“Did you know this interview was supposed to be in English?” he asked with a smile. I reciprocated, although it was clear that his smile conveyed a sense of pity towards me. My smile, on the other hand, was more an expression of private shame.
I was being interviewed for the position of librarian at a residential English-medium school by the Managing Director. His personality was domineering: tall, well-built, and a pony tail.&nbsp;
I knew some of the questions he asked would be in English, but did not realise that I had to respond entirely in English too. I had some basic English language communication skills, but I was not fluent at the time.&nbsp;
“How are you planning to get by here? You clearly cannot speak the language, and our working language is English,” he said looking me directly in the eye. This interview was starting to scare me.
“म कथा भन्न सक्छु,” I blurted out in Nepali, trying to salvage my job prospect by highlighting my story-telling skills.“Okay. एउटा कथा सुनाउ,” he replied, as if to put me at ease. I immediately launched into a children’s story that had recently been published in Kopila, Kantipur’s school supplement.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/journalism-is-all-about-storytelling-and-money">Journalism is all about storytelling (and money)</a>
The story was about a letter that transformed the life of a girl with low self-esteem. She had felt unappreciated by everyone until the letter arrived from a dentist whom she had earlier helped by giving directions. The letter thanked her for being so helpful, and expressed how proud her mother must be for having such a smart daughter.&nbsp;
Despite my lack of English, the Managing Director must have found the story and my narration compelling. I got the job, but on probation and with condition attached: “You’re on your own. If you can’t connect with the students within a month, you’ll be let go.”&nbsp;
I started my job at the school library in 2006 just as the students were getting ready for their three-week summer break. Excitement and English chatter filled the air, but I could not quite follow what they were saying. They were too preoccupied with their vacation to notice me.&nbsp;
The library itself was a disaster zone. Books were scattered everywhere. And even though I had no prior knowledge of library management, I tried to bring some order into the chaos.&nbsp;
I was a voracious reader, but most of the books were in English and I felt overwhelmed. I dedicated long hours at the library, sometimes working late into the night. My goal was to familiarise myself with every single book in the stacks before the school year began, hoping to impress the students.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/read-and-let-read">Read and let read</a>, Anil Chitrakar
The holidays were coming to an end, and I felt the pressure mounting. Searching for a solution to ensure a smooth start, I came up with what I figured was a brilliant plan to convene a meeting with class captains before opening the library for all students. My reasoning was that if they were on board with enforcing library rules, the rest of the students would follow.
I was working late, and the Managing Director looked in, noticing the lights were still on. He seemed pleased to find the library in perfect condition, the books all organised.&nbsp;
“Don’t work late, a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/nepal-brings-back-the-snow-leopard">leopard</a> may show up,” he said.&nbsp;
“Really? A लियोपार्ड?” I gasped, pronouncing it ‘Leo-Pard’. “Yes, तर लियोपार्ड हैन लेपर्ड चाहिँ आउँछ and they will chew you up,” he said, chuckling, and pronouncing the word leopard properly.Embarrassed, I corrected myself, silently repeating the correct pronunciation of लेपर्ड. I only understood later that he was jokingly referring to children chewing me out, not an actual leopard. This humiliation destroyed my confidence, and I lost the confidence to engage in conversation, even in Nepali.
Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/mai-commin-sir-qfdjg2uw"> "Mai commin, Sir?"</a>, Anbika Giri
The students returned and were informed about their meeting with the new Library Miss. There were two captains each from Class 4-10, and one school captain, totaling 13. I thought I was fully prepared, and it all began well.&nbsp;
But the assertiveness of the students and their fluency in English caught me completely off guard, and I fumbled for English words as my vocabulary vanished. Till this day, I feel the sweat on my forehead.
At first the class captains were taken aback, some attempted to correct my pronunciation, and then their giggling erupted into uncontrollable laughter. I could not bear the failure, and switched to Nepali but my confidence was shattered. I was not getting through at all. They walked away, making fun of my English pronunciation in a loud voice just to make sure I heard them.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/hi-hee-and-haha-hihi">Hi-Hee and Haha-Hihi</a>, Anbika Giri
Deflated, I also felt embarrassed in front of the teachers, fearing that the students may have mocked me. They insisted I speak to them in English. I avoided making eye contact and interacting with the students, I hardly spoke to the teachers, and if I did it was in Nepali.
After two months, Wangdi Sir noticed my silence. He was an English teacher from Kalimpong and was rigorous yet popular among students. He stood out among his colleagues as one of the few who preferred to spend time in the library, engrossed in reading.
One day, he asked me why I was so quiet. I shared my story, unburdening myself. He chuckled initially, but offered practical tutorials about<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepali-students-underperform"> handling students </a>in English with sentences like “Why don’t you try the fiction section?” or “May I help you find your book?”
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-about-teaching">Learning about teaching</a>, Prakriti Kandel
Before Wangdi Sir’s help, whenever a student requested a book I would simply get it and hand it over to them without uttering a single word. Wangdi Sir taught me that recognising weakness was the first step in overcoming it. Steadily, my confidence level improved, and I started to build rapport with students. Whenever I mispronounced something, I would politely ask them to correct me.
My eight-month tenure transitioned from a state of humiliation to a one of humility. This was when my interest in children’s literature blossomed, and the library gave me a deeper understanding of the students’ perspectives and interests.&nbsp;
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Find her previous columns <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi">here</a>.

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From humiliation to humility

Autobooks were popular at our school. They were diaries where friends could jot down something, creating a lifelong memory. It was customary for friends to stick photos in each other’s photobooks, so we could look at their faces whenever we missed them.&nbsp;
Back in the 2000s, we students knew that we would eventually have to part ways. Some of us, mostly girls, would get married, others would leave the village to pursue higher education, and some would start working.
We were convinced that after completing our SLC, it would be nearly impossible to reunite with school friends. This was before Facebook.
Filled with overwhelming emotions, we yearned for a tangible keepsake of our time together. Filling an autobook and having one filled was truly special. We poured our hearts out, expressing how our school life was coming to an end and how the new world awaiting us would never be the same.&nbsp;
We wished our friends the very best in their future endeavours and humbly asked for forgiveness if we had ever hurt them. We even included some heartfelt shayari verses, along with our favourite food, name, place, actor, actress, movie, dress, and even surnames.
In the initial trimester of Class 10 we were engrossed in writing for friends and requesting them to return to write in our autobooks. The task of choosing the most captivating photo for the autobook posed quite a challenge. After all, it was supposed to last a lifetime.
My elder sister only made her autobook when she was in her +2 when I was in Class 7. Since she had attended an English medium school until Grade 6, her English was good. Additionally, living in Biratnagar, the biggest city I knew back then, she naturally wrote the autobook in English.&nbsp;
Everything she wrote was original, she knew the meaning of every word. Following her example, my other sisters also wrote the autobook in English. Both had copied our elder sister. When my turn came, I naturally followed suit.&nbsp;
We not only copied the format but also the best actor, actress, movie, and everything else. We used to believe that whatever our elder sister liked must be likeable and unique.
Her favourite actor was <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000138/">Leonardo DiCaprio</a>, the actress was <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000106/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1">Drew Barrymore</a>, and the movie was Titanic. They became our favourites too, although we had no idea who the two were or what <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120338/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_0_tt_8_nm_0_q_titanic">Titanic</a> was all about. But we trusted her taste. If she admired them, they must be truly remarkable.&nbsp;
It seemed that my friends shared the same sentiment, as they too copied Leo and Drew as their favourites actor and actress. Although we had different preferences when it came to Nepali and Indian actors, Leo and Drew were the common Hollwood choices.
I first learned about Titanic during my college years and saw the movie in 2008. Before that, I had already watched another film starring DiCaprio, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0450259/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">Blood Diamond</a>, in 2007. While I enjoyed both movies, my favourite actor at the time was <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000158/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1">Tom Hanks</a>. I discovered Tom before Leo, but somehow I completely forgot about Drew.
I have a problem with English films. I can easily remember the plot, but I cannot put a name to the actors. The same goes for songs - I could recognise the tune, but could not remember the singer’s &nbsp;name. I am better now, but still struggle to remember their names.&nbsp;
Five years ago, I googled Drew Barrymore, and can you believe it: I had actually watched two of her movies multiple times on DVD, ’<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0343660/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">50 First Dates</a>’ and ‘<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0160127/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_0_tt_8_nm_0_q_Charlie%27s%2520Angels">Charlie's Angels</a>’. I had even seen her in ‘Music and Lyrics’, but I had no idea that she was the Drew Barrymore who was my sister’s favourite and through her mine, and the favourite of the entire class. I wonder if Leo and Drew are still favourites of any of my friends or even my sisters?&nbsp;
While moving flats in Kathmandu multiple times, I misplaced my autobook. It would be fascinating to revisit our autobooks, and to see how our preferences have evolved over time. Some were altered as we discovered better options, while others were modified as our understanding improved.
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. See her previous columns <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/hi-hee-and-haha-hihi">here</a>.

Leonardo and Drew

In this episode of my series Angrezi, let me share two other interesting encounters I had with English before diving into Ryan’s story. The saga of my own English learning experience.
My uncle decided to open an English medium school in Madhesa of Sunsari district, which was the first of its kind in our village. The school was named Bright Future English School, and caused quite a stir even before it officially opened.
People were intrigued by the word ‘Future’, and the meaning of ‘Bright’ eluded them. One morning, while sipping tea at Bahadurni Thuli Ama’s tea shop, my uncle’s friends could not contain their curiosity any longer, and asked him the meaning of ‘Bright’.
Instead of giving a direct answer, my uncle gave them a clue by asking why the toothpaste brand at the time, ‘Brighter’ was so named. Suddenly, it all made sense to them, including the significance of ‘a bright future’.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepali-students-underperform">Why do so many Nepali students underperform?</a>, Anita Shrestha
The next incident still gives me a good laugh whenever I remember it. Not far from our village was another English medium school called The Martyr School. We youngsters used to jokingly refer to it as “Damatar, Tamatar”. It was only much later that I finally understood the meaning of ‘martyr’.
The recent Hindi movie 12th Fail tells the true story of Manoj Kumar Sharma, who passed India’s UPSC (like Nepal’s own Public Service Commission) exam and eventually became a police officer on his fourth attempt. There is a scene in the movie where he confidently writes an essay about terrorism from memory during the English exam, only to find out later that the question was actually about tourism.
I can perfectly relate to that feeling. During one exam I remember composing an answer about ‘The Mothers of Nepal’ when the question was actually asking us to write about ‘The Martyrs of Nepal’. Embarrassing.
Now, the story of Ryan. In Grade 9, our English teacher told us the sad story of Ryan who said bye to his mother and hopped on a motorcycle even though he was underage and did not have a driving license. The mother knew this, and told him to drive safely. &nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and Yugeshwor Koirala
A few hours later, she got a call from the police. Ryan had been in an accident. She rushed to the hospital, but Ryan did not make it. After his tragic death, the mother felt immense regret and blamed herself for not stopping him. She constantly thinks about him, imagining that one day he will step in through the door with a cheerful “Hi, Mom!”
The moral of the story: do not drive without a license. Our English teacher narrated the story in Nepali, and to add a touch of humour, he changed Ryan’s name to Ram Bahadur. I can still vividly recall him narrating to the class: "उस्कै आमालाई लागि रहन्छ कि राम बाहादुर घर आउँछ हाई मोम, म आएँ भन्दै” (His &nbsp;mother felt Ryan would come back, saying “Hi Mom, I’m home”).
But when he said “Hi” he did not pronounce it /haɪ/, he said it like “hee”. And guess what? Thenceforth we all copied the way he said “hee” when he meant “hi”, repeating “हि मोम, म घर आएँ”.&nbsp;
Back in school, we never greeted our friends, so I did not use the word “Hi” to greet friends till college. If only we had the same chapter in Grade 10, then Thoo Sir would have taught us properly. I finally learned the correct pronunciation, but it did bring some embarrassment.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-hard-working-students-overseas">Nepal’s hard working students overseas</a>, Sonia Awale
I enrolled at Janata Multiple College in Itahari for Proficiency Certificate Level, with English as one of my majors. Being the last student to join, I was new to everyone. As a major in English, when people approached me, they naturally said “Hi, I am phalano” or “Hi, I am dhiskano”. I reciprocated in the same manner. The only difference was in how they pronounced “Hi” and my response was always “Hee, I am Anbika”. I did not understand why they would always giggle when I said that.
A new friend of mine tried to correct me, but out of habit I continued with my “Hee” until our first-year English major teacher, Kedar Sir, overheard me one day in class saying, “Hee, I am Anbika”. He corrected me in front of the entire class. “Anbika, it is /haɪ/, हि भन्न कल्ले सिकायो?” (Who taught you to say Hee?) he exclaimed so loudly that even students dozing off at the back woke up.
To be honest, it had never occurred to me that even teachers could make mistakes till that moment. I was a little embarrassed. The embarrassment was manageable, but it led me to a state of utter confusion. Suddenly, I began doubting every English pronunciation I had ever learnt in school till then from teachers I had admired. I assumed that Kedar Sir, being an English major teacher at college, must have a stronger command of the language than my high school teacher. Thus, I decided to follow Kedar Sir to unlearn what I learnt in school.
That day, I did not tell Kedar Sir where I got the funny pronunciation from. I later discovered that all my friends had some issues with English since we all came from the same school background where English was taught in Nepali.
Back in the early 2000s, English was not as important as it is today. It did not open up job opportunities, or help navigate work abroad. People who tried to sprinkle English words while speaking Nepali were regarded as show-offs. Twenty years later, English proficiency is given much more importance and we have come a long way. &nbsp;
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Her previous columns were <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/mai-commin-sir-qfdjg2uw">Mai Commin, Sir</a> and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/the-thappad">Thappad</a>.&nbsp;

Hi-Hee and Haha-Hihi

Thick-framed glasses, a wide nose, and a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache. A front curl peeked out of his cap if he missed his haircut. He wore a full-sleeved shirt and cotton trousers.
His appearance was unremarkable, lacking the fashion sense of the stylish Dharan people of the day. He seemed like a tired, middle-aged man by the end of class, covered in chalk dust. He was easily overlooked until he spoke English because his English was impossible to ignore.
This man was dealing with a significant issue. He wanted to teach English in English, while we students preferred learning English in Nepali. His pronunciation was different from other English teachers, causing students to struggle to understand him. They started calling him Thoo Sir because they heard ‘to’ (/tu:/) as ‘thoo’ (ठू), but no one knows who first started this nickname or when it began. No one knew where he acquired his accent from, either.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/class-differences">Class differences</a>, Rabin Giri
Every morning, the bus would drop him off at Ghopali Tol from Dharan around 9AM, and he would walk 12 minutes to school from there. Students would have to interact with him in English or listen to a kind of English they could not understand.
I had heard his infamous nickname long before I attended Thulo School, the only secondary school in the village, after passing out from the primary Sano School.
He never inflicted any physical punishment on us, however his frustration was harder to handle. He would say things that friends could use to mock and tease fellow classmates.
Students would dread his presence in the classroom because unlike other teachers who would read slowly and explain in Nepali, he insisted on speaking English correctly and would not let us off the hook until we did so as well.
I only had him as a teacher in my Grade 10 class, and I remember being late on the very first day. "Mai commin, Sir?" I asked from the door.
"Ask properly," he replied, without even looking at me.
I asked again, but he continued cleaning the blackboard without paying any attention to me.
"Sir, Mai commin?" I changed the word order.
"Repeat after me," he instructed. That day, I learnt for the first time that 'Mai commin' was actually 'May I come in?'
"You don't even know basic English? Silly girl!" he said, and of course, my friends teased me for a long time about that.
His dissatisfaction with a student’s pronunciation silenced the class. While I was usually vocal and asked questions in other subjects, I could not utter a word in his class for fear of being ridiculed again.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/lowest-common-denominator">Lowest common denominator</a>, Editorial
I would formulate questions in my mind but struggle to voice them. Sometimes, I would start in English and end up speaking in Nepali, which would upset him even more.
He would not engage in conversations in Nepali, preferring to explain things in English. His excessive use of English gave us all chronic headache.
One day, in the middle of class, I asked in Nepali, "Thoo Sir, my pad is leaking. I will go home, change, and come back in five minutes."
"What did you just say?" he asked in English, lowering his reading glasses, revealing a pair of tired eyes, and a bruise on the bridge of his nose caused by the weight of the frame.
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/that-time-of-the-month">Sanitary napkins</a> were not yet available, so we sisters would have to run to my nearby home to use one of our mother's old cotton saris as pads. But these were not absorbent enough for heavy bleeding. There was no door or roof in the school toilet, making it impossible to change at school.
I never felt embarrassed about asking to be excused, and neither the teachers nor students used to make a big deal out of it. Since he had responded to my Nepali, I assumed his 'WHAT?' was in response to my request to go home to change my pad.
I repeated my request, this time to assure him that I would return in exactly five minutes. But his "What did you just call me?" was actually about my publicly addressing him as “Thoo Sir”.&nbsp;
My bench-mate Bishal tried to warn me to keep quiet. But I continued, "Thoo sir. Everyone calls you Thoo sir behind your back. Don't you know?"
"I know but no one said it to my face before."
Quickly correcting myself, I said, "BB Sir, please allow me to go home. I won't address you as Thoo Sir anymore."
"Thoo Sir again," he chuckled, lightly tapping my head with the book in his hand. "Go on, run!"
All these years later, I realised that it took a lot of effort for him to respond the way he did. Unlike other teachers who only focused on the top students, he would treat all students equally, change the seating arrangement, shifting students from the front to the back.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and yugeshwor Koirala
After leaving school and moving to Kathmandu, I began learning English and found the language fascinating. It took years to overcome my hesitation, but I eventually understood why Thoo Sir insisted on teaching English in English. I wished he had been more creative in making us appreciate the language and understand its importance.
We used to believe that Thoo Sir had the best English in the world and was forcing fluency on us when all we needed was 32 marks to pass. There was not much interest in learning English in those days.
Thoo Sir was ahead of his time in grasping the importance of a global language. He knew there was a world beyond our village of Madhesha and the SLC exams. He was not interested in our exam marks, he only wished us to understand English in English. And today, I am glad we had Thoo Sir as our English teacher.
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Her previous column was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/the-thappad">Thappad.</a>
&nbsp;

"Mai commin, Sir?"

This piece is not about Tapasi Pannu’s Bollywood movie, Thappad. But the echo of that slap from childhood still echoes in my ear.&nbsp;
It was the first and only time my father ever laid a hand on me. It could happen again, since Nepali parents have a tendency to believe that no matter how old you are, you are always a child. They can hit you even in your 30s.&nbsp;
My father, a retired high school principal, seldom raised his voice at us while we were growing up. His silence and stern gaze were nevertheless frightening to us youngsters, and struck fear in our hearts.&nbsp;
As children, we never dared speak to him directly. Our mother acted as an intermediary, even in trivial matters like buying a ball-point pen for Rs4.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepali-students-underperform">Why do so many Nepali students underperform?</a>, Anita Shrestha
This was the 1990s, and we all excelled in studies. We were disciplined children who never uttered a curse word. We respect our elders. We were the epitome of well-behaved children.
So imagine our shock when I was subjected to physical punishment from my father for the first time. And it all had to do with my use, or misuse, of the English language.
We started learning English in Grade 4. I had topped not only my &nbsp;class, but the entire school. I could recite what was on any page in my text book. I had a photographic memory.&nbsp;
I excelled not only in academics, but also in General Knowledge. I could rattle off all the countries of South Asia and their capitals and heads of state.&nbsp;
My sister and I were the only two students in our class who had mastered the multiplication table up to 20. One day, our primary school principal announced that only students who knew the table up to 20 could go home, while the rest had to stay back and keep learning until they did. My sister and I found ourselves waiting until evening for our classmates to catch up.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality">After quantity, Nepal's education need quality</a>, Prakriti Kandel
I was 9, and also starting to learn to spell simple English words. I took immense pride in my progress because my grandfather did as well. However, it wasn't enough for my father.
That day, I was doing my English homework, while my father and his colleagues were engrossed in a political conversation. One of his colleagues suddenly asked, "Which grade are you in?"
"Fourth," I replied proudly.
He continued, "What is your roll number?" (Ah, the roll number, a prestigious measure of talent in those times.)
"One," I answered confidently.
He then asked me to recite the multiplication tables for 7, 9, 13, 17, and 19. Which I did, and I noticed my father’s eyes gleaming with pride.
My father’s other friend was also interested and asked me what I was writing.&nbsp;
When I responded “English”, he asked me to write out the lowercase alphabet — widely regarded as the more challenging aspect of English writing. I guess he was trying to confirm if I truly deserved the Roll Number 1 position.&nbsp;
To everyone's surprise, I swiftly wrote out the lower case alphabets from a-z. Satisfied, he was about to return to the political conversation when my father abruptly asked me, "Can you spell 'dog' for Uncle?"
“I can,” I said. “D-O-G,”
"And how about 'god'?" my father pressed on. I spelled god, and everyone was impressed.
Then my father asked me to spell ‘bag’. In those days, children attending <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/ministry-of-education-gets-an-f">government schools</a> in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-marginalised-on-the-margins">rural Madhes</a> had to carry our books cradled in our left hands. Sometimes, they held the books tightly against their chest with both hands, like parents carrying a child.&nbsp;
School bags were fancy and rare. Only private school students had bags. You could be sure a student carrying a school bag, wearing shoes and a tie would be attending a private school.&nbsp;
I had never carried a school bag, and did not know how to spell it. I looked up at the ceiling and squirmed, and my father’s eyes widened. The lines on his forehead showed disappointment.&nbsp;
It must have been less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. The more time I took, the more they saw me as unworthy of having Roll Number 1. To escape my predicament, I blurted out: “B-O-G."&nbsp;
That was it. My father rose from his stool and slapped me on my face. No one stopped him. His colleagues tried to console me by urging me to study harder.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and Yugeshwor Koirala
I was in shock. I had never imagined that my father would ever hit me. The slap did not just hurt me physically, but left a deep emotional scar. I fell ill with a fever that evening, and everyone knew the reason.
No one said a word to my father. My grandfather consoled me, but said that I needed to study even more diligently. As if I had not been studying diligently before.&nbsp;
I have hated the English language ever since. I never dedicated myself to learning English properly in class. And I hated English even more after we had Thoo (ठू) Sir. But that is a story for some other time.

Anbika Giri

The Thappad

Bhogendra Kathayat successfully defended his PhD thesis at Tribhuvan University, and the very next night he was at Tribhuvan International Airport.&nbsp; No, not to emigrate, but to captain a Nepal Airlines Airbus A330 on a 7-hour flight to Narita. Capt Kathayat, 41, is now the only PhD airline pilot in Nepal, and one of a handful actively flying internationally. Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/women-standing-above-the-ground">Standing above the crowd</a>, Ayesha Shakya Born in the village of Sanischare in Morang to a farming family, it was a hard life. Money was always short, and the four siblings went to a village school with mud floors.&nbsp; Kathayat excelled in his studies, earning a scholarship after topping the entrance exam out of 1,000 students for admission into<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/tri-chandras-run-down-state-is-a-microcosm-of-nepal"> Tri Chandra College in Kathmandu</a>. Always good in maths, he passed his MSc in Physics with flying colours – which may be why he took up flying next.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024082213088_f1f4ffbfff44f8701cf6808495375afecc6f978632e5c1090af614ed5ccf2b45.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2024082213088_f1f4ffbfff44f8701cf6808495375afecc6f978632e5c1090af614ed5ccf2b45" data-rendition-name="original" width="1298" height="1316" loading="lazy" alt="doctor-pilot Capt Kathayat NT1"> </figure>  This was 2006, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10616#.YV7B7tVBypp">the conflict</a> had just ended, and Nepal Airlines announced a scheme for pilot training. His parents did not have the collateral to afford the Rs3.4 million loan to pay for flight school. But Kathayat managed to borrow from relatives, and was off to Kota Bahru in Malaysia.&nbsp; When he returned after a year to join Nepal Airlines, Kathayat was flying Twin Otters but did not even have a driving license because he could not afford a car or motorcycle. He was a Himalayan bush pilot for the next seven years, flying in challenging weather and terrain to remote airfields carved out of mountainsides.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/60-years-of-living-dangerously">60 years of living dangerously</a>, Kunda Dixit In 2015, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/jet-closure-benefits-nepal-airlines">Nepal Airlines</a> bought two Airbus A320s, and Capt Kathayat was off to Toulouse – leaping straight from Twin Otters to twin jets. But it was easier for him than for colleagues who had been flying 757s, because Boeing and Airbus have different philosophies of flying. After being on 320s for three years, Kathayat upgraded to the bigger Airbus A330s, but still does not have a car license and arrived for this interview in a Honda Unicorn. “Although I felt like aviation was in my blood, there was this nagging sense that my education was incomplete,” Capt Kathayat recalls. Meeting Nepal’s foremost atmospheric scientist Arnico Panday on a flight, he was convinced that Nepal needed more scientific research into<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/air-pollution-is-more-dangerous-than-smoking"> air pollution</a>. Since Panday is an aviation buff himself, they devised a way to use decades of visibility data from Nepal’s airports to come up with policy-level solutions to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/business/making-monsoon-flying-safer-in-nepal">improve aviation safety</a> as well as public health.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240822120848_523fef9cb91959c2b39f2798fbbd066d9d55f4c9778ff692dd957cb58cdd827e.png" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240822120848_523fef9cb91959c2b39f2798fbbd066d9d55f4c9778ff692dd957cb58cdd827e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1922" height="1062" loading="lazy" alt="doctor-pilot Capt Kathayat NT3"> <figcaption>Capt Kathayat(right) and Arnico Panday(left)</figcaption> </figure>  Capt Kathayat used long layovers in Dubai, Doha and Tokyo to pore over historical airport data from Bhairawa and Kathmandu to look into how domestic and crossborder pollution sources, humidity, or aerosols affected the optical property of suspended particulates. He also analysed seasonal and time of day variations. The results were predictable: the number of days with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/good-cop-bad-cop">heavy smog in Kathmandu</a> increased steeply after 2000. The days when planes could land under visual flight rules (VFR) had gone down in Bhairawa, especially as winter fog had become thicker, more frequent and long-lasting.&nbsp; Kathayat’s PhD thesis also carries recommendations. Bhairawa may not always be useful as an alternate airport for big jets in winter because it is fogged up when Kathmandu visibility is also below minima. Bhairawa will need a Cat II Instrument Landing System (ILS).&nbsp; The long-term solutions are to control pollution at source, and in Kathmandu that means vehicular emission, open garbage fires, cross residue burning, and in Bhairawa reducing industrial and crop burning. But for both airports, visibility will remain marginal unless pollution is controlled in north India. Capt Kathayat’s PhD adviser,<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/arnico-panday-the-political-scientist"> Arnico Panday who is also a member of the opposition RSP</a>, is a proud mentor. He says: “Capt Bhogendra is the hardest working student I have ever supervised, and his topic is very relevant for aviation safety and efficient flight operations.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240822120856_f455cfac962eada84c53b588575b80051845107ab83371509d9eab6648fe03e8.png" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20240822120856_f455cfac962eada84c53b588575b80051845107ab83371509d9eab6648fe03e8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1636" height="1302" loading="lazy" alt="doctor-pilot CaptKathayat NT 4"> <figcaption>Arnico Panday, Capt Kathayat, and his Phd supervisor Narayan Chapagain after his Phd thesis defence </figcaption> </figure>  At a time when most <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/brain-gain-into-brain-drain">young Nepalis are cynical about the country’s future</a>, this doctor-pilot is an example of how, given the opportunity, even Nepalis from the humblest beginnings can rise up. Says Capt Kathayat: “It is fashionable nowadays to be negative about the government, but I keep reminding myself that I would not be where I am today without government subsidies, government scholarships and the opportunity that a government-owned airline provided me.” Yes, and plus a lot of hard work and perseverance.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024082306084_adf00d94a8d7229ab1ef05fe5862dfc3203e7f9a9a36b4df30ae328005c2368b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="2024082306084_adf00d94a8d7229ab1ef05fe5862dfc3203e7f9a9a36b4df30ae328005c2368b" data-rendition-name="original" width="996" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's flying doctor"> </figure>

Nepal’s flying doctor

More than 2.5 million Nepalis left the country just in the last three years to study and work abroad. In the past year alone, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/push-factors-driving-nepalis-out">nearly 900,000 students and migrant workers flew out of Kathmandu airport</a>. These figures do not include those who crossed over to India.&nbsp;
There were, of course, returnees in that period, but it is estimated that up to 16% of Nepal’s population at any given time is outside the country. Most of them are 20-35 years old, which means an estimated q<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepals-demographic-window-is-closing">uarter of all Nepalis in that age group are abroad</a>.&nbsp;
It is mandatory for students going overseas to get a certificate from the Ministry of Education, and last year alone 112,593 were issued -- nearly double the pre-Covid figure (graph, below).
Before leaving, Nepali students officially exchanged Rs117 billion last year into hard currency to pay for their education costs. The actual figure through unregulated channels is probably higher.
<div class="embed-block"><iframe title="MORE NO OBJECTIONS" aria-label="Column Chart" id="datawrapper-chart-OBL1y" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/OBL1y/2/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="width: 0; min-width: 100% !important; border: none;" height="600" data-external="1"></iframe><script type="text/javascript">!function(){"use strict";window.addEventListener("message",(function(a){if(void 0!==a.data["datawrapper-height"]){var e=document.querySelectorAll("iframe");for(var t in a.data["datawrapper-height"])for(var r=0;r<e.length;r++)if(e[r].contentWindow===a.source){var i=a.data["datawrapper-height"][t]+"px";e[r].style.height=i}}}))}(); </script>All graphs: RAMESH KUMAR</div>
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Meanwhile, the 4 million <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-editorial/the-migration-myth">Nepali migrant workers</a> in Malaysia, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, UAE, Kuwait, Korea, Europe and elsewhere sent back through banking channels Rs1.47 trillion in remittances ($11 billion) last year. Actual figures are higher.
“The great irony is that while poorer Nepalis toil in the Gulf and Malaysia to increase our foreign exchange reserves, middle and upper class families are exchanging a part of that money to pay for college fees, travel and medical care abroad,” points out migration researcher Ganesh Gurung.
The numbers going to Australia and Canada dropped last year because of visa restrictions. But that has been more than made up by a 30% uptick in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-hard-working-students-overseas">Nepali students</a> going to the US (11,261) and UK (13,339) compared to last year.
But by far the largest number of students are going to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/why-nepalis-are-flocking-to-okinawa">Japan</a> (34,731) which is also an increase of 30% over the previous year (map, below). Numbers going to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/yo-man-ta-mero-nepali-ho">South Korea</a> doubled in one year to 6,889.&nbsp;
Nepalis go to 66 countries for higher studies, with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/looking-for-the-nepali-dream">Denmark</a>, Finland and France becoming more popular, although the numbers are still much lower than the top six.
Till recently, Nepalis were the third largest number of foreign students in Australia. They were number three also in Canada. Nepalis were among the top ten in the US.
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It is no secret that many young Nepalis leaving on student visas <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/migration-certificate">intend to emigrate permanently</a>.&nbsp;
Countries in the Global North experiencing declining populations know this, but find it a convenient way to allow controlled entry for much-needed workers in the service or tech sectors.
“Many young Nepalis plan to settle in first-world countries eventually, or to return only after 10-20 years,” affirms migration expert Ganesh Gurung.&nbsp;
“Destination countries benefit too, they are getting a new generation of cheap labour without having spent anything on raising or educating them. What’s more, they also earn university fees. It’s a way for them to allow calibrated migration,” he adds.
Nearly half the students coming out of 10+2 schools opt to go <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Between-the-lines/More-Nepali-students-settle-overseas,528">abroad for higher education</a>, leading to a significant drop in college enrolment across Nepal.&nbsp;
Just like migrant workers are a safety valve that lets the government off the hook from providing jobs at home, students going abroad allows the state to dodge its responsibility to improve higher education quality here.&nbsp;
Indeed, some argue that better universities and colleges in Nepal would not lessen the exodus of young Nepalis, because many of them intend to emigrate for good.&nbsp;
“Yes, student visas have become a means to an end, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/hardworking-students">the goal is to work and settle</a>,” says Narottam Aryal of King’s College in Kathmandu. “But more alarming than the figures of students leaving is that we are taking it so casually, calling it normal."&nbsp;
He adds: “Let us not worry about people who will leave anyway, but focus on the students who will stay if Nepal’s higher education is system is redesigned, repurposed and reformed to foster an entrepreneurial mindset so they benefit the country.”&nbsp;
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The method of education in state-run colleges and universities are still stuck in the era of rote learning taught by under-motivated teachers using outdated curricula, regurgitating memorised answers at exam time. The university environment is politicised and there are frequent disruptions with delayed exam results.
One way to change this is twinning with international universities, but for this there has to be a less xenophobic and transparent government machinery that is open to new methods.
“Accreditations, partnerships and exchanges with institutions around the world will open up opportunities for students,” says Aryal. “The government should welcome foreign universities, they will force us to raise the standard of our education.”
Information technology and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/grass-is-greener-overseas-for-nepals-doctors">medicine</a> are among the most lucrative options for Nepali students abroad. Institutions of higher learning in Nepal itself could specialise in inter-disciplinary liberal arts, social studies, agriculture and the environment, public health, hospitality, or heritage studies.&nbsp;
Youth are also leaving because there is no guarantee of jobs even when they get a higher degree here. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/brain-drain-into-brain-gain">The informal sector</a> is still the biggest employer, and job options in private companies and civil service are limited.&nbsp;
Ganesh Gurung says the education sector must adapt to the changing labour market such that Nepal produces skilled human resources in the areas with high demand like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nursing-grievances-against-the-state">nursing</a>.
He adds, “The focus must be on our strengths. The economy can be revived by making the best use of Nepal’s natural beauty to generate jobs in the hospitality industry, and turn it into a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/go-away">destination for international retirees</a>.”&nbsp;

Brain gain into brain drain

Bidya Prasad Pant was a junior ophthalmic assistant at <a href="https://getaeyehospital.org.np/">Geta Eye Hospital</a> in Dhangadi when a 70-year-old man, blinded by cataract, was brought in by a relative who carried him for a week in a bamboo basket from Bajhang.&nbsp; Back then in 1984, the charity-funded hospital only performed cataract operations when its Nordic surgeons were visiting. So the man had to be turned away. &nbsp; “It made me feel helpless, my inability to help the man touched me deeply. I made up my mind to be an eye surgeon myself,” Pant told us just before flying to Copenhagen to receive this year’s Boberg-Ans Award from the Danish Ophthalmological Society on 27 September for 'significant contribution to the dissemination and advancement of cataract surgery in the developing world'. In the past 40 years, Pant has done over 200,000 eye surgeries in Nepal, Burma, and around the world. He possibly holds the record for most eye surgeries: 312 in one day and 16,005 in one year. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/myopia">MYOPIA</a>, Yugeshwor Koirala Pant shuns publicity, and agreed to this interview after repeated requests. His is an extraordinary journey of determination, perseverance -- and vision. The cheapest and fastest way to become a doctor those days was to go to Russia. Pant left his wife with three children at home and went to Russia in 1992 and graduated in 1999 from Rostov-on-Don, specialising in eye surgery. He was then invited by his surgeon colleague from Geta, Dag Riise, to Hamar in Norway to get further training in ocular operations. The conflict was raging in Nepal, and Riise offered Pant a job in Hamar, but he refused. Pant did not just return to Nepal, but came back to Dhangadi to rejoin Geta.&nbsp; Riise regarded Pant as his “Nepali son” and the family invited him for his funeral in 2013 after he drowned at age 81 during a skiing accident. Back in Nepal, Pant devoted his life to expanding Geta, which offered free surgeries to patients from Nepal and India.&nbsp; Bidya Pant was trained as his surgical assistant by Albert Kolstad who founded Geta Eye Hospital in 1982 as a WHO and Norwegian government project. Kolstad’s wife Sissel Halden remembers Pant as a “gifted young man”. She adds: “My husband noticed his potential immediately. Bidya was smart, a fast learner and he started doing cataract surgery under supervision. His work as a surgeon was outstanding.” Read also:<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/dhanvantari-miracle-men-sanduk-ruit-cataract-surgery,751"> The miracle men</a>, Buddha Basnyat  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240905100948_59cd6d0dbb32d14d337909ac270880f223547bc7a112271a2a4e4c1cd1fc4cb2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240905100948_59cd6d0dbb32d14d337909ac270880f223547bc7a112271a2a4e4c1cd1fc4cb2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Bidya Prasad Pant eye surgeon NT 2"> <figcaption>Bidya Prasad Pant has performed over 200,000 ocular surgeries in the last 40 years, including in Burma, Ethiopia, Nepal and with Orbis Flying Eye Hospital.</figcaption> </figure>  When an Indian diplomat visiting Dhangadi noticed that 85% of the patients at Geta were from India, the embassy helped build an annexe to the hospital. More surgeons were trained, and at one point the hospital was performing 45,000 surgeries a year. <a href="https://helpmesee.org/meet-dr-bidya-pant-from-nepal/">Pant worked with HelpMeSee </a>to perform free surgeries in Nepal, and also on board<a href="https://www.orbis.org/en/news/2020/10-facts-flying-eye-hospital"> DC-10s of Orbis</a>, the flying eye hospital hopping to airports all over Africa, Asia and Latin America.&nbsp; Since 2014, Pant has been doing free eye surgeries for<a href="https://dak.org.au/"> Australia's DAK Foundation</a> in developing countries, and he and his team have performed 300,000 operations just in Burma. &nbsp; The need is still great because of the backlog of ageing patients, and greater ultraviolet solar radiation risk at higher altitudes due to the thinning of the stratospheric ozone layer. Cataract is the cause of more than half the blindness worldwide, and this will increase by 70% in the next 25 years.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/sanduk-%C2%ADruit-%C2%ADtil-ganga,2574">New vision for Nepal</a>, Stéphane Huët One of the neediest places is the Burmese hinterland near Mandalay where Pant leads a team of surgeons at Tipitaka Chalupala Eye Hospital and Monastery. “When I first went to Yangon in 2013 there were people waiting up to six months in queue for eye surgery,” recalls Pant. Burmese Nepalis were excited a doctor from Nepal was doing the operations. When his father died last year in Dhangadi, Pant’s Burmese patients collected more than $4,500 as donation, which he promptly handed over to the monastery.&nbsp; Pant was not just operating, but also helping Burmese surgeons to be trained at Kathmandu’s <a href="https://tilganga.org/">Tilganga </a>and other hospitals.&nbsp; For his work in Burma, Pant was recognised by the British Medical Journal with the Surgical Team of the Year award, and the International Association of Preventive Blindness (IAPB) Eye Health Hero Award in 2017. &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-far-sighted-eye-care">Nepal's far-sighted eye care</a>, Sonia Awale

Nepali surgeon with a vision for the world

A flash debris flow just after noon on 16 August had damaged half the village of Thame in the Everest region, but no human casualties have been reported.&nbsp; Experts and residents have said <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/himalayan-icecap-melting-faster-than-thought">rapid melting of the Himalaya</a> due to climate breakdown was the cause of this and more frequent flash floods on Nepal glacier-fed rivers in the past years. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-mountains-are-melting">Nepal’s mountains are melting</a>, Alton C Byers  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240817040812_b5c90a2ec0cdf7aede204f3912c646f2a30b8fbb668548f8f6ba832c47e6a608.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240817040812_b5c90a2ec0cdf7aede204f3912c646f2a30b8fbb668548f8f6ba832c47e6a608" data-rendition-name="original" width="1050" height="535" loading="lazy" alt="Thame flash flood NT 2"> <figcaption>Friday afternoon after the flood hit Thame.</figcaption> </figure>  Early reports said five lodges, a school, a health clinic and 12 homes were damaged in Thame, which usually has a population of 300 Sherpa people who depend mostly on trekking and mountaineering for their livelihood. One person who was trapped in one of the buildings is said to be missing.&nbsp; Thame was hit by an even more devastating <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Dig-Tsho-4-400-m-as1-the-pear-shaped-glacial-lake-lies-embedded-in-the-uppermost_fig12_271811212" target="_blank">glacial lake outburst flood on 4 August 1985</a> when the Dig Tso lake burst after an avalanche from the east face of the 6,940m high Tengi Rau fell into the lake. Twelve people were killed then, a hydropower plant was destroyed and part of the Everest trekking trail was washed away. Thame also suffered extensive damage in the 2015 earthquake.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240817030856_ab024c339325d46527245315cdf1682da699499c8b2532388f4d8d93e76d0c72.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20240817030856_ab024c339325d46527245315cdf1682da699499c8b2532388f4d8d93e76d0c72" data-rendition-name="original" width="1182" height="774" loading="lazy" alt="4 August 1985 Dig Tso lake glacial lake outburst flood NT"> <figcaption>The glacial lake outburst flood in 1985. </figcaption> </figure>  Dig Tso has again filled up in the past decades due to glacial melt and could have burst again, experts say. There was heavy rain in the catchment area of the Bhote Kosi this week, and this could have also swept down melted glacial moraine from further up the mountain.&nbsp; “Unfortunately, those of us who have done the least to contribute to this man-made climate change are the ones facing the worst consequences,” said Dawa Steven Sherpa, mountaineer and tourism entrepreneur. “When will we learn that for many of us, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-climate-crisis-is-a-water-crisis-in-the-himalaya">the threats of climate change</a> are not in some distant future but are already happening?” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/living-with-climate-anxiety">Living with climate anxiety</a>, Rastraraj Bhandari <div class="embed-block"><div><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%;"><iframe src="//cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fembed%2FkYJ95MCRpWY%3Fsi%3DEuyCEbZPK8Eew368&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> Thame is on the former trade route between Nepal’s Khumbu region and Tibet across the 5,806m high Nangpa La pass. After The Chinese annexation of Tibet, the trade route was closed and the Sherpa people turned from being traders to mountaineering guides. There are several other smaller glacial lakes upstream from Thame, and a team from the National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA) flew to the valley on Saturday morning to find the actual cause. “We weren’t aware that the lakes were at the risk of bursting but we suspect it might have been Dig Tso again, or one of them,” Ward chair Pasang Galzen Sherpa. Dig is a highland yak pasture below the lakes, and it is not known if any livestock of herders were affected.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240817040812_08b1a13e9e5cff070775f7b91aa46e1c57298a26e56f7ddf8e75586020fff596.png" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240817040812_08b1a13e9e5cff070775f7b91aa46e1c57298a26e56f7ddf8e75586020fff596" data-rendition-name="original" width="1070" height="1610" loading="lazy" alt="Glacial outburst Thame flash flood NT 3"> </figure>  The sudden flood in Thame Khola at about 1:30PM on Friday gave locals just enough time to flee to safer higher ground. The trekking off-season meant this Sherpa village of 45 families at about 3,800m in Khumbu Valley was relatively empty. Thame is also the staging point for the Renzo La traverse from Thame to Gokyo Valley. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/tracing-past-glacial-floods-in-kangchenjunga">Tracing past glacial floods in Kangchenjunga</a>, Alton C Byers  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240817040816_72a0727d11706de3e845caf759a3356f47c5751f72535d4d2bd7ecc3baa31a42.png" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20240817040816_72a0727d11706de3e845caf759a3356f47c5751f72535d4d2bd7ecc3baa31a42" data-rendition-name="original" width="1300" height="926" loading="lazy" alt="Thame flash flood NT 4"> </figure>  The District Administration Office of Khotang issued an alert about a flash flood downstream on the Dudh Kosi into which the Bhote Kosi flows. The District Police Office, Halesi Tuwachung Municipality, Aiselukharka Rural Municipality and Rawabensi Rural Municipality have asked people to move to higher ground, but no casualties or major damage was reported overnight. Nepal Police in Thambuche and Namche and a team from the Nepal Army have been deployed in the flood-damaged areas. Helicopter flights were prevented from reaching the site on Friday due to bad weather.

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