This is the 44th instalment of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad.&nbsp; Waiting outside the operation theatre in Jerusalem, I was getting restless as Prabin Dangi, one of the Learn and Earn students who miraculously survived the Hamas attack was getting surgery inside. I learnt from a Nepali community social media group chat that he had been brought to a hospital in Jerusalem where I live, so I rushed over. He had been shot in both the legs. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/war-in-israel-earthquake-and-grief-in-nepal">War in Israel, earthquake and grief in Nepal</a> Other bullets that would have killed him, just like his friends in the bunker, ricocheted off the wall dislodging a piece of stone which fell on his head requiring Prabin to get stitches. I was worried sick as I waited restlessly hoping for another miracle. It took six hours for the surgery to be over. Reading the news about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepalis-confirmed-killed-in-hamas-attack">fellow Nepalis getting killed</a> had broken me, perhaps a common emotion experienced by Nepalis everywhere.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231012111044_711d3b75c0ee1fd78d42478cd5265e57ce38c87d305aca61a42415c63af565e6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20231012111044_711d3b75c0ee1fd78d42478cd5265e57ce38c87d305aca61a42415c63af565e6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis in Israel Hamas attack NT 1"> <figcaption>Prabin Dangi after his surgery. </figcaption> </figure>  A video of him hiding in his bunker saying “My mother is very sick. Please save her. I think I will die” had gone viral and yet, despite the odds, he made it out alive. I found myself cheering on a stranger in a foreign land. But then again, he was not really a stranger. When you are abroad, just coming across a Nepali makes you instantly bond, and somehow there is a close connection. And in this horrific situation, knowing about what he had been through, and realising that he was my son’s age, I had to help. He was definitely not a stranger. We were family. And perhaps the whole of Nepal is now wishing him a speedy recovery. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-nepali-s-lucky-escape-from-hamas">A Nepali's lucky escape from Hamas</a>, Nischal Pandey Finally, after six hours, the surgery ended successfully. I convinced the medical staff to let me see him, appealing to their conscience. In that chaos, rules did not matter, and they allowed me in. I introduced myself to him as his sister. He asked me if he still had his legs. I assured him that he did. Despite the injuries, much to his relief, his legs did not have to be amputated. With therapy and healing, he will be back on his in time. I tried my best to keep his morale high, to steer the conversation away from the nightmare. I had to remind him that despite the situation in that crowded hospital ward where beds were all taken up by other wounded, he was very lucky. Other Nepalis have come together to help Prabin. We are all here to work, and have long duty hours, but we have set up a schedule to make sure that there is a Nepali at the hospital to take care of him at all times. Nepalis also collected money to buy him a phone so he can stay connected with his family. As he builds an appetite, which he currently does not have, we will take turns to take Nepali food for him and make sure that he does not feel alone while he recovers. He knew his father’s number by heart, so I called him during our first meet. His father cried but was also relieved to hear about his son’s health. With him, I cried as well. What must be going through the family’s mind when your son, who had just recently gone overseas with big dreams, met with such a freak incident? Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/trapped-in-ukraine">Trapped in Ukraine</a> He narrowly escaped death, and the road to recovery is long. Unexpected long-distance bad news is perhaps one of the most difficult realities for transnational families like us. You are going by your normal day, and suddenly, your life just turns upside down. With the news of a death, sickness, accident and in Prabin’s case, a terrorist attack. I myself went through a similar experience of finding out crushing news from home when my husband passed away seven years ago suddenly, unexpectedly, of a heart attack.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231012111056_95273056de34598ec25704573e0e71ff8f9a98f7c5da236b9d32a89e8ed60308.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20231012111056_95273056de34598ec25704573e0e71ff8f9a98f7c5da236b9d32a89e8ed60308" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="480" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis killed in Israel Hamas attack NT"> <figcaption>Prabha Ghimire with her late husband who passed away due to a heart attack.</figcaption> </figure>  He was a loving husband, and I never got over the loss. I do not know how I made it to Nepal, neither do I know how I made it back to Israel. It is all a blur. But once I returned, the caregiver in me needed care myself. I was sick, and used to faint. I had lost my appetite and was weak. My blood pressure was low and I had to be escorted back to my room as I would pass out unexpectedly. I relied on medicines. I would break down unexpectedly and constantly. Grief hits you in different ways, and I struggled to cope. Luckily, the Israeli family I work for was understanding. They let me grieve and gave me all the space I needed. They even offered to let me go so I could be with my family. I insisted on staying on. I had to get myself out of that deep hole. In the end, it was the thought of my sons back home in Nepal that gave me the strength to try harder. With my husband gone, I was their sole guardian. I had to pull myself together for their sake. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-family-spread-across-kuwait-cyprus-uae">Nepali family spread across Kuwait, Cyprus, UAE</a>, Tsering Lama and Pasang Lama Fifteen years abroad is a significant part of your life. The caregiver job has had its ups and downs, gains and losses. The earnings are good, and I have invested in educating my sons. They are now in Canada and the US, well-educated and doing well for themselves. But how do you weigh that against not knowing what it is like to be close to your children -- watching them grow up. They too do not know what it is like to have their mother around. But had I not come to Israel to work, they probably would not have made it as far as they have.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231012111048_16388368274c2812ee2d60296b229b0129243aeaed6f6bb9a0dff0d97090c3a1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20231012111048_16388368274c2812ee2d60296b229b0129243aeaed6f6bb9a0dff0d97090c3a1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="776" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis in Israel Hamas attack NT 1"> <figcaption>Prabha Ghimire with her son and his friends in the US. </figcaption> </figure>  How do you measure this tradeoff, especially given the loss of my husband in the midst of our long-distance marriage? We were married in Nepal when I was just 14, just a child myself. My mother-in-law had passed, and even as a teenager I had to assume the role of guardian of my husband's eight younger siblings. They too treated me like their mother. At first I was unsure of what I was doing as I learnt to cook, chase and clean after them. Perhaps this trained me well for my later <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/nepali-caregivers-in-israel,3809">caregiver role</a> here in Israel when I came in 2007. Since then I have changed three employers. Sadly, the reason the last two times has been the passing of my elderly patients. It’s easy to get attached to these frail seniors who become more and more dependent on you. Keeping them company and having conversations is also a huge part of my job. They remember their younger days, share interesting snippets or give life advice. When I go home to Nepal on yearly breaks, the substitute who usually is a Nepali calls me to tell me to come back as soon as possible as savta (grandmother) is missing me and asking for me. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231012111048_2ea77043e2069c6facc4e846fffa529995d98da03d17d60ed34aa3a5d42b2d3f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20231012111048_2ea77043e2069c6facc4e846fffa529995d98da03d17d60ed34aa3a5d42b2d3f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis in Israel Hamas attack NT 1"> <figcaption>Prabha Ghimire with her elderly patients in Iarael. </figcaption> </figure>  I carry a little bit of each of these patients with me. I have had one employer who till her last day made it a point to put make up on every morning and look dolled up. She loved to eat outside and had a zest for life that was infectious. She introduced me to Turkish drama that she loved. My first employer who died within the first year I had come to Israel taught me how to make new recipes like yalanchi. Everytime I prepare or eat those dishes, I think about her. My current employer who I have been working with for 11 years has been hospitalised since the last few years, and my only role is to keep company throughout the day. Her health has deteriorated, and she relies on machines to keep her alive including for food, so I do not have any caregiving role as such, other than to provide her moral support and company. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/caring-for-her-own-and-others-ho4nidzs">Caring for her own and others</a>, Shyam Kala Rai I tell her about what is going on, and I know she understands me based on her gestures. The hospital provides all the care she needs, but her family has insisted that I stay because they say my companionship makes a visible impact on her health and morale. She turns 99 next week. She will be my last employer. After this, I will be spending time with my own family. I have visited my son in the US for a month, and it felt like I had really laughed from the heart for the first time since his father’s passing. We talked, and I cooked for him. I plan to do more of that in the coming days, as we have to make up for lost time. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231012111044_93b1cb9cc3b3643bfa05c635fe364a09e87395f05b364ac52c2c9a2a7c773189.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20231012111044_93b1cb9cc3b3643bfa05c635fe364a09e87395f05b364ac52c2c9a2a7c773189" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis in Israel Hamas attack NT 1"> <figcaption>Prabha Ghimire spent some time with her in the US. </figcaption> </figure>  In my years in Israel, sirens have been common. You rush to the bunker to hide every time it goes off. But this week was unlike anything I have experienced before. In life, you can never say what will happen next. The fact that a young man from Nepal in his 20s is lying in a hospital thousands of miles away from family after surviving such a horrific attack that killed his friends shows just how unpredictable life can be.&nbsp; Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

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Bringing Nepal to Israel

This is the 43rd instalment of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad.&nbsp; It was a Saturday morning. Tired from the week’s work in the farm, we were looking forward to resting and catching up with families back home. It had been just over a month since we arrived in Israel. But early morning at 5am on 7 October, we were woken up by earthquake-like jolts. We rushed outside, and there were missiles streaking across the sky and explosions.&nbsp; We found it all very exciting at first, but when the sirens went off we got worried and ruished to our little bunker to hide. There we started getting frantic calls from fellow Nepali students at Kibbutz Alumim which was 18km away. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepalis-confirmed-killed-in-hamas-attack">Nepalis confirmed killed in Hamas attack</a> They video called us and asked for help. They said there was an explosion in their bunker and blood everywhere. Our hands trembled as we called our college representative, but the whole area was under attack and there was no way any ambulance could make it in. Later, even our wifi and electricity got cut off, and we could not get in touch with our friends or anyone else. When the internet was restored in the evening, we found out that 17 of our friends at Alumim had also taken shelter in a bunker, but had come under attack from terrorists. &nbsp; We had arrived in Israel just a month before under the ‘Learn and Earn’ program. We were just settling in and getting a hang of things. The first three weeks were spent just getting used to the desert environment in southern Israel. At the farm, it was long hours of manual work sorting, grading and packaging onions.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231011091012_804eb8439329e3c3b7a284e5875d7b716304d2c846e3b1f10094de617f72490b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231011091012_804eb8439329e3c3b7a284e5875d7b716304d2c846e3b1f10094de617f72490b" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis killed in Israel Hamas attack NT"> </figure>  In the bunker that first day, I was worried that my family was worried about me because I could not go my weekly call. Had my parents and brother back in Nepal found out <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepalis-confirmed-killed-in-hamas-attack" target="_blank">what has happened in Israel?</a> My silence could have made them assume the worst. The minute I got a chance, I called them to let them know I was safe. In the three days we spent in the bunker, it was difficult to speak to my family to describe the situation. I would feel overwhelmed and tearful when they asked how I was doing. I could not tell them everything that was really going on because they would panic. I am okay, don’t worry was all I could come up with. After that, I preferred just to exchange text messages.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/war-in-israel-earthquake-and-grief-in-nepal">War in Israel, earthquake and grief in Nepal</a> In that bunker after being woken up by sirens, I remember writing a note on my phone describing the situation since sleep was out of the question.&nbsp; अहिले यहाँ इजरायलमा कति बेला के हुन्छ, केही आतो पतो छैन। हामी साथीहरु विगत शनिबार देखि निरन्तर २ दिनसम्म बंकरमा लुकेर आफ्नो ज्यान जोगाउन बाँधे भाको छम्। यहाँ सोचें जस्तो सहज केही पनि छैन। कति बेला आकासमा कालो धुवाँको मुस्लो उठ्छ थाहा नै हुन्न। निकै नै त्रसित माहोल छ मिसाईलहरु कति बेला का बाट आयो पातो पाइनँ। साईरनको त्यो ठूलो अनि भैंकर आवाजले सतो पुत्लो लिन्छ। आकाश मा हेलिकप्टर अनि फाईटर जेटहरु निरन्तर उडिरहेका छन्। बंकरमा पनि सोचें जस्तै सहज केही छैन् , न खाना न पनि अनि त्यो चिसो भुईमा यो लामो रात त्रासै त्रासमा नसुती बिताउनु कुनै नर्कमा नै भाको अनुभूति हुन्छ। आजको रात निकै लामो हुने छ। पर्खाई त्यो भोलि शुभ विहानीको छ। (Here in Israel, we have no idea what will happen next. Since Saturday we have been trying to stay alive for the past two days in this bunker. Anything can happen at any time, without warning there are black smoke trails of approaching missiles. The loud wail of sirens is frightening. Fighter jets and helicopters are flying all the time. In the cold floor of the bunker, there is no food, no water and in the long and scary sleepless night it feels like hell. This is going to be a long night. We are just waiting for good tidings in the morning.)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231011091012_aebca7aaddc14d0864807b73d2a55bf802f4be4fee111f8d8ee34a929d350867.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20231011091012_aebca7aaddc14d0864807b73d2a55bf802f4be4fee111f8d8ee34a929d350867" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1536" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis killed in Israel Hamas attack NT"> </figure>  The farm dogs are also scared, and join us the in the bunker. We first thought we should chase them out since they might bark and draw attention to us, instead we welcomed their companionship and they slept next to us. &nbsp; In the morning we called everyone that we could think of: the Nepal Embassy, government back home, everyone. Sometimes, we had to step out of the bunker to make calls. The response was not so proactive, so we started sharing videos on social media to draw more attention, hoping for some action. When we first got the call from the embassy to get ready, we were thrilled. They told us to just pack our documents and laptops. We left all our luggage behind. We even called our families to tell them we were coming home. But that day no one came to receive us and we waited in vain. It meant another long scary night in the cold bunker.&nbsp; Finally, help came the next day and 32 of us from different farms were escorted by the Israel Army out of the <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=netivot+israel&amp;client=safari&amp;sca_esv=572016509&amp;rls=en&amp;sxsrf=AM9HkKmL6INThh6fvozKNX7AhMsqGhk5Aw:1696891421452&amp;ei=HYIkZaOlG8iUseMP1ZW16AY&amp;ved=0ahUKEwjjp5eTheqBAxVISmwGHdVKDW0Q4dUDCA8&amp;uact=5&amp;oq=netivot+israel&amp;gs_lp=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&amp;sclient=gws-wiz-serp#fpstate=ive&amp;vld=cid:f2f00253,vid:5dHF5sPLYCI,st:0" target="_blank">Netivot</a> area to safety. Leaving behind our belongings, we came to <a href="http://global-learner.com/negev/" target="_blank">Ramat Negev farm</a> which is where we are at now. Being away from yesterday’s place feels a lot safer. This is far from the war zone and out in the desert near the Egypt border without many residential buildings. We thought we would be brought to Tel Aviv but instead, here we are for the time being.&nbsp; Finally, we realise how the accumulated stress and fatigue of the last three days has worn us out. There was fear from constant sounds of sirens and explosions, and the urgent need to coordinate with different agencies for our rescue, assure our families we were okay. Most importantly, we grieved the friends we lost. Our friend Bipin is still missing, there is no news about him.&nbsp; Here at the farm, besides us Nepalis there are other colleagues from Thailand and Zimbabwe. After what feels like ages, we finally got to eat warm food which felt good and made us happy, that too in the company of friends. We are spending time talking, trying to recover and gain back our energy.&nbsp; We are in touch with our families who are also relieved that we are away from the frontline. But they are desperate for us to come home. And so are we. Although we are relatively safe here, there is still uncertainty, what if the war spreads to where we are and something goes wrong again. What if things escalate?&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231011091012_88fece4158ae2bf08eb19317f58828c4273f09f9e54302e476832851d839c54b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20231011091012_88fece4158ae2bf08eb19317f58828c4273f09f9e54302e476832851d839c54b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="1434" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis killed in Israel Hamas attack NT"> </figure>  We want to return to Nepal, and need to be rescued as soon as possible. They should not wait for things to normalise to rescue us. If things get back to normal, we can come back by ourselves.&nbsp; What I wrote last night was in an empty stomach about waiting for good tidings in the morning.&nbsp; पर्खाइ त्यो भोलीको शुभ बिहानी नेपालमा देख्ने रहर छ ।&nbsp; (Today, I write: in a full stomach and in company of friends in a relatively safe area, I try to get some sleep waiting for tomorrow morning, and the yearning to be back home in Nepal.&nbsp; Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

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A Nepali’s lucky escape from Hamas

Nepal’s month-long cricket carnival ended on a sunny Saturday in Kathmandu with a final game in which the Lumbini Lions dominated the Sudurpaschim Royals with both bat and ball.&nbsp; The Royals were bowled out for an embarrassing 85, thanks to Namibian Ruben Trumplemann’s three wickets for three runs, and captain Rohit Paudel’s hat-trick in the eleventh over. Only opener Ishan Pandey’s 33 run-innings was of any note.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="909" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1345" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  The Lions came out with virtually no pressure on them, and Dinesh Adhikari’s 42 off 13 including 27 off the first over bowled by Dipendra Singh Airee won the match. Rohit Paudel came in to finish the match calmly, with 11 overs to spare, scoring two stylish fours and a six before holing out with the Lions on 83.&nbsp; The Lions took comically long to get the final two runs to win the game, losing one more wicket. But it was merely a matter of time, and a single ended the Royal’s misery.&nbsp; As dusk fell, the big fluffy lion mascot was on the field dapping up the Lions as red fireworks went off and Lumbini fans leaped from their seats in the packed stands.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  This capped off an incredible run from the Lions who had finished dead last in NPL Season 1, and had only one win and three losses after four games. They won the remaining three, finishing fourth, barely qualifying.&nbsp; This meant that they had to play an eliminator last week against the Kathmandu Gorkhas and then a qualifier against the popular Biratnagar Kings, whose squad included Sandeep Lamichhane, Faf du Plessis, and Martin Guptill. They won both in style. For the Royals, however, this was the second disappointing final in a row after being the best team in the group stage in both seasons of the NPL. National team batsman Binod Bhandari had had an excellent tournament for the Royals, but was in tears at having come this far again and fallen short.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  Despite the final being disappointingly less action-packed for the neutral viewer, the final marked the second successful execution of the NPL. The addition of seats and floodlights at the TU Cricket Stadium overlooking Kathmandu made evening games possible and improved the experience for fans.&nbsp; The floodlights also made for some gorgeous photography as the sun set behind Chandragiri, illuminating the Himalaya to the north in gradually fading shades of orange.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Adam Rossington’s 323 runs, including a century, and Sandeep Lamichhane’s 17 wickets were the standout individual performances across the tournament in the past month.&nbsp; The tournament brought out characters much loved by the vociferous crowd, including ‘Taklu’ Irish commentator Andrew Leonard who worked in a Dhaka Topi, British presenter Jess Crowe who donned a Sari for the final, and Chitwan Rhinos’ charismatic mascot Mr Gaida who entertained the crowd with enthusiastic nonstop dancing.&nbsp; The tournament was such a draw that the university grounds looked like a carnival with food and merchandise stalls. The capacity 10,000 stadium drew such a crowd that Kathmandu streets were relatively quiet on Saturday with people also watching the game live on tv at home.&nbsp; Kathmandu’s residents were genuinely delighted at being able to talk about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cricket-carnival">a Nepali cricket tournament</a>, and not about the Indian or English Premier Leagues. And while everyone appreciated the cricket no matter who was playing, fans showed up for their provinces in loud numbers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  The organisers having proven themselves, future NPLs may need more stadiums in other provinces, even better overseas players.&nbsp; Sambhav Sirohiya of the Kathmandu Media Group ambitiously tweeted that he believes that the league could already become the second most valuable franchise cricket league NEXT SEASON, especially if the government would loosen up its regulations of advertising, especially that of alcohol. Nepali cricketers and fans are now better prepared for the T20 World Cup in India and Sri Lanka in February, with the experience of playing in the NPL and with the access to world-class cricket talent and seeing how they go about excelling at the sport.&nbsp;

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

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

My father’s son

People like myself were too young during the decade of the Maoist War to remember its horrors. We often wonder what life was truly like back then. Perhaps the closest we have come to experiencing a national crisis of that scale – with the protests, violence, curfews, and political maneuvering – was the GenZ movement in September. How did people cope? What did they fear? What was it like in the cities and &nbsp;villages? How was it that the king still held so much power? What motivated the guerrillas? And, how did &nbsp;ordinary people adjust and endure the war? My curiosity about the war that ended 20 years ago &nbsp;was met with a rollercoaster of emotions with Monica Rana’s debut novel, The Paths We Choose. The novel is not a retelling of events from the vantage of leaders, rebels. It is not about the violence, but a carefully curated perspective of ordinary people caught up in it. It is a glimpse into how the war altered or defined their paths. This is the 'People’s War' from the people’s own perspective. Readers are immediately invested into the lives of two central characters, the sister duo, Sumnima and Rita. The elder radiating from the beginning with her brave and cunning aura, and the latter, more timid and obedient, much of her time absorbed in awe of her sister. The writer’s language flows as effortlessly as the sisters’ strides up the hills to steal mangoes from Dhire Dai’s trees, only to race back down to Rato Mato, carrying us through their journey into adolescence. Amidst the rolling hills, mango trees, life is filled with laughter, adventures, and everyday banter, scenes so serene that they carry an unsettling calm that hints at what lies ahead. Village life is not all painted in romantic hues. The stark reality of poverty, subsistence, and contrast with the comfort of city living are never far away. Amidst these reminders, there runs a humbling truth: happiness once rested on small things, not on the material excess that define urban life. As the pages turn, the title begins to resonate: two sisters, once bound by the same bloodline, shared dreams, and the same roof, are caught in the crosshairs of war and forced onto separate paths. One by choice, and the other by necessity. The story unfolds with the seasons: the relentless monsoon rains, the scorching heat of summer, and a liberating winter that carries bittersweet truths. The year is 2001, as the insurgency intensifies. Against this backdrop, the cousins’ lives diverge. Sumnima is drawn into the rebels’ ranks to 'fight for equality and freedom', while Rita is uprooted, carried across distances, and placed in Seto Bangala as a helping hand among the higher-ups, in her family’s desperate attempt to secure her a better life after their village is reduced to a 'ghost city' by violent attacks. There are betrayals and beginnings, high palaces and humble hills, royals and rurals, identity and ideology, loss and lament, distance and discovery. Through upheavals, tears, and struggles, one thing remains constant: both sisters wonder about the other. They care. They long to reconnect. They hold fast to the dream they once shared to open a guesthouse in their village someday. A dream to simply live with no fear. To be free. To be happy. And, to be together. The writing illuminates vital themes: innocent people caught up in strife, the vast chasm of class from royals dining on silver plates to villagers back home hiding their last grain to save it from looters. And discrimination so stark it was as if people carried labels on their foreheads, marked by caste, skin colour, and gender. The sisters eventually reunite, but their journey is not an easy one, and what lies ahead is far from the future either of them once imagined. One might romanticise it as fate, or might recoil at the harsh reality Monica Rana lays bare: it is often the innocent who bear the heaviest burdens of war. Civilians are trapped between warring sides, enduring hunger, displacement, and violence through no fault of their own. Wars continue to rage across the world. Though the novel does not particularly focus on exposing the horrifying depths of war crimes, it remains a timeless reminder of what the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish once said: “The war will end, and leaders will shake hands. The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son. And those children will keep waiting for their hero father. I don’t know who sold our homeland, but I saw who paid the price.” &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The paths we choose book review"> </figure>

learn-and-earn

Bringing Nepal to Israel

A Nepali’s lucky escape from Hamas

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

The Himalaya is not fragile

My father’s son

The war between people