“यहाँ वाग्नर कोदाली खनिरहेछन्, शेक्सपियर हलो जोत्ता हुन्, टिसियन र टर्नर भेडा चराउँदा हुन्, सोक्रेटिज गुफामा घोत्लिरहेका होलान्... यहाँ कति साहित्य छ, जो लेखिएकै छैन, न लेखिनेछ।” Wagners and Shakespeares could be ploughing fields here, Tissiens and Turners may be shepherds, Socrates must be living in a desolate cave ... there is so much literature here that is not written and will never be written. This excerpt from the essay के नेपाल सानो छ? (Is Nepal Small?) by poet Laxmi Prasad Devkota that most Nepali students have to learn in school, alludes to treasures of Nepali literature that remain hidden because people are too busy trying to survive.&nbsp; While Devkota’s dialectic may still be true, Nepali writers like Samyak Shertok are taking their literature to international platforms and giving it global recognition. Samyak Shertok is the recent recipient of the 2024 <a href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fawpwriter.org%2FAWP%2FAWP%2FContests%2FAWP-Award-Series%2FDonald-Hall-Prize%2FOverview.aspx%3Ffbclid%3DIwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTAAAR2rtN6pn1xy9O42GhznnQekY96bavYGwHz6pDtNaSGh4qaKXsZKSyvCKDU_aem_bsY7bnUoJoSxEpfxw1UdVQ&amp;h=AT0QnfORyOboQ6xeVZYe-r4CLjYIjtZwIcEsR3r54yeHGbMqiMHTjcoT3CP2CD7VXUn9jytxX4FtFmLhINdF8UwGvLy9urNtzxIeUNLOuwLVhSH6hmbVx3oA8rZIY3WNkMani8g6I1c">Donald Hall Prize for Poetry</a>. His poem collection ‘No Rhododendron’ is being published next year by the University of Pittsburgh Press in the Pitt Poetry Series. His poems have also appeared in top literary journals and publications in the US, such as Best of New Poets, Iowa Review amd Kenyon Review.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241013131056_630058ef31163af4def47cbcc247089ee3df925ff6c1bd2014f1008db515f9c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241013131056_630058ef31163af4def47cbcc247089ee3df925ff6c1bd2014f1008db515f9c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1365" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="Samyak Shertok"> <figcaption>Photo: CHANDRA S MAGAR</figcaption> </figure>  ‘If poetry is, as has been defined, a species of magic, Samyak Shertok has conjured an elegant and sophisticated collection that is full of hybridity in form and subject…’ writes Donald Hall Prize 2024 jury member Kimiko Hahn, an American poet. ‘We are given a view into the conjuring, his view on how language expresses and depresses, how language as noise can mix into cacophony or clarify home.’ Hahn goes on to add, ‘There is abiding grief and, in that, surviving to tell and retell stories. This debut collection is an absolute marvel.’ Shertok’s poems immerse themselves in the idea of a mother language, of motherhood, home, ongoingness and his relationship with them, leaving behind a part of himself in each poem. His poems have a haunting grief and memories, and leave food for the soul to dwell upon. “Poems are a permanent home that I can always return to,” Shertok told us in a zoom call. He moved to the United States to pursue a psychology major as an undergraduate which he completed in 2011 from Brigham Young University, and has been there since. Samyak was born Shertok Lama, the youngest child in a Tamang family from Yurung village of Sindhupalchok district. He had always thought a poet had to be someone senior with a PhD, or a long white beard like Nepali poet Lekhnath Paudyal or the Bengali Nobel Prize winner Rabindranath Tagore. ‘Samyak’ means the Buddha’s middle way and ‘Shertok’ is the Tamang word for a golden steeple. Nepaliness is a recurring theme in Samyak’s verse, but he has a fraught relationship with his motherland. As someone from an indigenous community, Shertok grew up feeling stereotyped and judged which is why he opted for a surname that would not denote his ethnicity. He was eight when his older brother recited the poem he had written himself while walking to their school, an hour across mountain paths from his home. “The poem my older brother wrote was about love and destiny. I don’t remember the lines now, but the seed was planted sometime there,” Shertok recalls.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241013141012_e562220a7461f09924480bb991319bfc420ba275b672885815382bb526833301.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241013141012_e562220a7461f09924480bb991319bfc420ba275b672885815382bb526833301" data-rendition-name="original" width="1100" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Samyak Shertok"> </figure>  Shertok has frequent references to his mother who played a part in shaping his career as a poet. He explains: “I believe my Ama is a lived poet. She doesn't know about poets, or how to write poems, but she naturally comes up with her own phrases that are poetic and deeply meaningful.” By Grade 11, Shertok was writing poems mostly in Nepali, but also English. He was prolific, penning short stories, essays, ghazals and managed to impress another <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/writing-about-nepal-from-afar">US-based Nepali writer Samrat Upadhyay</a> and publisher <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/a-novelist-talks-to-his-translator">Ajit Baral of Fineprint</a> when he won the Writing Nepal competition organised by Lalit. "Samyak Shertok is a poet of great nuance and emotional depth," says Upadhyay who was the judge of the Lalit contest. "Even then I had been wowed by the poetry in Samyak’s prose, and it’s no wonder he’s emerged as a poet of considerable power now." He adds: "The fact that Samyak’s poetry is speaking to a diverse and international audience is evident in his numerous publications and awards. The Donald Hall Prize is a big deal. It boasts of many illustrious poets as its previous winners, such as Angela Ball and Reginald Shepherd. Samyak’s win is a win for Nepalis all over the world." Shertok struggled to adjust to a new culture and milieu. He did not feel like he belonged, and strived to feel appreciated. He finally had a MFA in poetry, but no job. “Poetry as a career is never fully secure, there is a compulsion to financially depend on something else,” says Shertok who now teaches poetry to students in Hendrix College in Arkansas. While he has been reading and writing poetry for most of his life, writing still does not get any easier for Shertok. “With practice, devotion and dedication, one might get better at techniques but writing a poem means starting from nothing,” adds Shertok, who is now working on his second book collection. “Something more challenging is to not repeat what I’ve already done in my previous poem.” While he still likes to explore different literary forms, poetry provides him ample room to explore life, living and longing. Even Shertok’s spoken words, carried over from the other side of the planet over Zoom is versified: “Each poem is a being. A poem begins with a haunting, and ends when you are able to release the haunt.”&nbsp;

Pinki Sris Rana

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Finding a permanent home in poetry

<div class="embed-block"><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/133">							<img width="762" height="261" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230228150236/63fe11c39c7e80680e0da4f5jpeg.jpg" alt=""></a>
											Issue #133 21-27 February 2003</div>
The obsession of our leaders with Singapore is unmatched. Every prime minister we have had in the 30 years (some of them serial prime ministers) has promised to turn Nepal into a Singapore one too many times. Why not just build a Nepal that is just and fair for everyone?
Many readers are going through a withdrawal syndrome after the Ass formally stepped down, including the author his-self. This week we revisit one of the earlier <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4308#.Y_guAy8w1KM">‘Under My Hat’ columns</a> which takes a dig at our Singaporean aspirations.&nbsp;
Excerpts from <a href="https://himalaya.socanth.cam.ac.uk/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_133.pdf">issue #133 21-27 February 2003</a> 20 years ago this week:
If, one day, we want to become filthy rich like the Singaporeans, it is pretty clear that we must institute stiff fines for all major and minor misdemeanours and also turn ourselves into a penal colony.
But let’s be realistic: do our army, navy and air force have the capacity to instill fines on every non-flushing Nepali? Sadly, the answer is an unequivocal “no”. So, unlike Singapore, which penalises offenders with fines, we must use positive enforcement by rewarding those who do things right. In Nepal, instead of taking money away from those who litter, we must give money to those who don’t.
Cash prize of Rs 2,000 for the lone pedestrian who actually used the overhead walkway at Bhotahity in the last fiscal year. To be presented at a public felicitation ceremony chaired by the Mayor of Kathmandu or the MP of Kathmandu, whoever is elected first.
The Honest Cop Award in Cash or Kind for the pre-embarkation security check personnel at Tribhuvan Intercontinental Ballistic Airport who doesn’t ask you to open your wallet during the mandatory body search and contribute generously to the Free Lunch Fund for Kathmandu’s Finest.
The columnist who adheres to the highest standards of personal hygiene by not grooming his nostrils in full view of the rest of his staff during the course of writing the above column. This award carries with it a permanent residence certificate for Singapore. Terima Kasi.
From archive material of Nepali Times of the past 20 years, site search: <a href="http://www.nepalitimes.com/" target="_blank">www.nepalitimes.com</a>

Singha Darbar, not Singapore

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721c5f9c7e80680e0bd48bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3024" height="2160"/><figcaption>Photo: SHAMBHAVI BASNET</figcaption></figure>At Café Soma of Baluwatar on a recent morning, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7205#.Yk_iGchByUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Manjushree Thapa</a> is sitting by herself at a table and is recognisable even from a distance. Not just because she looks exactly like her pictures on Google Images, but because she has an orange notebook in front of her.Pen in hand, she is writing cursive words in blue ink, words that must either be coming out of her in spades, or maybe trickling down like water from ancient stone spouts. Nevertheless, they were words that must have been important to this Nepali writer in the English language.There is much to learn about Manjushree Thapa from an Internet search. The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/onward/">columns</a> she wrote for Nepali Times twenty years ago are fascinating profiles and translations of Nepali writers and poets. The columns introduced the best of Nepal’s literature to the outside world.Now, the Toronto-based writer is introducing her English writing to Nepal. The Nepali translation of the 2016 book All Of Us in Our Own Lives by Ujjwal Prasai and published by Shangri-la Books was launched on Friday in Lalitpur.‘What differs between my current writing process and when I started to write in my twenties is that I must now figure out the pragmatics of the writing life,’ Manjushree wrote last year in an article for <a href="https://www.recordnepal.com/manjushree-thapa-it-never-gets-easier-but-i-love-writing">The Record</a>. She called herself an ‘engaged writer’, and I ask her what she meant.“In Nepal, writers are not just given the space to pronounce on things, but are also expected to. They were part of the first democracy movement, the democracy movements in 1979, 1989, and the conflict years,” she explains. “We were all very much part of speaking out against injustice, or about atrocities or whatever was going on. Engaged writing is a very established tradition.”Manjushree considers herself to be a part of the post-1990 generation where everyone was involved in the process of learning about each other and the country. She says, “A lot of the castes,  communities that had been somehow embarrassed about their past had begun to assert themselves. Now, there isn’t a big existential search for a soul in the way that my generation experienced it. Then, for me, it became inseparable with my own personal search for what it means to live in Nepal, and what it means to be a Nepali. There has been such a strong push for change over my lifetime and things are changing so fast that one of the things it means to be a Nepali is to be totally open to see where things are going to go. For me, this search of self-discovery and self-redefinition is very much central to what it means to be a Nepali.”<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6836#.Yk_i2shByUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Manjushree Thapa</a> is eight novels old. She does not look her age, her skin glows in the morning sun and spurts of laughter resonate in the cafe’s corners. Yet, she confesses that no matter how much experience you have with it, writing does not get easier with time and every book is a creative challenge on its own.There is something confessional and self-aware in Manjushree’s words, in a way similar to her own books, and the way she talks about them.  She talks about the ethical and aesthetic responsibilities of being a writer.“As a Nepali writer, I can write about Nepalis. Or I could be writing about people who have lived experiences different from mine. I feel that becomes ethically challenging. Not that you should never do it. But if you’re going to do it, you need to really put in the amount of work it takes, to really understand someone else’s experiences,” she says.“If you want to write about characters who are not part of your immediate lived experience, then, aesthetically, you need to give them the same complexity, the same beauty, the same importance and value as you would anyone else, and not caricature people, or stereotype. That’s an aesthetic consideration that is very much linked to ethics.”Especially as a writer in the English language, she says, authors already tend to have more privilege because the audience is more international. Perhaps for Manjushree Thapa, some part of the ethical and aesthetic consideration is also part of her decision to provide creative license for translating <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/our-own-lives,3165" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">All Of Us in Our Own Lives</a> into Nepali.“When the novel first came out in English it had a few responses, but not much. Now, once it reaches its target audience, I want to see what the response is going to be,” says Manjushree about the novel that is set around the world of development assistance in Nepal for which the discourse does exist, but mostly not in the language Manjushree writes in.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721c639c7e80680e0bd48cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="840" height="628"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“For many years, I’d been wanting to write about the aid world in Nepal because it’s so omnipresent, so important,” she says. “I wanted it to be about how people who seem to have very separate lives can bump against each other and change each others’ lives. This idea of interdependence.”Indeed, All Of Us in Our Own Lives starts with characters who seem far apart with considerable space and indents in between. Ava lives her fortified life away from Nepal, whereas Sapana and Chandra weave their dreams of stars and the moon, and also their futures in a rural Nepal.Gyanu makes his living in the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/shared-stories-shattered-dreams/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">desert of the Gulf</a>, and Indira is a member of that significant segment other of the urban Nepali population: the working housewife. But as the story progresses and the lives of these characters collide, the gaps become smaller. Spaces remove themselves and the characters see how their lives affect others, and how we go on to live our own lives, severing the ties that we had with each other.By the end of the novel, the world feels different again, disparate for some characters as they move away from each other, but stable for some who find solace in the company of others, more so in the company of their own self. Yet, the trace that one person leaves on another is still there. The ripple of even the simplest of interactions remains.Reading Manjushree’s writing is like swimming in a clear, blue pond. Each page is dip into the waters that readers immerse themselves in as the characters introduce themselves. Every sentence has a purpose. Every scene is an imaginary stage that author creates in the reader’s mind.The reader becomes a part of the experience, living the story as their own.But what of Ujjwal Prasai’s Nepali version of the novel? Is some of it lost in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-nepali-literature-to-the-world/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">translation</a>? “A lot of the sections are actually stronger in Nepali than they were in the English,” she replies. “It’s like the story has been returned to the language it should have been written in originally. It suddenly comes to life. Ujjwal has put a lot of work into it.”We circle back to Manjushree’s ‘pragmatics of the writing life’, and I ask her to explain it. She pauses for a while before replying: “There are several aspects to writing. One is the actual nuts and bolts -- the money. But outside of that, there’s an interesting process of protecting your creativity. Nepal is a densely social place.”“There’s a lot going on, particularly if you are at all interested in social and political issues. I still struggle with this, because, in a way, all of my inspiration comes from this society. All of my neuroses”, she laughs. “But it’s very hard to protect the working time and the creative space because it’s not a society that values individual time.”But so much creativity is also being able to read, she says, and it is not as easy in Nepal. “But, on the other hand, in Toronto there isn’t a, sort of, inspiration everywhere. It’s not ideal there either. I feel my source of inspiration is very far away when I’m writing from there, but I have time and space and mental peace to write. It’s a balance I haven’t quite worked out.”Manjushree Thapa signs my copy of All Of Us In Our Lives with the same blue cursive hand-writing and a creased smile. I drive my dirty, black scooty back into the streets of Kathmandu, thinking about impending deadlines, protecting my creative space, and the ripple of the intersection of our lives.The Nepali translation of All Of Us in Our Own Lives by Ujjwal Prasai, is titled ‘एक्लै एक्लै’ by Shangri-la Books.

Manjushree Thapa’s novel now in Nepali

<figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209aa9c7e80680e0b5556jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption></figcaption></figure>A character in Buddhisagar’s bestselling 2010 novel कर्नाली ब्लुज (Karnali Blues) has the habit of adding “हजुरको” (‘hajurko’) at the end of his sentences whenever he speaks. Eventually he runs a teashop which takes its name after the same memorable idiolect: हजुरको चियापसल (‘Hajurko Chiyapasal’). To the reader of Nepali, the nuance clicks immediately – a phrase is used so often that it takes on a character itself. But how does one transpose the same effect into the English medium when translating? Michael Hutt, whose translation of Karnali Blues was published in December by Penguin India to rave reviews, agonised over how to render हजुरको into Nepali, trying to find the perfect turn of phrase without misrepresenting it. “‘For you, sir teashop’ just doesn’t work,” says Hutt, a professor of Nepali and Himalayan studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in London. “At first mention, I say something like ‘for you, sir’, so that the semantics will be apparent to an English-language reader, but keep the ‘hajurko’ in the later instances.” Hutt’s other translations of Nepali works include <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3502" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Laxmi Prasad Devkota’s मुनामदन Muna Madan</a> in 1996 and Lil Bahadur Chhetri’s  बसाईँ Basain (as Mountains Painted with Turmeric) in 2008. <figure><img width="439" height="650" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209ad9c7e80680e0b5557jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img width="350" height="525" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209af9c7e80680e0b5558jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Even then, Hutt adds, ‘for you, sir’ may not be the perfect choice, as another reader of Nepali literature may immediately, upon coming across the phrase in the book, quip, “I would have translated that differently.” Nevertheless, Hutt believes that as a translator, he has a serious responsibility to the author and the original text to not distort the intended impact and meaning. For author Buddha Sagar, translation is a joint effort. He says, “The Nepali was mine, but the translation is Michael’s too.” There are no perfect translations of books, and Hutt believes “a sense of compromise must be reached between the original text and the translation”.When <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/On-the-way-up/judiciary-verdict-nepali-english,892" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">translating from the Nepali language into English</a>, says Hutt, there is a character embedded in the Nepali language that speaks to a Nepali speaker or reader but not to English. The levels of politeness and deference between speaker and interlocutor in conversational context, for example, is difficult to take from Nepali and replicate in English because there are not exact counterparts.But taking excessive liberties in the name of ‘capturing the spirit of the text,’ says Hutt, is an act of violence. “If certain aspects of the original language do not come elegantly in translation, one has to accept it,” he says. “The original must not be changed beyond recognition.” One classic challenge, he recalls, was to choose how much Nepali to put into the translation, especially in the cases of nouns for family roles such as father, mother, sister, uncle. Set in far west Nepal, the narrative of Karnali Blues is informed by its society and dialect, and the use of ba, ama, didi and kaka or mama are ubiquitous. This is true for most Nepali writings. Characters often have different words for different family members depending on whether they are from the father’s side or the mother’s.  <figure><img width="1500" height="900" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209b09c7e80680e0b5559jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On top of this, these words do not automatically denote kinship. Many characters are called ama or kaka because they fall in the general category by their age. The effects of these nouns in a text are often impossible to translate into another language, and the meaning may be lost on the reader if they lack a certain familiarity with the culture and society. Quoting Derrida, English language author from Nepal Manjushree Thapa wrote in <a href="http://www.martinchautari.org.np/files/SINHAS-Articles/SINHAS-Vol.4-No.2_Manjushree-Thapa.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">a paper in Studies in Nepali History and Society (SINHAS)</a> published in 1999: ‘A translation never succeeds.’  <figure><img width="1000" height="1533" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209b39c7e80680e0b555ajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Coupled with the differences in dialects and syntax, the difficulties when translating are often posed by the intangible aspects particular to languages, such as the tone, the cadence, humour and poetic images. A slight mistranslation can unravel and flatten the entire narrative.Thapa adds, ’[T]here is, in each translator, a persistent desire for such successes, a desire often realised, albeit erratically, unpredictably’. She says this often leads the translator to ‘achieve a certain logic and rhetoric during translation’.In case of Hutt’s translation of Karnali Blues, this may refere, among other choices, to the use of the English ‘sister’, ‘mother’ and ‘father’ in the narration. But their Nepali equivalents are used when the characters refer to each other in quote marks. “Sometimes you have to make these rules for yourself as you go,” he says.Even 22 years ago, Thapa wrote that there can be ‘traces of a desire to show an English-reading audience some uniquely Nepali aspect of the original text,’ as the ‘translator acts as a guide into literary Nepal.’Hutt’s aim is to show that there is a vast body of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-story-of-books-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">creative, literary voices in Nepal</a>, beyond the exotic image of a trekking paradise. “Nepal is spoken for and about by others so much,” he says. “One thing that has always frustrated me since I started reading Nepali is that many foreigners engage with Nepal but never read Nepali or are aware that there are nuanced and complex voices here, which can enhance their understanding of the world and humanity beyond measure.”He is curious to see what the reviewers say of his translation of Karnali Blues. Will they pick up on the universal themes of filial love in a landscape undergoing radical socio-cultural and political changes, or see it as a book translated from a foreign language as-of-yet underrepresented in the global literary scene? Another case in point is Ajit Baral’s English translation of फातसुङ (Faatsung) by Chuden Kabimo. Titled <a href="https://balestier.com/books/literature/song-of-the-soil/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Song of the Soil</a>, the translation was published in October 2021 by the UK-based Balestier Press which specialises in contemporary world literature. “The story of Faatsung is incredibly poignant,” says Baral, who is with FinePrint publishers and brought out the Nepali original. “The novel was acclaimed and loved by readers of Nepali, and I felt that it had to be translated into English.”The plot line of Faatsung focuses on the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/del-ktm%20/giving-in-to-gorkhaland-darjeeling,951" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Gorkhaland movement</a> in Darjeeling, which Baral felt resonates with Nepal’s armed struggle. In addition, Baral’s idea was not to translate and publish the book in Nepal only. “Many in Nepal who read Nepali always have the option to read the book in its original language,” he says. “My idea was to bring the book to foreign readers as well.” <figure><img width="640" height="982" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209b69c7e80680e0b555bjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>There is an increasing focus on translation in the world at present, adds Baral, and many publishers are now putting out more translated works than before. This is evidenced by the widespread popularity of authors like Haruki Murakami, Elena Ferrante, Olga Tokarczuk, Han Kang and Mieko Kawakami. Speaking in TonguesBut translation itself is not a new craft. The word ‘translate’ comes from Latin translatus ‘carried over, bear across’ and translators have been integral to cultural and intellectual exchanges since The Epic of Gilgamesh was translated four thousand years ago from Sumerian into Akkadian. Many works of Greek philosophers and mathematicians survived in large part due to their Arabic translations. Even in Nepal, Bhanubhakta Acharya’s रामायण Ramayan, which is considered the first Nepali epic, was itself translated from Sanskrit. And while <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/20-reviews-in-20-years/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali literature is relatively young</a>, there are also writers who are pioneers in social realism, psychological fiction and experimental writings, and have made unique contributions to understanding the human condition. Michael Hutt says a certain section of readership, for example in the UK, is now used to reading books translated from different languages. In addition to Russian, French and Italian, writings from Czech, Korean and Japanese are also gaining readership. “There is an entire range of different languages, and people are engaging with those books as literature,” he says, “And they are being evaluated as literature that strikes our imagination and our emotions.”Nepali stories being translated into English and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/palpasa-café-translated-in-french,1847" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">published internationally</a> in this scene provides readers with a unique geographical flavour. Says Baral: “This increases the probability of more authentic and local stories from Nepal being published abroad as readers there will be able to find something new in them.”Chuden Kabimo, author of Faatsung, also sees the English translation of his book as a positive addition to literature and emphasises the role of translations as bridges. He says, “In translation, it’s not just the book that is being transmitted, but identities, cultures and history as well. This helps mediate the apparent separation between communities and peoples of different nationalities, and help us understand each other better.”It is like borders coming down, he explains, as the story travels from one person to the next, one country to the next. And since its translation, Song of the Soil has now also been added to the BA English curriculum at the SRM University in Sikkim where, Kabimo believes, the story and culture will now also be passed from one generation to the next. <figure><img width="640" height="975" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209b99c7e80680e0b555cjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But there is still a long way to go, as linguistic limitations are compounded by systemic challenges. Whether a translation is good or not depends on numerous factors that include the quality of the original text, the translator’s command of both languages and the skills of an editor. All of these are largely dependent upon the state of literature and the studies and practice of translation, which are currently lacking in Nepal.“Language is the first barrier. Our command of English is not perfect,” remarks Baral, “and in many cases the flair that should come from an English-language text has been lacking in our translations.” Sometimes the text reads too much like Nepali, and is jarring. This calls to mind the English translation of Narayan Wagle’s 2005 novel पल्पसा क्याफे Palpasa Café, which was not as well-received as <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=572#.YhAboC2B3-Y" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the original Nepali</a>. Knowing both languages is not enough either. Buddhisagar, whose pen name itself translates as ‘Ocean of Wisdom’ says: “Even Google can translate. Translators should also be writers themselves, they should have a sense of poetry and creativity. They must be up to date with their society and the world.”Additionally, translation is not a one-time thing. Citing <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Joke-Definitive-Version-Milan-Kundera/dp/006099505X" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Milan Kundera’s The Joke</a>, Buddhisagar remarks how it has been translated five different times into English. “Translations need periodic polishing,” he says, “But there is not enough conversation on translating in Nepal at present. Even literature has not been taken that seriously.”There is also a gap between the theoretical approach to translating and the actual practice. “Theory is important for background, surely,” explains Baral, “but we need more hands-on experience on how to translate, and what the different options of translation are. Workshops could be conducted so that writers and translators can meet and work together.”One way to address the limitations is to have a good editor who is equally accomplished in the languages. “A sentence can be translated in many ways,” Baral says, “but to have an editor who can pick out the right one from the mix makes all the difference.”Anurag Basnet, who was previously an editor with Rupa Publications and Penguin Books India in New Delhi, agrees. Himself a translator of Nepali and Hindi books into English, he describes his editorial process as starting with going line-by-line with the translator.“That is where the most fights happen,” he laughs. After that, the editor has to ensure that the text stands independently in English. Basnet believes that literary translation is even more important now, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/written-locally-read-globally/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">especially in the context of South Asia</a>, where despite having similar languages, culture and history, we do not talk to each other. “There is a lot of writing happening in the various languages,” he adds, “but there is not as much communication between the languages.”He feels that translating is in a way the best recommendation one can give for a book. As a translator you are trying to convey as precisely as possible the emotion you felt when you read the book, he says, but a big challenge is that translation, while an intense and engaging process, is not yet financially rewarding. “There are almost no supporting mechanisms, either from the government or other sources. This needs to be addressed urgently,” he adds: “It cannot always be a labour of love.”

Ashish Dhakal

Taking Nepali literature to the world

It is a privilege to be able to read, understand and appreciate the depth of women’s writing and the expanse of their ideas. But it was several years before I would understand the bias against women’s writing— and in extension, their characters. A popular bookstore raised an outcry when it shared how men are quick to admit they do not read books by women, and research revealed a price disparity in men’s and women’s books of up to 45 %.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7979c7e80680e092deajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="126" height="150"/>It is not only dry data. In conversation, male acquaintances are quick to defend themselves and say they read and like books by women. Yet, why is it that their book recommendations and references are dominated by men, and names of women do not flow from the tongue as smoothly as the men’s?We never feel the need to categorise men’s writing, but how quickly books by women are tied to the limitations of ‘romance’, ‘feminist’, or ‘women-centric.’So often, women’s writing is casually dismissed as confessional and emotional, as though it were not the most difficult thing in the world to be honest and arouse feelings – which is only a fraction of what writing by women achieves. While ‘women’s writing’ is itself a term fraught with several connotations, not all of them appreciative, it has become more crucial than ever to read, talk about, widely share and appreciate the fabulous works of these writers.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Vindication-Rights-Woman-Thrift-Editions/dp/0486290360" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">A Vindication of the Rights of Woman</a>, Mary Wollstonecraft“I do not wish (women) to have power over men; but over themselves,” said Wollstonecraft 230 years ago. When I read this piece, I was astounded at how fiercely a woman had rebelled during such oppressive times, and saddened by how little has changed in the lives of women. It is the collective voice of an entire generation, fueled by the accumulated rage of several centuries. While some ideas in the essay seem misogynistic today, Wollstonecraft’s powerful roar still resonates within many of us. This angst with the world is also duplicated in The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, while Chimamanda Adichie harnesses Wollstonecraft’s urgent call for transformation in her treatise ‘We Should All Be Feminists.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7989c7e80680e092debjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="459"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7999c7e80680e092decjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="607"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Beloved-Toni-Morrison/dp/1400033411" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Beloved</a>,Toni MorrisonIt is difficult to decide what is more touching in Beloved - style or content. It is an anguish against racism and rage against lopsided history, told through the unforgettable story of a family of slaves. It is also a story of strong mothers and stronger daughters who leave their dreams, voyages and poetry scattered on each page. It is traumatic in content and enviable in style, just like Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing, published more recently in 2016.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.in/Unbound-Years-Indian-Womens-Writing/dp/9382277668" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Unbound: 2,000 Years of Indian Women’s Writing</a>, Anne ZaidiAnne Zaidi has done the unthinkable with this volume that attempts to capture two millennia of women’s writing in the vast literary world of India. Rather than consider it an all-exhaustive anthology, Zaidi thoughtfully terms it a tribute to the sisterhood that wrote steadfastly amidst all odds, and was rarely given space in major literary collections. This is a prototype, a diverse read and a labor of love that other countries would do well to follow.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79a9c7e80680e092dedjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="943"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79d9c7e80680e092deejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="264" height="419"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Kim-Jiyoung-Born-1982-Nam-Joo-ebook/dp/B07LFL9V9Z" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982</a>,Cho Nam-JooWhy are women so angry all the time, a lot of men like to ask. Why have women become so ‘radical’ and ‘fierce’? Kim Jiyoung, now nearly 40 years old, will tell you why. As she navigates childhood, adolescence, marriage and childbirth, she talks artlessly but passionately of the injustices she and her sisters undergo each day. This is the book that abetted the #MeToo movement in Korea, and resonated with millions of women around the world who felt the writer was recounting their own memoir.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/All-us-our-own-lives/dp/9382277374" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">All of Us in Our Own Lives</a>,Manjushree ThapaThis is an ordinary tale of normal people connecting with each other in unexpected ways – but it contains a tiny microcosm of Nepal within itself. All the characters that we watch on television or read about in papers or write a case study about, Thapa manages to bring into the same story. The novel is a critical analysis of Nepal as a failed state, a farce on its development aid, a study of its exclusionary norms and practices, and a celebration of the ordinary joys of life amongst this wretchedness. It is Nepal as we know, love, and hate.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79e9c7e80680e092defjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="318" height="475"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a09c7e80680e092df0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="332" height="500"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Difficult-Women-Roxane-Gay/dp/1543622941" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Difficult Women</a>, Roxane GayRoxane Gay writes stories, but they are not imaginary – they are as true as our lives. In Difficult Women, she brings together all those women that society finds tiresome or troublesome. These women might crave money and power, or nurse a kink, or worship their bodies. They are all given a safe space, they are all lent voices to speak up. Read this to experience the convergence of the most unapologetic and ferocious women in your lives, which might include yourself.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Wild-Swans-Three-Daughters-China/dp/0743246985" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China</a>, Jung ChangThree women, all in the twentieth century, but detailing incredibly different experiences. The grandmother behaves like a dainty queen as a warlord’s concubine, the daughter does not stop toiling while pregnant, lest she be considered a burden to the ‘party’, and the granddaughter has to forgo her studies to serve the nation. It is a critical look at Mao’s China, and the impacts his dictates had on citizens, particularly women. It is a true story, but with far more unbelievable twists and turns than fiction.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a19c7e80680e092df1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="976"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a49c7e80680e092df2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="1008"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Poisonwood-Bible-Novel-Barbara-Kingsolver/dp/0060786507" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Poisonwood Bible</a>,Barbara KingsolverThe sheer canvas of this novel will take your breath away. It fiercely mocks every single thing that imperialism prides itself in. It is a love letter to the beautiful and prosperous land of Congo (then Zaire), and a satire on the white savior complex. It is basically a topsy-turvy account of a missionary family’s struggle in Congo, but is an analysis and commentary on so much more: racism, materialism, gender norms, religion, fanaticism, matrimony and relationships. It is, most bitingly, a revolt against white supremacy, and the exploitation of Africa by the West. The novel deserves to be read for an example of an impassioned, critical, and intelligent display of wisdom and justice.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Song-Sun-God-Shankari-Chandran/dp/9558897280" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Song of the Sun God</a>,Shankari ChandranThis underrated gem is an engrossing account of the devastating aftereffect of the civil war in Sri Lanka. In a searing tone that stays with you long after the novel is finished, Chandran traces the lives of three generations that are led astray by the struggle for power and identity. Her attempt is to recreate the war as a more objective, balanced, nuanced history, with careful observation of socio-cultural and state-inflicted inequalities that led to the eventual deadly eruption. It is a difficult work to read, and a tad dramatic, but an important and absorbing one. Another remarkable novel along the same theme is Madhuri Vijay’s ‘The Far Field.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a79c7e80680e092df3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="225" height="225"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a89c7e80680e092df4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="311" height="475"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Wayward-Daughter-Kathmandu-Story/dp/9388326083" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Wayward Daughter</a>,Shradha GhaleThis is a coming-of-age novel of the quintessential middle-class Kathmandu girl. It is clever in its use of language, unerring in its imitation of the mundane nature of everyday life, and interesting in its fresh approach to a novel. Tangled with the girl’s lives are so many other tales: that of her migrating grandparents and hardworking parents. It exposes the insecurities and contradictions and duplicities within all of us, and brings us so much closer to the land. If you read only one book in this list, read this – because it is the present and future of Nepali women’s writing.

About women by women

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4379c7e80680e08f9afjpeg.jpg" alt="Author Nirajan Kunwar" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: SAGAR CHHETRI</figcaption></figure>When Niranjan Kunwar talks about Bollywood, his body language shifts: he sits tall, his face brightens up, his hands flit about in flowery circular motion, and his speech quickens.“I sometimes joke with friends that I have a PhD in 90s Bollywood and they believe me. Because if you asked me who won the Filmfare Award for best actor in 1993, I will tell you, ‘Sharukh Khan, of course, for Baazigar.’” He laughs.Born on June 9, 1981, Niranjan always knew he was different. When being sent off to boarding school, instead of the usual reluctance, he was eager to leave his parents. As a young boy, he was close to his cousin sisters and dressed in their skirts and performed for them. “I feel like I have lost that part of me,” he says. “I want to reclaim it.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd43b9c7e80680e08f9b0jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar childhood photo" width="1200" height="900"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd43e9c7e80680e08f9b1jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan childhood photo" width="1800" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In December of 2020, amidst lockdown and pandemic, Niranjan’s memoir, Between Queens and the Cities, became the first queer memoir in English to be published in Nepal. Although readers may expect the typical coming-of-age or a coming-out story, the memoir is not that.Poet Ocean Vuong once said that queer lives in literature always seem exhaustible because their stories end when they come out of the metaphoric closet. In the same vein, Niranjan’s memoir is instead an honest and heartfelt record of the important, confusing and mundane parts of one queer life set between Kathmandu and New York City, that is not representative of all Nepali queer stories in and neither does it claim to be.Niranjan says, “I chose to write nonfiction because I knew that I wanted to document this story as ‘real’ and I wanted to visibilise it, as most queer stories are often made invisible.”He writes: No one counts our blessings. No one blesses us. We exist outside religion, outside society and culture. We are too Western or too wild. We don’t fit into their traditions. Their rituals don’t guide us. There are no magical mantras for us. Their divine deities don’t do anything for us. Our Dashains and Tihars are forever incomplete. The puranas don’t mention us. No one tells our tales.No one writes poems about our courtships, our commitments, our crimes. Our longings don’t turn into lyrics. No one composes lines about our heartbeats. No guitar strums for us. There is no harmonica; no piano converts our musings into music.In this month’s Lightroom Conversation, Niranjan and I talk about the fears and gifts of being queer, about rescuing hidden selves, re-authoring certain dominant narratives, and about male anger, the complexities of that emotion that we often do not talk about.Niranjan Kunwar: There’s a story that my relatives recount how I wanted to be a cow herder when I grew up. In a way, I had a streak that was a bit unusual; I wanted to be adventurous. I wasn’t attached to my parents. When I was going to Budhanilkantha at age nine, I was eager to say goodbye to them. The appeal for me was the school’s sprawling jungle and all the new friends I would make. And whenever my grandmother used to go to our village in Chitwan, I would follow her. There, I would graze cattle and run around all day.Muna Gurung: Tell me more about Chitwan. What was there?We have an old house there and my grandmother would visit regularly. We would go on a local bus, the roads were bad and I would get carsick. But despite that, I would fight with my parents if they didn’t let me go with her. There was no electricity in the village and I liked that because we would eat under the light from a lantern and there were delicacies like khatte, which was puffed rice deep fried in butter. I realise now that I feel calmer in nature and it was a striking juxtaposition with my life in New York, a culture that had very little space for animals, nature, pets. I used to love animals, but in the city, I felt myself hardening. It’s like in literature, we read about how the city hardens you. I guess that is also the queer experience, that sense of distance that is created between you and yourself.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4419c7e80680e08f9b2jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar family" width="1200" height="900"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But there is one line in your book where you say that you had forgotten about the ‘gifts of being queer’. What were and are the gifts of being queer?  As a child I was very influenced by my three female cousins and Bollywood, so I would frequently wear their skirts and dance for them. They also encouraged that behaviour and I remember walking all the way to Chabel Chowk to get a Bollywood film tape in a skirt! When you’re a child, adults accept that, but only to a certain extent. Even in Budhanilkantha, I would wear skirts and perform, but then when the bullying and teasing starts, that’s when you begin to suppress and conform. By 9th and 10th grade, I had begun to conform and even act ‘macho’.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/featured-videos/between-queens-and-kathmandu/">Between Queens and Kathmandu</a>, Sahina Shrestha<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4449c7e80680e08f9b3jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar Budhanilkantha School" width="640" height="853"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The thing is, the story of young boys dressing up as girls is not uncommon. I have countless cousins and nephews who do that, and it is celebrated even. But as you said, only to a certain extent, after which they have to become a ‘boy’. Sometimes my family also rationalises a young boy’s ‘femininity’ as simply the remnants of their previous life, as in he must have been a woman before. This is making me think about how perhaps in many janajati cultures, gender queerness is more accepted. For example the maruni dance where men dress up as women and dance is an important part of most Gurung cultures and even celebrated. But that too is perhaps only relegated to that space. I don’t know how much of this has been investigated.You write that because you read a lot as a child, your queerness did not feel strange to you. What did you read as a child that affirmed your being? I would listen to my grandmother tell stories from the Mahabharat or the Ramanyana, but I was especially taken by the month of Swasthani, when my grandmother would read one chapter of the Swasthani tale a day and I would also read chapters with her. The stories were always full of possibilities like gods chopping off heads, or people reincarnating and becoming different; that immediately is a message that one can change form or travel far, or have magic powers. What does that mean for kids?And then I encountered Western literature and it was about humans living very different lives in very different worlds. When I was a little older, I made sure to buy every single Filmfare and Movie magazine.  Whether you call that reading or just studying pop culture and glamour, or looking at stars being themselves, it was a queer activity. Because fashion is also about people transforming into someone else, or something they are not. Today, I feel like I have lost this side of me, and I want to reclaim it. This reminds me of what the artist Alok Vaid Menon once said in a workshop. They asked, “What part of yourself did you have to destroy in order to survive in this world?” I think we all have to do that and it’s a sad realisation, but I think many marginalised groups, especially women, can relate to this question.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4469c7e80680e08f9b4jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar dancing" width="405" height="469"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>What did you have to destroy? My feminine side. Whether it’s Bollywood, Filmfare, wearing skirts and dancing as a girl, I think I have it in me. I am definitely not ashamed of it. I think it is a really powerful thing if an individual can be a man or a woman, it’s a skill and that’s also what is actually needed in this world today–the fluidity rather than the rigidity. There was one time that I dressed up in drag in New York and even then, I remember I was not completely at ease. The flipside of the question is how much anxiety and fear there is for marginalised people, starting with women. And because of this fear, so many things are hidden, invisibilised, not talked about. That is why I really appreciate younger Nepalis now who are out there in public being bolder than I am or I have been.On being bold, when you wrote this memoir, you were filling it with people who are connected to you in real life, how did you balance what to reveal and what to conceal?  I chose to write nonfiction because I knew that I wanted to document this story as ‘real’ and I wanted to visibilise it, as most queer stories are often made invisible. Although I also know that writing about someone’s life comes with ethical questions and one has to ask for permission, I didn’t do that because I knew that I wasn’t going to reveal any personal details of the characters in the story. But this begs the question, why did I write it? We teach in primary school that we have to write about things that give us strong feelings. While writing about my family, I began to write about certain family dynamics that was bothering me and I didn’t think about censoring, I just had to write it out, but it was only later in revising that I began to get anxious about these issues of sharing sensitive information. But how do you ask for permission from your family? It’s a tricky thing.I can imagine, I mean, the father character. You explicitly write about his anger and your own. It was one of the things that drew me into your memoir because we don’t talk about anger as much as perhaps we should. I struggled a lot with anger. Anytime I was in despair or depressed, my frustration would just short circuit to one person: my father. There was a time I remember when I was in New York, and say, I got really hungry, I would get angry at my father. If I missed a train, I would immediately think of my father and feel rage in me. And that I knew was not ‘normal’ because he was not even there and it was not his fault. So, what was that about? That needed investigation. When emotions don't get processed properly, or when there's depression and a history of not talking about it, the repressed stuff comes out, you know. I knew it was unfair to him, and that it was no one’s fault. So, I had to write them out and put things in front of me so that I could sift through them and understand better. Some of it was my fault and my immediate situation having a stressful job in New York, or that I was drinking too much… some of those, I had to take responsibility.But sometimes anger is also important or useful because it moves things, it is an energy.Some people have told me that sometimes when I am angry, I am my most honest and articulate self, and I say what needs to be said. Sometimes, anger can be a shortcut to get to the truth of a matter. The outburst that I wrote about in the memoir, it needed to happen because it was repressed emotions that had not found an outlet. I was a very angry child but I grew up never being able to express myself. And in New York, instead of finding an outlet, I was distracting myself with alcohol and clubbing. I didn’t write about this part in the book, but the morning after that outburst, my father came into my room and said that it was the first time he had seen that side of me.The outburst was almost necessary.Yes, and just the day before, I had another huge blowout with my father. So, I’ve had this anxiety with my memoir because my relationship with my father has shifted and it is better now. When I was writing, I felt like I didn’t care about anything or anyone, I only knew that I had to tell my story honestly. But later, the anxiety started brewing. Even throughout the book launch, I was anxious because I hadn’t told my father about the details of the book and I didn’t know how he was going to take it if he found out. It is also sad because I have written a book but I can’t even share it or celebrate it with him. That is, in many ways, I guess a very queer aspect about having written the memoir. But after this recent blowout, it is almost like that anger ate up that anxiety and I was able to own a little more of myself. This time round, I feel a lot more justified and I don’t feel anxious like before.What I also loved that you were able to show to the readers was the tenderness of the father character and not just his anger. For instance, when he says “goodnight” or comes into your room the next morning after a blowout. It is a language, a gesture, a slight vulnerability. The accountability issue is what gets me, though. I would be fine with my father having an anger issue if he were to come around and fix it. You must fix what you break. If only he knew how to apologise. But that just does not happen.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4489c7e80680e08f9b5jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar teacher USA" width="1434" height="1434"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Poet Nibha Shah said that we are not taught how to love, and I was thinking, perhaps it is the same with apology, too.  And how much we need that education. This is why I wanted to become a primary school teacher. One of my first encounters in the US was in a preschool classroom where the kids were learning, through story books, how to treat one another and the people in their communities with respect. I immediately saw that it was completely lacking in my life and in Nepal. It really moved me and when you think about family dynamics or even politics, I maintain that we learn our behaviours in the primary school classroom. If you don’t learn how to listen or respond to each other with respect, you won’t automatically learn it in parliament or after you get married. It’s too late by then. There are many of us who didn’t have this education or opportunity, and it is just something that we have to carry with us and try to do better.Lightroom Conversation is a monthly page in Nepali Times that features interesting figures in Nepal’s literary scene. <a href="http://www.munagurung.com">Muna Gurung</a> is a writer, educator and translator based in Kathmandu.

Muna Gurung

Niranjan Kunwar: Queering the story

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914114/636ba62e9c7e80680e073707jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="676" height="486"/>Two Indian writers, Manu Joseph and Prajwal Parajuly have been nominated for the long list of the Emile Guimet Prize, awarded annually to a book by an Asian author and translated into French.The prestigious award is administered by the Emile Guimet Museum in Paris. Parajuly was nominated for Fuir et revenir, the translation of his widely acclaimed debut novel about a family reunion from hell, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/Of-family-and-reunions,1220">Land Where I Flee</a>, and Delhi-based Joseph for Miss Laila armée jusqu’aux dents, published in English as Miss Laila Armed and Dangerous. The books' translators are Benoîte Dauvergne and Bernard Turle respectively.Parajuly is from Sikkim and had earlier written a book of short stories in 2013, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Book-Review/One-of-us,274">A Gurkha’s Daughter</a> which catapulted him to fame in India. He was praised for his original voice, and his simple story-telling style.Land Where I Flee is Parajuly’s first novel, and its translation has been received well in France. It is a story of a reunion of three siblings with their family matriarch for her 84th birthday, an important landmark in Hindu-Nepali traditions. Domineering, her grandchildren had kept her at arm’s length and they dread the ceremony. The plot revolves around Parajuly’s well developed characters who we get to know intimately, and who are all microcosms of the subcontinental mindset.2020 seems to be a good year to be an Indian writer, they have continued making news abroad after Avni Doshi’s Booker long listing.The Emile Guimet long list this year also includes Pakistani writer Fatima Bhutto for Comme Des Lions. The winner will be announced at a ceremony in the Emile Guimet Museum in September. Previous winners have included British writer Rana Dasgupta, South-Korean author <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/nov/25/at-dusk-by-hwang-sok-yong-review">Hwang Sok-Yong</a> and Natsu Miyashita from Japan.Other writers on the 2020 long list are: Shion Miura (Japan), Cho Nam-Joo (South Korea), Shiga Izumi (Japan), Tsering Dondrup (Tibet), Fang Fang (China), Hye-Young Pyun (South Korea), and Liu Zhenyun (China).

Prajwol Parajuly nominated for French book award

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bad589c7e80680e077f8bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Nepali Times issue #1</figcaption></figure>The <a href="http://himalaya.socanth.cam.ac.uk/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_001.pdf">#1 print edition</a> of Nepali Times of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/1">19-25 July 2000</a> shows that even though much has changed in Nepal in the past two decades, a lot has remained the same. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. Reports and op-eds published in that very first hardcopy issue are as relevant today as they were then. Most of the protagonists are the same.The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10979#.XxAi8KEza70">front page analysis</a> of the first edition looked at the impending state visit to India by Prime Minister Girija Prasad Koirala. Among the contentious issues he was going to take up with Indian Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee: the Kalapani territory occupied by India. The dispute flared again this year, and sank bilateral ties to a new low.Then, as now, the Indian media had been primed before Koirala’s visit with official leaks about alleged infiltration by Pakistani agents to ‘turn the Tarai into Taliban territory’. The allegations were included in an Indian intelligence report ‘Nepal Gameplan’, and our report said that Koirala’s challenge would be to use his personal chemistry with Vajpayee to convince him that Nepal would not allow any extraneous threats to India from its territory.Both Koirala and Vajpayee are long gone, but India-Nepal relations are still strained —this time over suspicions of growing Chinese influence. The same issue of Nepali Times had an <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10983#.XxAjfqEza70">interview with UML General Secretary Madhav Kumar Nepal</a> on page 3 in which the opposition leader said: “What is surprising is that Koirala is the same person who said he would not visit India until Indian troops are withdrawn from Kalapani, and he is rushing there.”<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10980#.XxAjxaEza70">The Editorial</a> of the first print edition of Nepali Times laid out what would be the new paper’s mission statement: ‘A newspaper does more than hold a mirror to society. It becomes a mirror itself. There is a belief that literature is generally not read, and journalism is often unreadable. This newspaper will seek to be informal, lively, clear and direct.’In his column <a href="http://himalaya.socanth.cam.ac.uk/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_001.pdf">‘State of the State’, C K Lal</a> lamented the cynicism in Nepali society: ‘Despair hangs as thick as diesel exhaust in the Kathmandu air. Nepal’s nabobs of negativism hold forth in their nay-saying nooks. Cynicism is at least a reflection of exaggerated self-worth. Despair is much worse, it is a state of having lost all hope.’ Locked down for four months, Nepalis are once more drifting from cynicism to despair.The first issue also included <a href="mes.com/news.php?id=10990#.XxAk86Eza70">an investigation</a> into a scandal at the Kathmandu office of the UN Population Fund (UNFPA) in which an expat official was secretly sacked for embezzlement. Reporter <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10992#.XxAlC6Eza70">Hemlata Rai</a> wrote about how grassroots democracy was beginning to deliver health, education and other services.Another <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11001#.XxAlLqEza70">intriguing story</a> was about reports that underground Maoist leader Prachanda had visited UK on an Indian passport to attend a meeting of the Revolutionary International Movement (RIM). Water resources expert <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11082#.XxAlSKEza70">Dipak Gyawali</a> argued in a commentary that it made more sense for private power producers in Nepal to design projects to sell electricity for domestic value-added use than exporting it to India.COVID-19 is the main global health issue today, but 20 years ago it was HIV/AIDS, and the paper carried a report on anti-retrovirals not being affordable to people in poor countries.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11090#.XxAmmqEza70">Manjushree Thapa</a> started her column Nepaliterature in which she profiled writers in the Nepali language with translated excerpts of their work. The July 2000 issue had these lines from Bimal Nibha:Comrade Baburam Bhattarai is busy leading the People’s WarI, dragging along my broken slippersAm wondering —as are many othersI’m an ordinary person who writes the news who writes poemsWho drinks tea and rushes offA worker who delights and weepsWith ardor and effort (nothing exceptional about me)Am I not also engaged in a people’s war, Comrade?Nepali Times also got rights to serialise chapters from <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11089#.XxAlmqEza70">Desmond Doig’s</a> book In the Kingdom of the Gods, and the first installment carried his description of Jang Bahadur’s Mughal-style Kal Mochan temple, which a western visitor once said was ‘too ugly to describe’.The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11099#.XxAmBKEza70">Funny Side Up</a> satire column became a fixture on the back page with the first one on legalising corruption. Taxing bribes and slapping 13% VAT on baksheesh, it was suggested, would be a good way to raise government revenue.From this week, the ‘10 Year Ago’ column in Nepali Times will be ‘20 Years Ago’. It will look at Nepal from two decades ago, and how the country was getting mired deeper in conflict, political disarray was eroding democratic gains, tourism was being affected by the uncertainty.The COVID-19 lockdown is a fitting time for a retrospective – when the media itself is facing a crisis of survival. The media in Nepal has historically been threatened by the extreme right and the extreme left. It had survived the economic crises during the earthquake and Blockade. Legacy media was trying to cope with the digital transition. But never  has it had to face such an existential crisis.  There are serious implications for journalism as well as for an open society.As the past two decades show, journalism is indeed history in a hurry. And those who do not learn from it are doomed to repeat it.The content of the past 20 years of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-grapples-with-bringing-workers-home/">Nepali Times</a> is available in a searchable archive. The ePaper can also be accessed by issue through the <a href="http://www.digitalhimalaya.com/collections/journals/nepalitimes/">Digital Himalaya</a> site.

Kunda Dixit

20 years ago this week

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b793c9c7e80680e0646efjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5616" height="3744"/><figcaption>Pragati Rai. All Photos: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>As a child, Pragati Rai was called fattyauri, someone who would not stop talking. “I did not like that when a daughter was born in family, they would say, ‘Oh great, a bottle of whisky is born,’” she says to me when we meet in her home in Thecho. “I knew from very early on that these things didn’t sit right with me, that I had to speak about them somehow.”Born in 1977, Pragati grew up in Khotang along with a younger sister and four brothers. Although she is widely known for her first novel, Lekhak Ki Swasni (The Writer’s Wife, 2014), Pragati burst into the Nepali literary scene with a slim collection of powerful poems called Badi Bigyapti (Baadi Press Release, 2009), written after she had witnessed naked Badi women protest outside Singha Durbar demanding their right to citizenship in 2007. In the titular poem, Pragati writes:My name is nakedMy people are nakedWhere I stand, therethe ground is seen as naked, todayI have been made into a promiscuous woman, sir!I cannot cover my shame withthe sari of democracyPeering into the empty vessel that is your assurance, I cannot wait for the road to freedomListen to the word of someone who has been made naked for generations, or–Listen to the dangerous decision of this disgusting name:If you do not want to make me like you, sirI most certainly will make you like me. https://youtu.be/owxitV1LRp8Last year, she published her second novel, Birseko Mrityu (Forgotten Death, 2019), and Pragati has just completed writing her third novel, Thakra (Stake), which is forthcoming later this year.In this month’s Lightroom Conversation, Pragati and I talk about the process of building a novel, how to tell women’s stories to reluctant audiences, the importance of humour in writing, and why it is necessary for women to write their own stories and be their own writers.Pragati Rai: It’s like making a child swallow medicine. The medicine is bitter, so you will have to put some sugar in it. You have to trick that child into consuming something they never wanted in the first place, but that we all know is very good for them. That is how I wrote Lekhak Ki Swasni. At first, I was writing this novel called Saya, and it was just a long stiff lecture on ‘women’s issues’, and how men and the state ought to behave. I guarantee you that no one wants to read a novel like that, least of all, men.Muna Gurung: So you made it sugary.Yes, with Lekhak Ki Swasni, readers think they are reading a story about a writer and his family drama, but what they do not realise is that they have gone through an entire book and in the process, they have actually read and closely experienced the pain of being the wife of a writer. Lekhak Ki Swasni was actually a short story I wrote while waiting for my husband to come home for dinner. He said he was on his way but hours went by and he never showed up.He is also a writer? Yes, he is an established and award-winning writer. But we live separately now. He is with someone else. People keep thinking that the novel is about our life together but it is not.How did you meet? I was fourteen and my friend took me to his house. His village was just over the hill from mine. He was in ninth grade and deeply heartbroken. The girl he had fallen in love with had just been married off to some lahure. My husband was inconsolable and spiraling into depression. His family thought this was the best time to find him a wife. My friend was his mother’s niece and she had apparently told my mother-in-law about me and how I like to write poems. My mother-in-law explained to me that theirs was a family of writers and if I ever wanted to get into writing, they had all the connections. She also said I could venture into music, education, art… I agreed to marry her son, and  so I stayed put.You stayed there that night and never went back home?Pretty much. I slept in my mother-in-law’s room for a long time and then after a while she sent me to sleep with my husband. He and I barely talked. I was enrolled in 8th grade then and a month into the academic year, I was pregnant, so I stopped going to school. My ama sent for me, but I did not go back home.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b793f9c7e80680e0646f0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5616" height="3744"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Did you know this big step you had just taken?I had absolutely no clue. I just thought that I had secured my future of being a writer, or doing something in this one life I have. But nobody told me about children. Up until I had my first child, I didn’t fully understand what was going on with my body.It must have been terrifying. It is hard to be afraid of what you don’t know. But you know, my aama, I guess was far-sighted. After my second son was born, she told me that a day will come when I will become very unattractive to my husband because he would be much more educated than me, an 8th grade drop-out. She told me to come home right away so that I could go back to school, I was 18 then. I took my sons and went home to my mother. After SLC, I went to Kathmandu where my husband was already beginning to establish himself as a writer.Read also: <a href="http://Nibha Shah: Nepali poetry’s mansara" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nibha Shah: Nepali poetry's mansara</a>, Muna GurungYou said in an interview elsewhere that many people would not know who Pragati Rai is, but that they would know Lekhak Ki Swasni. It is ironic now knowing that your husband also writes.   I was always known as my husband, the writer’s wife. Even when I wrote a good poem, my name hardly came forth. They all thought he wrote my poems for me. Or if I spoke at an event, he would receive a call at home from one of his ‘boys’, who would say to him: Oh,  Pragati spoke well today. You’ve done a good job schooling her. And the worst was this one time when I saw a short review of Badi Bigyapti in a national daily, and I was surprised to see they had quoted me when I did not remember being interviewed. Later, my husband tells me that the newspaper had called and he had spoken to them.That is terrible. I was furious.How else was it like to be one of the two writers in a marriage?Maybe people think that writer couples spend their days writing together in some blissful reverie. None of that is true! (Laughs). If two people in a family are in the same field, there is bound to be some sort of competition, it is only natural. I would share an idea with my husband and find that a part of it has somehow made it into his book, and vice versa. Some days I would want him to listen to my stories, but he would be busy trying to share his with me. Writers are obsessive people. But you know, when you are with a writer, you can say something using minimal words and trust that the other is able to extract, elaborate and expand as needed. Writers are also more open than other kinds of people, I think. When we separated, my husband told me honestly about his lover. Plus, this was not the first time he had strayed in our marriage. I always knew about his affairs because he would tell me, or write about them. Many male readers have also asked me why I did not make the writer husband character in my first novel a politician, or someone with another profession -- but my husband never once questioned that decision. I appreciated his openness.Maybe it is also because you tell the entire story with so much humour. I laughed out loud in so many of the scenes. I think humour can be one of the hardest things to write.My baba was a comedy man. For instance, when we did not listen to our ama, she would scream at us: Must I repeat the same thing to you twelve and twenty-seven times before you begin to listen? And our baba would step in and say, Your poor mother who does not know math is now having to put together twelve and then twenty-seven—that is half of her day gone right there!  We would laugh and then go do whatever she wanted us to do. I realised early on that humour can make difficult situations a little easier. So in making my first novel, I spent a lot of time carefully weighing out the serious scenes against the humourous ones and deciding where and how to place them so that my readers would follow along and do what I want them to do. (Laughs).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79439c7e80680e0646f1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1620" height="1080"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Who are your readers?I write for our parents’ generation, my generation and those who will come after me. People from my grandparents’ generation, I do not even try. Their  thinking is set in stone. I wrote for women, but I quickly realised that the problem is that not enough women read. So what is the point of writing for women when our audience is clearly male? Women in Nepal have written for decades but the reason we still struggle to be heard and seen is because we are writing for women, which makes it easier for male readers to snooze. If we write for men in the manner that pleases them, then our stories become heavily edited, and ultimately incomplete.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/featured-videos/bimala-tumkhewa-putting-kinema-on-the-map-of-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bimala Tumkhewa: Putting kinema on the map of Nepal</a>, Muna GurungWhat about stories about women that men have written?I feel like exactly how my character Numa feels about the way her husband writes. Numa is not a writer, but she finds that her husband, Sushant’s words lack something. Women must write their own stories, men can try, but it will be incomplete. For instance, I remember reading Abhi Subedi’s powerful article once where he writes about replacing the concept and language of  maiti ghar with that of afno ghar. It is a beautiful idea because why must we call our husband’s home our home, or afno ghar, and the place and family we were born into and grew up in and around our maiti? But what Subedi never brings up in the article is the importance then, on a policy level, for women to be able to claim that space as indeed, afno ghar. Where is it in our law? What kinds of property rights does a daughter have in her father’s home? Changing a word is a good start, but it is not the end of a larger problem.I also found the way you write about Numa’s desire as a sexual being very refreshing. I love that she lifts lines out of her husband’s unpublished book and sends it to Prabhakar in a flirty text. You don’t always beat around the bush with some lofty metaphor, you write clearly and unapologetically. (Smiles). I wanted my readers to know that women, too, have desires. I especially wanted my male readers to know that they are always replaceable in a woman’s life. Many of my male friends who have read the novel do not like the character of Prabhakar. I think they see themselves as the husband character and Prabhakar as Numa’s boyfriend, and therefore a threat. The novel I just finished, Thakra, is actually a sequel to Lekhak Ki Swasni, so we will follow the same characters in a different future. My male readers urged me to get rid of Prabhakar in the third novel. But I assure you, he is going nowhere. In fact, there is a scene where Numa is told by her father-in-law that since she cannot give them a grandson, that it only makes sense for her husband to remarry. Numa is hurt by this and she gets drunk with Prabhakar one evening. Some readers, I know, are not going to like that. (Laughs).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79469c7e80680e0646f2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5616" height="3744"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>How long did it take for you to write your last novel? Two years–I have not worked for money in those two years. I am deep in debt, so I must begin to work again now that the novel is done. It took me 7-8 years to write Lekhak Ki Swasni because I was working then at a school first as a teacher and then later in the exam department, typing up papers. I had a computer where I worked and I had created a folder for my novel, and I would steal some time everyday to write it. My colleagues soon found out and complained to my boss. He began to bring me large piles of random papers to type, just to keep me busy, I think. Every hour, he would walk in and ask if I was done. In another universe, I would have just put my head down and said, No sir, not yet. But instead, I would snap at him with Do you think I’m a photocopying machine? (Laughs). I was incorrigible. They even made me sign a sheet of paper that said, “I will not write during work again.” But the very next day, I wrote.So you finished your first novel while working there? No–later, someone deleted the folder and I lost everything. I had to write it all over again. We had a computer at home, but there was something electrifying about stealing time to write at work. When I came home, I never wanted to write. (Laughs). Just when the school was about to kick me out, I left for Korea to work with my new novel in a pen drive.When was this?2010. We were struggling financially. I felt like it would be a good idea to go abroad and make quick money. My husband wanted to join me, but his writing career was taking off and I knew that going to Korea would ruin it--all that effort for nothing. So he stayed back with our two sons, who were already in their late teens, early 20s by then. In Korea, I had to do manual labour in the agricultural sector. My roommate was a woman from Myagdi and super strong. She would work all day and be fine at night, whereas I would have all sorts of joint and muscle ache. There was a computer in our room, but she was always using it to chat with her husband. I never got a chance to sit at it. I remember complaining to Sudha Tripathi didi that I was not able to write because I didn’t have a computer. She clicked her tongue and said, Why don’t you just sit on the floor and write on a notebook with your hand? Why do you need a computer to write? I took her advice. Eventually, my employer kicked me out of work because I was spending my nights writing and he would see my light was on all night; and in the afternoon I was unable to work. For three months, I stayed back in Korea, unemployed trying to finish my novel. Everyone was scolding me. When I think about all the things I went through to write this novel…it is a lot.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-literatures-thulnani-toya-gurung/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Toya Gurung: Nepali literature’s Thulnani</a>, Muna Gurung<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b794a9c7e80680e0646f3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5616" height="3744">What happened after you finished writing the book?I experienced the deepest kind of satisfaction–that I had arrived on this earth and left a small signature.A signature, that’s a powerful image. My mind keeps circling back to the naming and how common it is for women to not have proper names. Twice a year, my family sets out a feast for our ancestors, and we invite them to come and eat. My baba has a long list of their names and when he goes down the list, I notice that the men have proper names but their wives are just their names plus a ni. So, Gopal’s wife is Gopalni. How we continue to rob women of so many things, starting with their names. I say it in my poem, Rukh (Tree), how our great-grandmothers gave up their lives in the name of tradition, and when it was time for our mothers, they gave up their names, it was a price they paid to uphold their traditions, any tradition. We keep following in each others’ footsteps, one generation of women after another. We may alter things here and there, but unless we uproot that tradition, nothing will change.Lightroom Conversation is a monthly page in Nepali Times on interesting figures in Nepal’s literary scene. Muna Gurung is a writer, educator and translator based in Kathmandu.  www.munagurung.com<h2>The Basket</h2>Pragati Raitranslated by Muna GurungAfter she gets the basket,the little girl forgets everything elseShe forgets food, forgets her motherAfter she gets the basket,she forgets her mother’s lap–A mother has no right over a daughter who has left her lap.The little girl has a basket to fill,she forgets everything elseWhen she places a flower in the basket,she likes the moon better,When she replaces the flower with the moon,she likes the stars more...And even more than the stars, she begins to likethe wind, water, butterfly, cloud and what else–She has only one basket,but she has so many things to keep in itShe keeps one thing in the basket, takes it out for anotherKeeps, takes, keeps, takes, and suddenlyevening sets inThe little girl begins to cry, the basket is emptySeeing the basket as life,The little girl’s mother begins to cry with herIn the midst of trying to fulfill each desire,life remains empty.And so–In between her sobs,The mother tells the little girl:Fill the basket with one thingthe rest, keep as memories that fill your heart.

Pragati Rai: Her Own Writer

20 Reviews in 20 Years

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

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

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

UFO over Pokhara

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

What Nepal’s VIP prisoners do in jail

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

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