boys’ favourite jungle friend, Kale, was never far away off screen, controlling her with quiet voice commands. A pretty wife and baby from the Tiger Tops elephant camp were engaged for the Moses scene, during which the child is rescued from his floating cradle by kind elephant carers – the buoyancy of the woven basket caused us lots of problems.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107161116/6369220a9c7e80680e03a106jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="523" height="815"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/the-kathmandu-crowd/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Kathmandu Crowd</a>, Lisa Choegyal<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/past-everest-anniversaries/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Past Everest Anniversaries</a>, Lisa ChoegyalAt Bodnath, where Rinchen was filmed, enthroned on his zoo elephant dressed in silk and gold, pilgrims prostrated and made offerings, mistaking him for a real Rinpoche. Bungamati villagers showered him with flower petals thrown from their upper windows, echoing a scene with Keanu Reeves in Little Buddha. At Bhaktapur, the clashing cymbals, drums and dancers brought the Darbar Square to a standstill, and a lovely sequence beside the river chaityasat Gokarna Mahadev was left on the cutting room floor.On the last day of 4AM starts with loyal Laxman in attendance. After long hours of make-up, and hours as the centre of attention with his crew of new admirers, Rinchen descended reluctantly from his elephant and, looking around for Julien, asked: “And now, where’s my money?”Not only did The Eyes of Truth music video top the Asian charts for weeks, the poignant tune, familiar even today, became a Youtube sensation viewed by millions. We have used it at countless travel conferences and trade shows as a subtle sell to promote the variety and scenic splendour of Nepal – its succinct five-minute span perfectly captures the essence of Nepal’s natural, cultural and adventure appeal.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8ri14rw32c

The Eyes of Truth

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d69d9c7e80680e031495jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"/><figcaption>Discarded PET bottles trucked in to Pokhara from as far away as Langtang National park.</figcaption></figure>When Daniel Burgi first came to Nepal to work for United Mission to Nepal’s hydropower projects, he travelled all over Nepal and decided to dedicate his life for the education of Nepali children.He set up the non-profit group, Himalayan Life Nepal and to pay for its work, Burgi and Nepali colleague Chanman Srimal spent most of their time fundraising from donors. There must be a self-sustaining way to pay for a children’s charity, they thought.What could be a social entrepreneurship activity that could raise money for children? At first they thought of making chemical-free soaps for Pokhara’s hotels, and while planning for it noticed mountains of plastic waste piled high along streets in the scenic city.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=6124&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Industrial scale litter</a>, Mukesh Pokhrel<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=6130&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Plastic money</a>, Samuel Johns<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6a19c7e80680e031496jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="934"><figcaption>Workers sort the bottles, selecting transparent ones.</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6a49c7e80680e031497jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="934"><figcaption>Labels and caps are removed. Coloured bottles are sold to other recyclers.</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6a79c7e80680e031498jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="934"><figcaption>Bottles are machine-shredded into flakes to be processed into plastic pellets.</figcaption></figure>Six years ago, no one had really thought you could make money <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/recycle-reuse-reduce-garbage-kathmandu,1279" target="_blank" rel="noopener">recycling plastic</a>. But Burgi and Srimal came up with a feasible plan and registered Himalayan Life Plastic Pvt Ltd in the Pokhara Industrial Estate with an initial investment of Rs60 million.The factory now employs 65 workers to buy discarded PET bottles collected from Kathmandu, Pokhara, Syangja, Tanahu and Langtang (see story, above) and recycle them into pellets for reuse.The business model is quite simple: discarded transparent PET bottles are bought for Rs35 per kg, processed into pellets and sold to other plastic industries for reuse at Rs115 per kg, which is much cheaper than the raw material they import for Rs200 per kg of pellets.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6aa9c7e80680e031499jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption>The Chinese-made machines can recycle 3,000 bottles in every 8-hour shift.</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6ad9c7e80680e03149ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption>Pellets are weighed and filled into sacks before dispatch to customers all over Nepal.</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6b09c7e80680e03149bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption>Sacks of pellets ready for transport from Himalayan Life in Pokhara.</figcaption></figure>“Using recycled pellets means there is less plastic garbage in the environment, plastic industries have cheaper raw materials, and it reduces Nepal’s import bill,” says manager Prabhat Pratik of Himalayan Life.Ironically, one of the biggest problem is competition from Indian recycling companies who source plastic trash from Nepal in bulk and have the advantage of an economy of scale.There is criticism that the plastic is being recycled to make other plastic, but that overlooks the fact that the environment is rid of plastic trash. Pratik calls this "upcycling, not recycling".Ashok Sapkota of Green Society Nepal agrees: “Ventures like these need government support. They clean up the environment, reduce the import bill, create employment, pay taxes, and still make a profit that they plough into children’s welfare.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107101156/6368d6b39c7e80680e03149cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="640">Read also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/recycle-reuse-reduce-garbage-kathmandu,1279" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Recycle, reuse, reduce</a>,  Donatella Lorch<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/making-money-from-garbage-in-kathmandu,2055" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rupees from rubbish</a>,  Sahina Shresthahttps://youtu.be/VP-vD3sJbXU

Virtuous cycle

One smoggy winter morning in February 2019, Ekta regretted coming to her sculpture class. It was the first day of her period, and the 19-year-old wished she was home, curled up in bed with a hot water bag to soothe her cramps.
Her class was at Kalapremi Ceramic Studio, a dark room on the ground floor of a house in Maharajganj, and Ekta’s teacher was the artist Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’, a noted sculptor.
Two other students were already there, using all their muscle strength to knead the sculpting clay. Ekta, now 24, recalls how Kalapremi asked her if she was feeling all right. She avoided him, as she did not want everyone to know she was menstruating.
Kalapremi repeatedly asked Ekta what was wrong. She finally muttered that she was having her period, after which he grabbed her hand and led her to a partitioned corner of the studio and sat her on a chair. Before she could stop him, he slid his hand under her dress, and started massaging her abdomen.
“I was horrified,” Ekta recalls. “I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen, asking me not to be shy, saying he knew how to relieve my pain. He stopped only after I protested furiously.”&nbsp;
The art tutor then said, “You’re like my daughter. I’m doing it out of love to make you feel better, but you’re so stubborn.”&nbsp;
“Instead of saying sorry he acted like I was the one having crazy thoughts,” remembers Ekta, adding that from April 2016 to August 2020 beginning the time she was 16, the artist sexually abused and harassed her on several occasions. &nbsp;
Now, Ekta and the artist’s other former students are finally sharing their experiences and some are pressing legal charges against him, hoping that others do not have to endure what they did.&nbsp;
Award-winning artist and teacher Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’ (the name means ‘Art Lover’) is known for his ceramic art, sculpture, and contemporary pottery. He was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-house-of-kalapremi">profiled in Nepali Times after a collaborative exhibition</a>, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ at the Siddhartha Art Gallery three years ago.&nbsp;
His pieces, titled Gaalis, featured sculpted female figures with the heads of dogs, sheep, and donkeys (pictured) to depict derogatory terms for women. Some critics said the collection was a satire on feminists.
Kalapremi started his artistic and teaching career in 1983 and over the years taught at Bhanubhakta School, Kathmandu University School of Arts, Lalitkala Campus and at his private Kalapremi Ceramic Studio. He has also lectured at Jeonju University in South Korea and recently at Tabor Academy in the United States.
Seven of Kalapremi’s former students were interviewed for this story. Five female students said he touched them inappropriately in his studio or at Kathmandu University. Two male students said they witnessed him abuse and harass the women. In all cases, the students struggled to recognise the abuse when it occurred, and the lack of reporting systems left them to cope on their own for years.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, students shared a social media post hinting at Kalapremi’s history of abusive behaviour following which more students of the artist reached out sharing similar experiences. Some students spoke of abuse that happened as long as 20 years ago.
Kalapremi, 60, has denied the allegations. He told Nepali Times: “Some years ago, there was a movement encouraging people to hug and kiss. I used to do it purely out of friendship and love. But after seeing posts on social media last year calling out my behaviour, I realised my actions may have hurt some people. I understand now that I should have been more mindful.”
He added: “I am also an auxiliary health worker, so I know the exact points to massage to relieve menstrual pain. It’s not just menstruation, I take anyone who is ill to the hospital.”
Sexual abuse is much more rampant than reported given how difficult it is to prove it in court. The law defines sexual abuse as occuring when someone touches another’s private parts, coerces them into touching theirs, uses vulgar language, shows degrading images, or behaves indecently towards them without consent.&nbsp;
Ekta and her fellow students are consulting lawyer Suneeta Regmi Pokhrel, who says they know that even if the court decides in their favour, it is difficult to survive after speaking up, and influential men defend themselves saying they are being framed.&nbsp;
“They are in a lot of pain and weep when recalling how he abused them,” Regmi Pokhrel told us. “They are angry and have filed a case against him, but they are also terrified. They know he is a powerful man and they have seen how our society treats women who speak up against abusers. Unless people speak up, perpetrators will be emboldened.”
Art and academia in Nepal simply reflect the power imbalances in society where people with intersecting identities experience worse forms of abuse. Theatre actors Raj Kumar Pudasaini, Rajan Khatiwada, and Sunil Pokhrel were called out during the #MeToo movement in the Nepali theatre scene in 2019. Even after the allegations Pokhrel went on to receive national awards, while others continued to work without repercussions.
“If you speak up against abusers, you gradually get sidelined from projects,” explained a theatre artist who wished anonymity fearing professional setbacks. “The theatre scene in Nepal is quite small, you just have to make peace with the perpetrators and work with them if you want to sustain yourself.”&nbsp;
In academia there is a history of faculty members sexually harassing students and getting away with it. After Tribhuvan University (TU) lecturer Krishna Bhattachan was accused of harassing women students, the university said it would follow Nepal’s sexual harassment law and set up a reporting mechanism. But nothing happened to the professor, who had already retired. Instead, he counter-accused the students of 'attacking the indigenous people’s movement with baseless allegations' as <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/letters/2019/01/29/bhattachan-responds">he told the Kathmandu Post in 2019</a>. He continues to be featured as a prominent speaker including at TU.
Other faculty members previously accused of sexual harassment include Jagadish Murti Koirala from TU, Bishnu Prasad Acharya from Ratna Rajya Campus, and Bodha Raj Tripathee from Lalitpur Madhyamik Vidhyalaya. A woman staff member from TU also filed a sexual abuse complaint against Dambar Chemjong from TU.
Prominent figures like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">mountaineer Nims Purja</a> have been <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/sports/mountaineering-sexual-harassment-abuse-nims-purja.html">accused of sexual assault</a>, and cricketer Sandeep Lamichhane, actor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/celebrity-rape-case-spotlights-nepal-laws">Paul Shah</a>, and former speaker of Parliament <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mahara-arrested">Krishna Bahadur Mahara</a> have been accused of rape, but society-at-large has let off the alleged perpetrators amdist a larger debate about justice for survivors and punishment of perpetrators.&nbsp;
‘Gaushala-26’ is the court name given to the 18-year-old who accused Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of Nepal’s national cricket team and skipper of Biratnagar Kings in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/here-comes-the-nepal-premier-league">ongoing Nepal Premier League</a>, of rape. She left the country citing society questioning her character affecting her mental health while Lamichhane got an outpouring of support. In May, the Patan High Court overturned a prior verdict that found Lamichhane guilty of rape and had sentenced him to eight years in prison. During the 23-month legal battle to pursue justice, Gaushala-26 faced threats of gang rape and acid attacks.&nbsp;
Exhausted by the struggle, Gaushala-26 sought to “move to a new world” where she could live free without hiding her identity.
Actress Samragyee Rajya Laxmi Shah in an Instagram video now deleted detailed the harassment she faced from a filmmaker during a movie shoot. She did not name any name but veteran actor Bhuwan KC filed a defamation case against Rana, but the court ruled that the charge lacked sufficient evidence.&nbsp;
Former Kathmandu mayor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo">Keshav Sthapit also mocked the #MeToo movement</a>, calling accusations against him by journalists Rashmila Prajapati and Ujjwala Maharjan “a rape of men’s rights”.
Serial Abuse
Back at the Kalapremi Ceramics studio, another former student, 24-year-old Rajiv, says he felt the need to speak out after seeing his female classmates being abused.&nbsp;
“He frequently kissed them on their cheeks,” he told Nepali Times. “Whenever they walked into the studio he flailed his arms like a child asking for a hug. They awkwardly hugged him from the side, but he pulled them closer, held their chin, and kissed their cheeks.”&nbsp;
Rajiv says he also saw Kalapremi pull the women’s bra straps, touch their breasts, and slap their buttocks. The young students would freeze, not knowing how to react, and if they protested, he would say it was “normal in art”. Rajiv, 19 at the time like his classmates, remembers thinking perhaps the well-respected artist was right after all.
Another student, Luna, who took lessons at Kalapremi’s studio from 2020 to 2022 did try to confront the tutor after he made an obscene proposal to her. She recalls: “One day when the other students had left the studio and it was just the two of us, he told me that God had given him special artistic talent and he could transfer those powers to me. But to do that both of us will have to be naked, inside a dark room, and have sex.”
Luna, who was 18 then, was livid and told him she did not want any of his powers, but she says he laughed at her as if he was joking. She did not tell her family about the incident because she thought no one would believe her.&nbsp;
“They were all in awe of this famous artist and felt I should be grateful that to be learning sculpting from him,” she says. “I was scared to be alone with him in case he talked about sex again. My coping mechanism was to be rude so he wouldn’t try to come close to me.”
Seeing how some classmates were standing up to Kalapremi, Ekta too tried to push back against his advances, but she said he found ways to coerce her. Since Ekta, Rajiv, and Luna could not afford Kalapremi’s Rs30,000 monthly fee for lessons, he had offered them all a stipend to assist him in the studio.
“He had spondylosis and took me to his therapy sessions to learn massage techniques, then he often made me and other students massage him,” says Ekta. Whenever she refused, he would feign pain to make her feel sorry for him. “He would insist that I put my hands under his shirt so that I could massage him better,” she adds.
The art tutor often tried to “seduce sympathy” from Ekta by sharing how he had never been loved as a child and was “sexually frustrated” as an adult.&nbsp;
“At 7PM, he would pour himself Signature whiskey and immediately go off again about how he was sex-starved. I didn’t know how to respond. It took me time to realise alcohol was just an excuse to talk about sex,” Ekta says.
If convicted, Kalapremi could face financial penalty and/or a prison sentence of up to three years according to Section 224 of National Penal (Code) Act 2017.&nbsp;
Data suggests that victims of child sexual abuse on average take nearly 24 years to tell someone about their trauma, and some may never disclose it at all.&nbsp;
“In our culture, children are rarely taught about boundaries. They often react, show anger when adults pinch their cheeks. But adults insist they did it out of love, and force the children to accept it,” says Sita Lama, a psychotherapist at Manka Kura. “And even when someone touches them inappropriately they struggle to identify and verbalise it.”
When perpetrators claim to be “acting out of love”, Lama says survivors are likely to perceive it as something safe, rather than recognising it as abuse.&nbsp;
“It may take years for them to realise they were abused,” she explains. "And even when they become aware, the power imbalance with the abuser and the associated shame often prevents survivors from speaking up."
Other former students from the School of Art at Kathmandu University have also come forward years later, saying Kalapremi sexually abused them. As young adults, they felt his behaviour was off but were uncertain if it was inappropriate, illegal, or they did not know how to respond. After having understood that it was indeed abuse, they say they are speaking out now to protect others.&nbsp;
Amina Singh, a visiting faculty member at Kathmandu University, says there is no clause against sexual abuse in contracts of teachers, and there is no formal grievance handling mechanism for the students.&nbsp;
“So the only way students can to deal with sexual abuse is approach someone they trust,” she says.
Eight other former art students of Lalit Kala Campus and Srijana College of Fine Arts of Tribhuvan University and other private art studios in Kathmandu say they were also sexually abused by their art teachers. Three faculty members interviewed from these institutions said they saw the abuse, but felt it was futile to report it given how powerful the teachers were.
In the absence of a formal system, some longtime women artists warned each other about “problematic” artists. They shared &nbsp;a “heads-up” to be more cautious when collaborating with them, and avoided responding to their calls and texts after work hours.
To ensure art institutions are safe for all, galleries, museums, artist studios, and smaller art spaces need to develop policies on sexual harassment. This would include a code of conduct or studio policies that hold the leadership accountable and outline the principles of professional ethics.&nbsp;
Students and employees should inquire about accountability mechanisms for raising concerns, both formally and informally, advocates say.
Three years after Ekta left the ceramics studio, she learnt that Kalapremi had harassed many other women. Still trying to get a footing in the art industry, she attended a workshop in Kathmandu where women artists discussed ways to stay safe in the art sector.&nbsp;
Since it was a close-knit group Ekta opened up about how she felt violated and realised she was not alone, he had been abusing underprivileged students for years, and this was common knowledge among artists in Nepal.
Ekta says that even after she quit, Kalapremi continued sending her text messages like ‘I am thinking of you’, ‘Why have you stopped speaking with me’, or ‘I am waiting for your call’.&nbsp;
But what really forced her to act was when Ekta found out that he was sending similar texts to her younger sister.&nbsp;
“I’ve had enough,” she told us. “He abused me all these years but I won’t let him abuse my sister.” &nbsp;
Ekta, Rajiv and Luna are not the real names of the students.&nbsp;

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

It was 8:15 in the evening of 25 March 1968 when everyone in the village of Batulechaur near Pokhara heard a deafening sound like thunder as a bright flashing object hurtled down to land in a field.&nbsp; That field belonged to Kul Timilsina, and the next morning he retrieved a sheet of metal about 2m by 1m and carried it home with the help of a few others, thinking it would be useful for his buffalo shed.&nbsp; Before he died at age 83 three years ago, Timilsina had told photo archivist Sunil Ulak that the black metal sheet was not rectangular and had rounded corners. There are a few witnesses still alive who have a clear recollection of the object that fell from the sky that night.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="601" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>The field in Batulechaur belonging to Kul Timilsina where fragments of a flying object fell from the sky in 1968.</figcaption> </figure>  One of them is Timilsina’s wife Gyanu, who was 22 at the time. She had been at home, and remembers hearing the big bang and the sky becoming very bright. “We saw the thing in the field in the morning,” she told us. “It looked like a lid, a covering of some sort. The way it was stuck in the ground, it must have fallen from the sky. We thought we could use it to dry clothes on, and took it home.”&nbsp; Another witness is Kul Narayan Paudel. “I was only eight then. We ran to the field to see what had fallen. It was a four-sided metal sheet. The elders took it away, and I don't know what happened to it.” &nbsp; Ram Bahadur Baniya, a teacher at the local school, says he had heard the sheet had been brought to the school, and later handed over to the Zonal Commissioner at the time, Nanda Prasad Malla. “But that is all hearsay,” he says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="610" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Gyanu Timilsina, wife of Kul Timilsina.</figcaption> </figure>  There are two versions of what happened to Kul Timilsina’s metal sheet. One is that an American Peace Corp Volunteer teaching at the nearby Bindyabasini School took it, and another is that it was handed over to the government. Recently declassified Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and US State Department documents from the time say that the US Embassy in Kathmandu tracked down the object two years later and had it shipped back to the US. A telegram from the Department of State and Department of Defense tagged as ‘MOON DUST / Space Fragments’ dated 1 March 1972 stated: ‘1. Restored space fragment will be on board Embassy support flight 115 arriving Kathmandu on or about March 10. Fragment is packed in shipping crate (cargo no. 72-33365) marked in care of DAO.&nbsp; 2. State and Defense representatives examined fragments prior to shipment finding restoration acceptable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df" data-rendition-name="original" width="856" height="568" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Declassified CIA documents about the investigation into the object sighted in Pokhara. </figcaption> </figure>  The documents show that the US government, military and intelligence agencies investigated this incident thoroughly when it occurred, and have continued to revisit it ever since, as recently as five years ago. What is even more intriguing is that the object that fell in Pokhara was not the only unidentified space object that fell to earth that year. There were similar sightings of objects falling from the sky in Ladakh, Sikkim and Bhutan between 19 February and 25 March 1968.&nbsp; These mysteries were the subject of a CIA investigation in 1968 titled ‘<a href="https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP81R00560R000100070007-8.pdf">Sighting of Unidentified Flying Objects in Ladakh, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan</a>’, and the report is part of the recent online declassification of 800,000 top-secret documents from the period.&nbsp; &nbsp;Although unidentified flying objects (UFOs) have a connotation now of being alien craft, it could be pieces of satellite, missile, rocket or even aircraft. The CIA report documents six sightings in 1968 and quotes local sources as describing all of them having similar characteristics: bright blue or red streaks in the sky accompanied by loud sounds like lightning and thunder and objects falling to the ground. Aside from the metallic object that was found in Batlechaur, there were other items also found nearby in Tallakot, Tureypasal, Armalakot and Maidan. Whatever the object was, it seems to have disintegrated even before it hit the ground.&nbsp; The CIA report records the first sighting on 19 February 1968 in various parts of Sikkim and Olangchung Gola and Ghunsa in eastern Nepal. The light was said to be ‘long and thin’ and giving out ‘green and red light’. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb" data-rendition-name="original" width="892" height="596" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara "> </figure>  Two days later on 21 February, a soundless blue object was seen traveling fast across the sky above Thimphu in Bhutan. Then on 4 March there were multiple daytime sightings or white streaks in the sky at Chang La Pass, Fukche and Koyul in Ladakh. There were more sightings in Ladakh on the very day fragments fell near Pokhara on 25 March 1968.&nbsp; After the sightings in Pokhara, rumours started flying in Kathmandu that these were aliens trying to land on Earth, it could be Russian or Chinese spy planes or satellites, and some even say it as a sign from heaven that the end of the world was near. This was at the height of the Cold War. The Russians and Americans were testing their thermonuclear devices as well as intercontinental ballistic missile delivery systems. The Washington-Beijing rapprochement had not yet happened, and China was making quick progress testing atomic bombs. Within two years after its first atomic test, in 1966 China exploded its first hydrogen bomb at the Lop Nur site in Xinjiang, 3,000km to the north from Nepal. After neary six decades, what is still intriguing is that all the sightings within a few months of each other in 1968 were along the Himalayan arc bordering Tibet: from Bhutan, Sikkim Nepal, to Ladakh. The US military intelligence seems to have concluded that this was not a coincidence and there were frequent research trips to the site in Pokhara by American officials in the months after the incident. With the help of the Royal Nepal Army, the region north of Pokhara was thoroughly searched.&nbsp; A confidential memo dated 25 June 1968 by Jerry C Trippy to a ‘Mr Farley’ mentions that the US Air Force’s Foreign Technology Division had decided that the debris could be important because it may be related to a Chinese missile test or a Soviet ‘Vehicle Venik’ rocket.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  On 28 August 1968 the US Embassy in Kathmandu sent a letter to Washington DC saying that the object could be of Soviet origin, possibly from when the rocket carrying the ‘Kosmos 208’ satellite re-entered the atmosphere. But why were the fragments falling to earth several weeks apart, and in the same region? No one knows where the metal sheet that Kul Timilsina recovered is now. It was definitely packed in a crate and taken to the US, and although it is rumoured that it was returned that is not very likely. Archivist Sunil Ulak heard from the Timilsina family that CIA officials had returned to the site five years ago. &nbsp; Interest in UFOs peaked in the US in the 1950s, with the Cold War space race and tests of atomic weapons and delivery rockets. CIA and scientists were being sent to investigate sightings, both publicly and privately. Could the Pokhara fragments as well as the sightings in Ladakh and Bhutan actually be alien craft falling to earth? The renewal in interest in space travel in large part due to Elon Musk’s SpaceX, UFOs and sightings are again subjects of public interest.&nbsp; Even 57 years later, even if there was definitive proof about whether the Batlechaur fragment was from a Chinese missile or a soviet rocket, it has not been made public in documents declassified so far. We may never know.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598" data-rendition-name="original" width="642" height="320" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  Sunil Ulak speculates if the debris actually came from an American aircraft, perhaps on an intel mission upon China. “Which could explain why they were so thorough in collecting the fragments in Pokhara,” he says. But that still does not explain the multiple sightings weeks apart in 1968.&nbsp; Indeed, US military aircraft were at that time flying frequent night-time missions from air force bases in India to supply weapons to Khampa guerrilla camps in Nepal located north of Pokhara in Mustang. It could very well be that the Chinese shot down one such aircraft. The other sightings could have been contrails of US spy planes, or Chinese anti-aircraft missiles.&nbsp; There were quite a few developments regarding UFOs in 2024. In a US congressional hearing in July, former intelligence officer David Grusch claimed that the government had long been involved in a program to investigate and retrieve non-human craft crashes, and then try to reverse engineer them. However Grusch did not show any evidence.&nbsp; The UAP Disclosure Act of 2024 was signed into law by Joe Biden in December 2023. It plans to oversee the public disclosure of UFO information. However, there is a clause in it that prevents disclosure if it would cause threats to military defense, intelligence operations or foreign relations.&nbsp; It is unlikely that the declassified documents about sightings in the Himalayan will cause any real surprise about definite evidence of alien life even if it was found. It seems humanity will continue, at least for now, to wonder about curious lights in the sky and whether there is anybody out there.&nbsp;

UFO over Pokhara

When Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) president Rabi Lamichhane was arrested in October on charges of defrauding depositors of cooperatives, the party’s vice president Swarnim Wagle gifted him Fareed Zakaria’s book, Age of Revolutions.
Since then, Lamichhane has been shunted around from Kathmandu to Pokhara to Chitwan and back to Pokhara to attend police investigations and court proceedings. He was being flown to Birganj via Kathmandu on Buddha Air on Monday. There is another pending case in Janakpur.
Human rights groups and civil society have criticised the government for hounding Lamichhane with inhumane treatment that borders on physical torture. The two parties in the coalition, Nepali Congress (NC) and the UML, see Lamichhane’s RSP as a potentially formidable challenge to their power.
Even if the fraud charges against Lamichhane are true, the Nepali public is increasingly looking at the government’s actions through the police and courts as political vendetta.
Despite all the travelling, sometimes by plane and often by road at night, Lamichhane appears to be in high spirits, waving to supporters who often gather if they know he is going to be driven around. A social media video shows him giving high fives to fellow passengers on a recent flight to Pokhara.&nbsp;
In the past weeks, streets in Pokhara have erupted with parallel protests by Lamichhane’s supporters as well as depositors of cooperatives who lost their savings to the scam.&nbsp;
Although family visits are allowed, prison officials in Pokhara told Nepali Times that not many people visit Lamichhane these days. He added, “When he does get visitors, he asks them to bring him books.”
Lamichhane is currently Nepal’s most high-profile public figure in custody, and highlights the stark difference between how influential prisoners are treated compared to ordinary inmates.
There are six prison cells at Kaski District Police Office’s two-story detention centre, three on each floor. And while authorities pack prisoners into already overcrowded cells, Lamichhane has an entire room on the second floor to himself.&nbsp;
He has also been allowed to call his family every few days. Other prisoners are not permitted phone calls except for emergencies.
Meanwhile, Lamichhane’s former business partner Chhabilal Joshi, an ex-Deputy Inspector General of Police with whom he established his Gorkha Media Network, is in custody under the same charges in the prison cell next to him.
Lamichhane is accused of siphoning off depositors' money to the tv network in which he was part-owner and anchor. &nbsp;
Both Lamichhane and Joshi are able to buy food from the police canteen instead of being served the regular meal like other prisoners. Joshi has also given his statement to authorities in Rupandehi and Kathmandu for his alleged role in the scam. Lamichhane is yet to be presented in Kathmandu for questioning.
While he was in custody at the Kathmandu District Police Complex, Joshi expressed his desire to sleep in a police officer’s office, reportedly assuring authorities that he would not run away and he was entitled to certain facilities as a former officer of the law.
“He seemed to be under the impression that he is still a police officer,” says a source at the Kathmandu District Police. “We made it clear to him that as someone accused of a crime, he was not entitled to special treatment.”
Former ministers Balkrishna Khand and Top Bahadur Rayamajhi, and ex-home secretary Tek Narayan Pandey, who were arrested in connection with the fake refugee scam last year, were similarly housed in the offices of law enforcement officials instead of prison cells. Khand has since been released after six months in jail.
While there is no legal provision to keep high-ranking officials in separate detention centres when they are arrested, authorities granting them special facilities is not uncommon. Law enforcement officials say VIP detainees expect preferential treatment while in police custody.
Among those is former Kosi Province minister Lila Ballav Adhikari, who was arrested from Biratnagar on 10 November over his alleged involvement in human trafficking and brought to Kathmandu. Adhikari had flown to Japan without government approval with three individuals on 29 October to attend a cultural conference, but had been sent back to Nepal from Narita.&nbsp;
His three companions were arrested at Kathmandu airport upon their arrival, but Adhikari was able to exit unscathed from the VIP lounge. Adhikari had resigned as the Kosi Province Minister for Internal Affairs and Law when it became public that his companions had been taken into custody, and was himself arrested shortly after. He has since been cleared by the courts.
Throughout his detention, Adhikari was kept separately from other inmates. Senior Superintendent of Police (SSP) Basant Rajouri, head of the Bhadrakali complex, says that while there is no separate detention area for VIPs, some detainees are kept separately depending on the nature of their crime.
However, sources say that arrangements were made for retired judges and others to visit Adhikari frequently worked at the office of a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) during his time in custody.&nbsp;
“He used to constantly pester the authorities to let him sit outside in the sun, and to be able to use the police officer’s shower area,” added an officer.
Adhikari was released on 25 November after the government prosecutor’s office decided not to charge him in a move that was seen to expose the government’s double standards.
Over at Kathmandu’s Dilli Bazar Prison, former Kist Bank CEO Kamal Gyawali emerges from his prison cell into the courtyard of the prison’s ‘Ka (क)’ block every morning with a thick book in his hands, ready to give his daily sermon.
With his long beard, Gyawali, who is serving a prison sentence for banking fraud, looks the part of a religious guru as he implores his rapt listeners to “walk the right path, abandon bad thoughts and turn to scripture and spirituality”.&nbsp;
Afterward, the attendees gather to discuss politics and current affairs. Inmates at his daily sermons at the prison include other high-profile detainees, including former MP Ichchha Raj Tamang, who is in jail for money laundering and cooperatives fraud, former joint secretary Chudamani Sharma, who was convicted of corruption, as well as NC leader Chandra Bahadur Lama and Krishna Bahadur Upreti of the UML both of whom are on trial for embezzling billions of rupees.
Victims of the cooperatives scam that former lawmaker Tamang was involved in have made trips to the prison and requested visits, but he has refused to meet with any of them.
“Tamang often complains that the state has prevented him from returning the money to the victims by locking him up,” says a police officer at the Dili Bazar jail.
“All you hear every day from the VIP prisoners is that they have been framed,” adds the officer. “No one admits that they were involved in misdeeds.”
But while most high-profile prisoners complain about prison conditions, one exception is former provincial lawmaker Deepak Manange, who is serving a sentence at Dilli Bazar Jail for attempted murder.
“He is the happiest prisoner here,” says a warden. “Unlike the others, he doesn’t claim to have been framed, in fact he doesn’t seem to care that he is in prison.”
Manange is detained in the ‘Kha (ख)’ block of the prison complex, which he renovated at his own expense. The block previously housed female prisoners, but Manange used his influence to transfer them elsewhere. He faces no shortage of visitors, who range from political leaders to people from the underworld.
Along with Manange, other well-known prisoners in this block include Nepal Telecom Managing Director Sunil Poudel, and former executive director of the Surakshan Printing Centre Bikal Poudel, who are serving time for corruption.
Former prisoners at Dilli Bazar prison include ex-ministers Khum Bahadur Khadka and Shyam Sundar Gupta, NC leader Ganesh Lama, Maoist MP Balkrishna Dhungel, Nagarik Unmukti Party leader Resham Chaudhary, as well as former IGs Ramesh Chand Thakuri, Om Bikram Rana, and Hem Bahadur Gurung.
Section 54 of Nepal’s Prison Act assigns each prison’s internal administration the
responsibility of governing its prisoners, which means the more favourable the jail management is, the more comfortable it is for prisoners.
Dilli Bazar prison has been the prison of choice for many high-ranking prisoners, especially those convicted of white collar crimes, due to its more accommodating administrators. The prison, which has the capacity to house 700 inmates, is also less crowded than other jails.
Anuj Bhattarai, spokesperson of the Department of Prison Management, says that there is no legal classification in Nepal for felons to be assigned prisons based on the nature of their crimes.
“That Dilli Bazar Jail has a higher number of prisoners convicted of crimes like corruption is most likely a coincidence,” says Bhattarai. “There is no provision for influential people to be able to choose where they will be incarcerated.”&nbsp;
Translated by Shristi Karki from the Nepali original published in himalkhabar.com

What Nepal’s VIP prisoners do in jail

If you were raised in Nepal, you must have picked up its unique set of vocabulary: आन्दोलन, चक्का जाम, बन्द, राँके जुलुस, आफ्नो मान्छे, हाम्रो दल, कर्फु and many more words connoting political protest.
We became familiar with the acrid smell of burning tyres, and eyes smarting from tear gas. And yet, everyone speaks of another revolution in the making. Not by desire, but by suffocation.
We heard speeches about नयाँ नेपाल, but the New Nepal never arrived. The governance system changed, but it did not reflect on people’s lives — except for those close to centres of power. The state is still unreachable and is not bothered about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/matter-of-life-and-debt">victims of loan sharks</a>, cooperative scams and other injustices.
Politicians continue to speak in sound bites, but fail to deliver. They have mastered the game of pointing fingers towards an external enemy and convincing people that they are never at fault. The political narrative is so disconnected from the actual analysis of the problem that suffocation doesn’t go away after every revolution.
No genuine effort has been made to deliver at all, which is why there is a palpable sense of disillusionment in the air forcing us to seek another revolution, even if Nepal may not be able to afford it.
How has the current system successfully held power, even if the public is deeply frustrated? How is it that for three decades we continue to be led by the same faces, who have time and again, proved to us that they may be great politicians but not national leaders?
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/improving-internet-governance-in-nepal">My experience at the epicentre of politics</a> has led me to identify three cultures that have enabled political parties to keep a tight hold on power: acceptance, silence and dependency.
We accept things the way they are. We use fatalistic phrases like “नेपालमा यस्तै हो” or “नेपालको कानुन दैब जानुन”. While this resilience enables us to rise back up from devastating calamities, it is also a reason for our compliance with the status quo.
Despite so many ‘revolutions’ that have led to significant reforms, these phrases keep getting reinforced, to the point that the upcoming generations have made it their lingo.&nbsp;
This acceptance is not a symbol of law-abiding citizens, but citizens living in fear of those in power, unable to ask the whys and why-nots.
Innovation suffocates in this culture of acceptance of the status quo. This is manifested in remarks like “but we don’t have any laws for this,” or “we don’t have the capacity to implement this”. An innovator or entrepreneur therefore has to spend that energy to become a political lobbyist, often educating and convincing the bureaucracy.&nbsp;
Remember when locally assembled <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/designed-and-made-in-nepal">Yatri motorbikes</a>, despite having willing customers, had to suffer to secure license numbers because of a lack of regulations? Instead of creating new laws, the government kept chanting the “We will promote Nepal-made goods” mantra, leaving entrepreneurs in a labyrinth of bureaucracy. The weight of acceptance of the law lies heavily on innovators. Fatalism is a tactic used by those in power to generate mass fear in society.
When we accept, we become silent. This is a pervasive phenomenon. We are trained to keep quiet, lest we ruffle feathers, burn bridges, or not get the help we need in future. We know, yet we don’t speak.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bureaucratic-hurdles-in-researching-nepals-bureaucracy">Bureaucratic hurdles in researching Nepal's bureaucracy</a>, Daniel W Edwards
Here is one example: the 2021 census shows that the number of baby boys born for every 100 baby girls is 112. This is a clear indication of female foeticide because of boy preference in society.
Despite such horrifying realities, there is finger-pointing within the government between the Ministry of Health and Population with the Ministry of Home Affairs. At the citizen level, we know those who are involved in killing girls. Yet, we don’t speak up. The Nepal Medical Council reports state that despite this gender imbalance at birth, there is no indication of any action.
But why would anyone speak against one's own fraternity, no matter how vile the act is?
When we accept and keep quiet, we become dependent on those who yield power. From getting our government procedure completed on time to getting transfers, to accessing any of our legally protected rights as well, we are forced to depend on our networks of चिनेको मान्छे people we know by blood, village, relations, political affiliation.
The culture of dependency has been the established way in Nepal. If you drive a two-wheeler or four-wheeler, and you get into a small accident, you will be asked to sort it yourself, dialing up the most powerful person you know. It becomes a competition of who knows who.
Recently I was told that there were calls from the Ministry of Health and Population and another from the Prime Minister's Office for just one medical position in a private hospital. Each was pushing its own candidate. Guess which candidate got the position.&nbsp;
The dependency of people is not on the laws or the state, it is with people in power, a reliance on the network of somebody who knows somebody, including those not officially in power.
These cultures are deeply ingrained in our heads, and in society. Collectively they form a vicious circle that helps those in power to retain power. This is not the society we want to live in.
Then, what do we do as a collective to break away from this? How do we break away from the cultures of acceptance and silence that have created this dependency? What can we do to ensure that our children do not have to learn the jargon of आन्दोलन before they learn about the state?
These are the cultures political parties need to shed rather than use them to perpetuate their power. This is what <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/an-alternative-to-alternative-politics-in-nepal">alternative politics</a> needs to be about.
Sumana Shrestha is a member of Parliament’s Education, Health and Information Technology parliamentary committee and represents the Rastriya Swatantara Party.

langtang