<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5329c7e80680e0966f1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photos: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>In a sparse rented room with pink walls, six-year-old Sonish Awal is preparing for his online Nepali class (pictured above) on a smartphone, leaning on a table propped up with a paint bucket.His sister Sonia is coaching the first grader, the baby made famous as <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/bhaktapurs-miracle-boy-at-3/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s ‘Miracle Boy’</a> for having survived 22 hours under the rubble of the family’s home in Bhaktapur that was destroyed in the 2015 earthquake.“He is playful and inquisitive, he keeps asking me when we will rebuild our house,” says Rashmila about her son, whom she describes as a happy child who likes to play with other neighbourhood children and watch tv.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3gZtBiMbP0The family’s single room has a sewing machine in which Rashmila, sews clothes for additional income. She has no answer for her son’s persistent questions about rebuilding their house.Her husband Shyam is a truck driver, but the pandemic and lockdowns have reduced his income.When <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2015/05/27/a-month-that-felt-like-a-year/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the earthquake struck at 11:56AM on 25 April 2015</a>, Rashmila was out shopping, she rushed back as the ground shook. At their home, Sonia picked up her four-month-old brother, and tried to rush out of the room. A cupboard fell on top of them, and the house came down on top of them.Sonia was unconscious when she was rescued a few hours later, and was rushed to hospital. But <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/awal-family-still-homeless-but-happy-the-children-survived,2349" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Sonish could not be found</a>. Nepal Army rescuers had given up, but were called back in the morning when Rashmila heard a faint wail from under the rubble.They found Sonish covered in dust, with just a scratch in his leg. The photograph of soldier Dipak Rai and other rescuers holding the baby got widespread play in the national and international media. In Nepal, the rescue brought a ray of hope to a nation in shock after the disaster that left nearly 9,000 dead and 22,000 injured.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5359c7e80680e0966f2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="559" height="278"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5379c7e80680e0966f3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="481"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Shyam Awal was driving his pickup at Jadibuti, when he felt like he was losing control of the vehicle. He turned around and drove back to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/bhaktapur-shows-the-way-by-rebuilding-itself/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Bhaktapur</a>, and seeing all the destroyed buildings, he feared the worst.There was a heap of rubble where his home used to be, and his son buried somewhere inside. He rushed to the hospital to find his daughter Sonia was still unconscious. His wife Rashmila was inconsolable."The whole neighbourhood came together for the rescue but each time, it was another corpse that we pulled out, we had given up hope of Sonish surviving so long after the earthquake,” recalls 39-year-old Shyam.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce5399c7e80680e0966f4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1966" height="1224"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>When they heard the faint cry from the ruin of their four-storey home late into the night, Shyam at first thought it was a dog. But as it became clear that it Sonish whimpering.“We could hear the baby but pulling him out was another story altogether, I was panicking the whole time, knowing he was down there but we couldn’t do much,” recalls Rashmila. “When they finally pulled him out, he was covered in dust. Today, he just has a scar on his left thigh to remind him of the miraculous survival.”After his online exam this week, Rashmila walked Sonish to the ruin of their house that collapsed six years ago. The debris has been cleared, but the space is empty.After his ancestral home was divided between the brothers, Shyam Awal ended up without a land title, his portion of the property is likely to be acquired by the municipality for a road-widening project. The family is planning to build a one-storey house for now, and save on rent.Amul Thapa, who took <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/06/23/the-baby-who-lived/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the now-iconic image</a> of Nepal Army rescuer Dipak Rai lifting Sonish from the rubble, visits the Awals regularly, but is frustrated by the state’s apathy towards the survivors.“The rescue bought the family international fame, even the Prime Minister visited them but they remain where they are, their house is the only one left to be rebuilt in that lane,” says Thapa.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce53c9c7e80680e0966f5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1500"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Nepal Army that played a crucial role in the rescue of Sonish has been paying for the education of both the Awal children through <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2016/04/24/scholarship-for-miracle-baby/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">a scholarship they set up for until they graduate from high school</a>. After finishing his primary school, Sonish will attend the Army’s high school in Sallaghari.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121148/636ce53e9c7e80680e0966f6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Sonish, who celebrated his sixth birthday in October, does not remember that fateful day, but he has grown up looking at the images of himself. Pointing at a cut-out of his picture from a newspaper from six years ago, he says he wants to become a solider when he grows up.At the site of the rescue, Rashmila asks her son where he was trapped. Sonish has been told the story so often that he points to the spot above a half-buried door, and replies cheerfully: “Right here, I was underneath here.”

Monika Deupala

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Miracle Boy, six years after Nepal quake

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCjJUL0hZmgIt was a warm Saturday morning three years ago when Rasmila Awal walked over to a nearby shop to buy provisions, leaving her four-month-old baby Sonish and 10-year-old daughter Sonia at home. The baby was asleep and Sonia was watching tv when the whole building started rattling and shaking.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca619c7e80680e02f309jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="130" height="101"/>Sonia remembers plaster falling from the ceiling and a big gash appearing on the walls. Instinctively, she ran out of the house, remembered she had left her little brother inside, rushed back in, picked up the baby and was trying to get out <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/05/13/tears-of-joy/">when it collapsed</a> on top of them.She tried to hold on to her little brother, but as the walls came down on top of her, she lost her grip on the baby and was knocked unconscious.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca619c7e80680e02f30ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>At the shop, Rasmila felt the ground swaying and knew immediately that it was an earthquake. She ran back, and crumpled on the ground when she saw her house in ruins with the two children inside.“My feet were shaking, I couldn’t get up, I wanted to scream for help, but no sound came out of my mouth,” Rasmila recalls. The neighbours immediately started digging, and soon saw a girl’s leg sticking out of the debris. Sonia was alive, but unconscious.The rescuers dug some more but couldn’t find Sonish. The ground shook restlessly with aftershocks as night fell. Rasmila kept a silent vigil even after rescuers gave up the search, and neighbours prepared to sleep out in the open.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca649c7e80680e02f30bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000">Just then, she heard a feeble wail from beneath the ruins. Army rescuers were called in, and after digging right through the night, they finally brought out Sonish, covered in dust but with barely a scratch on him. He had been <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/06/23/the-baby-who-lived/">under the rubble</a> for 22 hours.“I cannot describe that feeling of relief, I hugged him tight, all my prayers were answered,” remembers Rasmila. The baby started sucking his thumb, and looked around seemingly to ask what the fuss was all about.Three years later, it is Sonish who runs to the door when he hears the bell ring. He is a playful and inquisitive boy, and is excited to have visitors.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca689c7e80680e02f30cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000">Rasmila’s husband is a truck driver and is out most of the day. The family is still homeless, and live with the two children in one rented room. There is talk of land being appropriated to widen the road, so the house has not been rebuilt.The Nepal Army, which helped in the rescue has given Sonish and Sonia <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2016/04/24/scholarship-for-miracle-baby/">scholarships</a> till they go to college. After he finishes primary school, Sonish will attend the Army’s high school in Sallaghari.Rasmila says the iconic photograph of Sonish by Amul Thapa brought the family fame, but not much else. However, she feels blessed: “At least I have both my children, and we are together.”<h3>Amul baby</h3><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca6b9c7e80680e02f30djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="806"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Amul Thapa was in his newsroom in Baneswor when the building started shaking violently. His reporter’s instincts kicked in, and he grabbed his camera bag and rushed to Dharara where 60 people had been killed when the tower collapsed.“Instead of taking pictures, we were helping rescue people from under the rubble,” Thapa recalls.Only then did he decide to call home to find out how his family was doing in Bhaktapur. They told him about the great damage in the town, and how there was one house that had collapsed trapping children underneath the rubble.“The soldiers were digging frantically and the family was standing around weeping and praying. It didn’t feel right to be taking pictures, so I went home,” Thapa says.Next morning, he went back to the collapsed house. The soldiers were still digging because they could hear the boy’s cries from beneath the debris. At about 10am, they found four-month-old Sonish Awal trapped underneath a wooden beam, which had actually protected him as the walls and floors collapsed all around.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110710114/6368ca6f9c7e80680e02f30ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1100" height="660"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Thapa clicked away: Rasmila’s tears of sorrow had turned into tears of joy, the baby was covered in dirt as he was extricated carefully from the rubble, and finally the now-famous photograph of rescue soldier Dipak Rai holding Sonish up amidst applause and relief which made it to the folding front page of Nepali Times and Himal Khabarpatrika that week (above).Says Thapa: “I was able to tell the story of the child and the family to the whole world. My photographs made Sonish famous worldwide, and the story did the same for me. It was not just a picture, it symbolised hope and survival.”Thapa often visits the family and helps in any way he can. He now works for Naya Patrika.Read Also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/06/23/the-baby-who-lived/">The baby who lived</a>, Sahina Shrestha<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/survivors-of-2015-Nepal">Not so lucky</a>, Sahina Shrestha<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/headline/Miracle-baby,2987">Miracle baby</a>, Smriti Basnet

Bhaktapur's Miracle boy at 3

We often see ourselves reflected in the other. For someone who grew up in Kathmandu Valley in the eighties and nineties, this maxim comes alive with an even greater force. Nepal’s media ecosystem was dismal, the school curriculum was narrow and did not provide opportunities for creative expression. Perhaps that is why I became obsessed with MTV videos and Bollywood films. I saw my developing self reflected in these story-lines and razzmatazz. When the media and education system do not engage the public and reflect myriad interests, aspirations and lifestyles of the population, citizens get detached and disconnected from their roots. I left for America for further studies, and was somewhat determined to never return to Nepal. It was a country full of potholes and black-outs. But foreigners have been fascinated with our country for decades. In the early 19th century, Francis Buchanan-Hamilton led a pioneering expedition and documented more than a thousand species of plants native to the region. Almost a century later, in 1905, Frenchman Sylvan Levi published ‘the first attempt to produce a comprehensive study of Nepal’, drawing on not just indigenous but available Chinese and European sources as well. After Nepal opened up in the 1950s, different kinds of foreigners have traveled here -- most notably, cold-war era spies disguised as diplomats, and later came the hippies. I returned to Nepal in 2013 and was primarily struck by two major demographics - the artists and the expats. Energised by the recent revolution, the creatives were making vibrant, powerful works. The expats, on the other hand, demonstrated a different way to navigate life in Kathmandu Valley. These two groups of people re-introduced Nepal to me and I began seeing my country and my hometown with a renewed perspective. Which is why one particular image from Giovanna Caruso’s ongoing show at the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank">Kalā</a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank"> Salon</a> curated by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/facades-and-flowers-from-nepal-to-italy" target="_blank">Sophia L Pandé</a> instantly caught my attention -- rather, it called out to me, as if it was composed for me, framing a key moment from my own life. Its title is, coincidentally, 2013. Like most of her other works, the pen-and-ink drawing is punctuated by an explosion of watercolour: a woman standing confidently in front of a Newa-style house, a leg arched up, as if she is fixing a strap around an ankle before stepping out on an adventure. The watercolour depicts a rainbow streaming out of a pot through a second-floor window. The rest of the details are rendered in realism – clusters of garlic and onion hanging to dry from the rafters, and further down a stack of corn. There are towels drying, even an old water pump.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="art review Kala Salon"> </figure>  When I walked over to this artwork with Caruso, she chuckled, “Ah, this work is a celebration of my 30 years in Nepal.” It was while trying to calm a restless group of students during her teaching days in Italy that Caruso first came across an iconic image of Kathmandu Darbar Square. She had found an old box of slides and while projecting images from the Himalaya to engage her students, the artist was determined to travel to Nepal. The first flat she rented was close to the square and the view from her rooftop was the same as the one she had encountered inside her classroom. She has been traveling to Nepal every year since. Some of her favourite drawings depict Khokana in morning fog. From 1993-2006, she drew murals at Ram Mandir and Pashupatinath, asking sadhus to guide her and correct her depictions. Caruso received a classical education, which means she was trained to focus on perspective and geometry while capturing mainly portraits and still lives. She is influenced by M C Escher and his explorations of mathematics and symmetry. No wonder she finds the Darbar Square architecture so compelling. She also names as inspiration Gustave Dore, whose style is different from Escher’s and I can see how she has fused these influences in her body of work: Escher’s austerity complimented and slightly dislodged by Dore’s comics and caricatures. “Before starting, the painting needs to be complete in my mind,” she explains as we pass a series of portraits titled Saraswati, Lakshmi, Kali Dancing, and Durga dominated by a roaring tiger. “These are all real people, I ask my friends and family members to sit for me.” The Kali in the drawing has the artist’s fiery copper red hair and she is dancing, surrounded by various men with flowing hair. The artist seems to have experimented here, drawing the revelers from above, and indulging in playful abandon. Depictions of Nepal are often in danger of being exoticised. But Caruso is familiar with her subjects, knows our alleys and temples intimately. Her colours and compositions are passionate and dense. In an essay, Anirudh S Chari writes the artist’s work is splashed with rapturous energy and most drawings have a carnivalesque element. ‘Kali Dancing’ illustrates this idea perfectly in that she has turned Kali’s usual fearsome portrayal on its head by depicting and embracing another feminine principle - the capacity to celebrate and create joy. Apart from drawing inspiration from Hindu goddesses and Nepal’s multi-colored rituals, Caruso has also drawn the Sumerian Ianna and Lillith and the Egyptian Nut. She enjoys drawing Nataraja, and says it is because “Shiva is a good husband”. We stand another painting titled 100 Days a Lion. “There is a saying in Italian, Better one day as a lion than a hundred days as a sheep, but I thought why not 100 Days a Lion?” This sentiment captures this nomadic artist’s spirit spanning four decades, in which she has captured urban energy as well as the sacred imagery of ‘life diaries on canvas’. From Venezia to Kathmandu and Journeys In Between Giovanna Caruso The Kalā Salon Chhaya Centre Mall, Thamel Till 12 December 10am- 8pm

Looking at Nepal from Venice

The COP30 climate summit in Brazil ended this week <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/cop30-to-cop31">without tangible commitment</a> from countries to reduce fossil fuel emissions. Its impact will be felt halfway around the planet here in Mustang which is already seeing weather extremes.&nbsp; Geographically, Mustang is on the Tibetan Plateau, north of the main Himalayan chain. It is in the rainshadow, and a high altitude desert. Winter snow has failed for eight of the past ten years, unseasonal blizzards, and frequent glacial collapse leading to floods. The Kali Gandaki Corridor follows one of the deepest gorges in the world between Annapurna and Dhaulagiri, the world’s seventh and tenth highest peaks. Lush pine forests cover the southern flanks of these mountains, but within a few kilometers the vegetation undergoes a dramatic change to a landscape of red, brown and grey cliffs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_c66ade5e32d20530003abba893869426d75b42d10e4725c28361d738b402721f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251129021144_c66ade5e32d20530003abba893869426d75b42d10e4725c28361d738b402721f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  It gets more arid the more north you go. Snow and rain in Upper Mustang used to fall mostly in winter, but now there are cloudbursts and blizzards at other times of the year.&nbsp; In the ancient walled city of Lo Manthang, elderly men have gathered at a local tea shop to drink the salted butter tea. Some sip home-made liquor infused with medicinal herbs.&nbsp; The sun has set, the temperature plummets, and the wind howls outside. Everyone agrees it does not snow like it used to any more. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/comings-and-goings-in-mustang">Comings and goings in Mustang</a>, Shrijan Pandey  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_ffaabf00a533984cadf160b2e56734cddb6f64d1a660401417d2982a3818f161.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251129021144_ffaabf00a533984cadf160b2e56734cddb6f64d1a660401417d2982a3818f161" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> <figcaption>The flat mud roofs are leaking because rain is now falling where there used to be snow.</figcaption> </figure>  “The weather has changed drastically over the years,” says Lopsang Tsomfel Bista, Chair of the Lo Dekhar Municipality. “It doesn’t snow in winter, and it falls when it is not supposed to.”&nbsp; Lack of snow means that in spring, the pastures where nomadic herders graze their yaks and goats do not have enough grass. Previously, winter snow on the meadows would seep slowly into the soil with the spring thaw, bringing out fresh grass shoots. &nbsp; In recent years, even if there is winter precipitation, it falls as rain. The soil is not able to soak in rain as efficiently, and torrential downpours increase the risk of soil erosion and floods.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_93ca69bec63577c5f6cbff8db809c11bce2d8fe01469d3374c20a6f20a7c93f1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251129021144_93ca69bec63577c5f6cbff8db809c11bce2d8fe01469d3374c20a6f20a7c93f1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  “There used to be up to 1,500 mountain goats in every village, but now they have stopped keeping livestock,” says Bista. This is due to lack of grass and new lowland diseases moving up the mountains. Mustang has lost 28% of its population between the census in 2011 and 2021, and outmigration also means there are fewer people left to carry on a pastoral lifestyle.&nbsp; “Herders have asked for vet services in their communities because there are new insect-borne diseases,” says Yangchen Dolker Gurung of the Lo Gyalpo Jigme Foundation. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/winds-of-change-sweep-mustang">Winds of change sweep Mustang</a>, Jagannath Adhikari  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_902593732af83db5792128be5a3bd87c00e0c62ff894afa4c98bffde64e96d26.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251129021144_902593732af83db5792128be5a3bd87c00e0c62ff894afa4c98bffde64e96d26" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> <figcaption>The mud walls of monasteries and homes are crumbling because of unseasonal rainfall. </figcaption> </figure>  Mustang is flanked to the east and west by mountains that rise up to 6,000m, and glaciers on their slopes are melting fast, turning into lakes. With the rising temperature, the risk of Glacier Lakes Outburst Floods (GLOFs) has also risen.&nbsp; At the rate global average temperatures are rising, scientists say that the Himalaya will lose up to two-thirds of the remaining ice caps. When glaciers melt, it not just raises the risk from GLOFs but also affects water supply downstream.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025112903114_1a6af68965ded5f23897a623bec2e2bed0da4c6663f0af5b5bf79883f2a11c9f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2025112903114_1a6af68965ded5f23897a623bec2e2bed0da4c6663f0af5b5bf79883f2a11c9f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1022" height="767" loading="lazy" alt="Mustang map NT"> </figure>  FLOODS Ringzin Sangbo Gurung in Chumjung village recalls the devastation caused by a GLOF on 8 July this year that swept away a newly inaugurated bridge. The floodplain is now strewn with boulders and sand brought down by the flood which caused damage worth Rs28 million. The flood also damaged the irrigation canals that feed riverside farms where locals grew potato, buckwheat, millet and spinach. Nyima Wangmo Gurung runs a homestay in Nyamdok village, and says: “We don’t have water when we need it. And there is too much when we don’t need it.”&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mustang-forced-to-adapt-to-climate-crisis">Mustang forced to adapt to climate c</a><a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mustang-forced-to-adapt-to-climate-crisis">risis</a>, Ronan Wallace and Yungdrung Tsewang Gurung  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_7ae98274ea20e910311ec4431ba0aa3ecd9fe92caaed029a33c185198b33d0d2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20251129021144_7ae98274ea20e910311ec4431ba0aa3ecd9fe92caaed029a33c185198b33d0d2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  With warming temperatures, farmers in Mustang are growing lowland vegetables which was not possible before in plastic greenhouses. The farms depended on snowmelt in spring to irrigate their fields, but there is less snow to melt in past years. “The last heavy snowfall in winter was about eight years ago, since then we have got little or no snow,” says Tashi Norbu Gurung, Chair of Lo Manthang Rural Municipality. “This affects farmers during the April planting season.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_010e09f4e9335f39c62f4d6027489c86423b3d10ddfb83558820f6a7a56a477b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20251129021144_010e09f4e9335f39c62f4d6027489c86423b3d10ddfb83558820f6a7a56a477b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  It is not just lack of snowfall that is a problem. Springs have gone dry, and some villages like Dhey have been forced to relocate because life became &nbsp;impossible without water.&nbsp; Villagers of Samjung also <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/climate-migration-is-already-happening">migrated</a> to Namashung, near a river when water sources dried up. But now the new settlements are threatened by GLOFs. Karma Gurung, who runs a lodge in Choser, remembers the big flood of 35 years ago which swept away farms and covered them with debris. There have been more frequent, but destructive floods since then in Kagbeni, Lubra and other valleys. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mixed-blessings-in-mustang">Mixed blessings in Mustang</a>, Mukesh Pokhrel  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_da2212bc1ad49c17d126e24bbd92d3fca18e3e6bdd58ac61df14c962deb2edcd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="20251129021144_da2212bc1ad49c17d126e24bbd92d3fca18e3e6bdd58ac61df14c962deb2edcd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  MUD WALLS Because snowfall has been replaced by rain, Mustang’s traditional mud-wall architecture is now in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/leaky-roofs-on-the-roof-of-the-world">danger of collapsing</a>. The homes here are closely packed, have flat roofs stacked with juniper branches for firewood. With rain in place of snow, the roofs now leak.&nbsp; Women in Thinkar village say their walls are falling apart. Some homes have collapsed, and families forced to move out. Yangchen Dolker Gurung of the Lo Gyalpo Jigme Foundation says locals need plastic sheets, cement walls and corrugated roofs to cope with the rain.&nbsp; But this would mean that Mustang’s villages would lose their traditional architecture style.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_59c475cdde3bee8d03ed05e9038c0cf36f1acd31e3d3596f145469e5b4404d9d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="20251129021144_59c475cdde3bee8d03ed05e9038c0cf36f1acd31e3d3596f145469e5b4404d9d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  The ancient 1.5m thick mud walls around Lo Manthang built 600 years ago, the king’s palace, and monasteries are also at risk. “Changes in precipitation patterns, altering the intensity, frequency, and timing of rainfall and snowfall, have damaged traditional and cultural infrastructure, particularly mud-built private and public buildings as well as religious and heritage sites,” explains Bhawani Pandey at the Lo Gyalpo Jigme Foundation. “With the rain, and because the monuments and stupas are made from mud, they have eroded. There is leakage, and the monuments are in a dilapidated condition.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-smarter-himalayan-infrastructure/" target="_blank">Climate-smarter Himalayan infrastructure</a>, Sonia Awale  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251129021144_dfc8c93a0a8619893f0d97076d1f9cbba3818e1cc716a903ff9908dbb8939ef6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_18" data-image-id="20251129021144_dfc8c93a0a8619893f0d97076d1f9cbba3818e1cc716a903ff9908dbb8939ef6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Too little snow, too much rain NT"> </figure>  The Lo Manthang Rural Municipality along with Lo Gyalpo Jigme Foundation, are working on a Local Adaptation Plan of Action and the Disaster Preparedness and Response Plan, which the Nepal government has made mandatory for every municipality. “We took a bottom-up approach and collected data from each village, they know best the impact of climate change and what their needs are,” says Yangchen Gurung. To address the hazards of climate change, local communities and municipalities are adapting through their own resources, without waiting for outside help to improve water conservation, control soil erosion and protect from flood.&nbsp; Says Pandey, “We are returning to conserving traditional drought-resistant crop varieties, organic pest and disease control, cultivating high-value crops and fruits, and practicing sustainable pasture management through rotational grazing. We have also developed new building codes for homes that incorporate water-resistant coating for mud roofs and walls.” &nbsp; Additional Reporting by Tashi Wangyal. &nbsp;

Too little snow, too much rain

It is quite a feat for just two actors on a darkened stage to hold an audience spellbound for more than one hour. Yet, ‘के? Us.’ at Kausi Theatre does just that. It is a thought-provoking but baffling work that leaves the audience questioning reality, the recurring metaphors in this intriguing and powerful dark comedy haunting us for days afterwards.&nbsp; The unsettling sound of deep breathing mingles with percussive drumming and a driving guitar that pulsates amidst a red glow, dimly illuminating shadowy structures charred by fire. A door leads to what is later revealed to be the ancestral home of two brothers which is ‘under renovation’. One of the brothers Ashim (Bijaya Tamrakar) lives in Nepal caring for a supposedly comatose mother who is only depicted by a tree draped with red LED lights that circulate arterial blood corpuscles. Visiting him is a long-lost brother Aaryan (Eelum Dixit) who has returned (deported?) from America.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The stage is littered with scattered paper trash, a run-down motorcycle chassis, a tattered sofa, and beat-up table and chairs. The stage is set for a sinister plot. Are the characters to be punished in perdition?&nbsp; It does not take long for the audience to grasp that this is an apocalyptic Nepal that, following absurdist traditions, could exist at any time in the future or the present day <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/election-vs-escalation">post-GenZ protest state</a>. Ashim and Aaryan Adhikari have reunited after 15 years. Ashim, the younger brother, has been burdened with the responsibility of taking care of their brain-dead mother. Aaryan, returns after having migrated to the US, where he married, had children, divorced, and lost everything. He has been at “minus 20 and is now back to zero”.&nbsp; The brothers have intense back-and-forths that expose their cynicism, the conversation tangentially alluding to Nepal’s unstable political landscape, migration, an economy in shambles, aging population, alcoholism and other mental health issues. Even the sibling argument about the relative merits of momos and burgers seems metaphorical. The stagecraft uses lighting and sound effects brilliantly, transporting the audience to a surreal world in which Tamrakar and Dixit improvise their lines — no two shows are exactly the same, although the overall plotline has continuity.&nbsp; In the first scene, Aaryan approaches the house tentatively, creeping rodent-like, and carrying a briefcase and an old-fashioned lantern. And at the end, Ashim screams, “I am chaos.” Is this the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Choas play review"> </figure>  At one point Aaryan seems perturbed by the sound of protest outside (the Gen Z movement?) and the taut atmosphere grips the audience with fear, shock, and apprehension of the recent death and destruction.&nbsp; Throughout the play there is the sound of breathing, as if through a ventilator, a thumping heartbeat, the morbid buzzing of flies and the glowing red LED veins -- signifying the presence of the comatose Aama. She is featured in a prologue-esque home video at the start of the play in which she reminisces about her two sons and rues her failing memory.&nbsp; The sound of breathing gets accentuated each time a brother gets closer to the tree, and it seems to fuel Ashim’s belief that Aama may be brain-dead but she is still among them. This play can go as deep as each individual in the audience wants it to go.&nbsp; The silenced, comatose mother could be Nepali Aama muted by an entrenched patriarchy. Or, she could be the symbol of a helpless country while her children fight over the ruins of what is left. The cake cutting is a delightfully Shakespearean subplot where we wonder if one of the brothers is going to poison, or knife, the other. The message is clear: how can we move forward if it is brother against brother? The stairs signify political transition (elections, constitutional change, new coalitions) promising upward movement, but eventually lead to falls, leaving the nation exactly where it started, or worse. The mother’s terminal illness evokes an ailing state apparatus, hollowed out by corruption and deep-seated social decay. Yet the brothers cling to an irrational hope — instead of confronting the harsh truth and pursuing radical solutions, suggesting a blind faith in the mother.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The brothers are lost. Aaryan climbs up stairs that lead nowhere, Ashim holds on to unrealistic hope that somehow Aama will get better. Tamrakar and Dixit deliver powerful performances, even more remarkable for the fact that they are improvising their lines as they go along. When Aaryan breaks a wall and directly addresses the audience, spectators turn from being passive observers to active participants (‘the society’). The audience then become oglers in this drama, suddenly made self-aware of our role as the scrutinising, cavilling voyeurs that society represents. There is some discomfort of being watched and judged.&nbsp; By asking his brother what he is afraid of while pointing at the audience, Aaryan suggests that the brother's (and perhaps the character's core) fear is not just of the house, or the mother's illness, but of external judgment and societal censure. After the stage goes dark, the applause takes some time. Audience members shuffle out in silence, minds reeling from the collective soul-searching they have just participated in.&nbsp; After ‘के? Us.’ the din at Teku intersection outside sounds different as we wait for our Pathao ride below the खरी tree where <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Shukra+Raj+Shastri&amp;client=safari&amp;sca_esv=75e8315709cd5118&amp;rls=en&amp;sxsrf=AE3TifMJhwukjdBBT0n4QcQWe8IYSaEVsw%3A1764648053799&amp;ei=dWQuaYbIMOy94-EPn4ygyAE&amp;ved=2ahUKEwiU1ciogp6RAxXq3TQHHeo9LBIQgK4QegQIARAB&amp;uact=5&amp;oq=nepal+tree+where+martyrs+were+hanged&amp;gs_lp=Egxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAiJG5lcGFsIHRyZWUgd2hlcmUgbWFydHlycyB3ZXJlIGhhbmdlZDIIECEYoAEYwwRIug5QAFiNC3AAeAGQAQCYAc4BoAHrCKoBBTAuNS4xuAEDyAEA-AEBmAIDoALlBMICBRAAGO8FmAMA4gMFEgExIECSBwUwLjEuMqAHzw-yBwUwLjEuMrgH5QTCBwcwLjIuMC4xyAcM&amp;sclient=gws-wiz-serp&amp;mstk=AUtExfCLIneLVW3SFBzxBc964wFcTJ936tcAPSDcvNKljck0PIqDJddMZ_t8Pg610M98MCx14aNdnyLHs9QM0jWLhI7JYmkPhugX1ZHfSQvdCHZE9E5m2_ZQY5Jr893UcGjQfpabtA_C48NfB9Pg56uYMOmTtEBEcGuvz3d96Qaifyb86sI8mAkrRNo_367cv_xmFjLZ55iQkfHtORuOvZSUkIdMvAdpweuf4jPjjI4anbv9lc-uCImdP0JSvtvEGL8ePxwsWWOzYpIbjNP1zofjcWXK&amp;csui=3" target="_blank">Shukra Raj Shastri</a> was hanged in 1941 by the Rana regime. Language and Literature Students, 2026.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="1350" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  ‘के? Us.’ Kausi Theatre, Teku Till 7 December (except 2 December) Bookings: +977 9842156109, 9842574607

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

Shantanu Dhakal wakes up to a cold misty dawn, dons his college uniform and fastens his tie, tightening it carefully so as not to dislodge the tracheostomy tube protruding from his throat.
Gingerly, he brushes his teeth, mindful not to hurt the wound on his left cheek, where a bullet tore through during the GenZ protests on 8 September in the highway town of Itahari in eastern Nepal.&nbsp;
Dhakal, 18, came home from college that day three months ago and then took the bus to Itahari to join some friends who were protesting in front of the sub-metropolitan city office. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowd was chanting anti-corruption slogans and holding up placards.
Like most young Nepalis, Dhakal and his friends had been angered by videos on social media of the offspring of Nepal’s rich and powerful flaunting their lavish lifestyles.&nbsp;
"That was the trigger for me to join the protest, it opened my eyes to just how widespread nepotism and corruption was," Dhakal told Nepali Times.&nbsp;
The police arrested a few students, angering the crowd even more. They massed at the gate of a nearby police station to demand their friends be released. &nbsp;
Dhakal was standing across the street from the police station when the first shots rang out. The crowd scattered. As he ran for cover, there was a searing pain in his left jaw. Blood was streaming and it took some time for him to realise he had been shot.&nbsp;
“I was bleeding profusely and couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, there was a ringing in my ears,” Dhakal recalls. “I collected myself and continued to run, fearing that I would be shot a second time.”
Dhakal collapsed some distance away, and a fellow protestor took him to a nearby hospital, where doctors bandaged his jaw. He was referred to Birat Medical Teaching Hospital, where surgeons immediately performed an emergency operation. &nbsp;
The bullet had torn through his left jaw, shattering the bone, teeth, and soft tissue. Blood had rushed into his throat, obstructing the airway so doctors first performed a tracheostomy, installing a tube in his throat to help him keep breathing. A week later, the doctors reconstructed his jaw with metallic plates, grafting skin from his chest and transplanting it to the lower left side of his face.&nbsp;
Dhakal spent three weeks in hospital before being discharged. But the relief of being home was marred by disturbing thoughts. He says, “Just sitting there doing nothing began to take a toll on my mental health.” &nbsp;
Since he was always interested in content creation and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@docsbyshantanu">producing short documentaries</a>, he decided to document online his near-death experience and post-protest life.&nbsp;
Shantanu Dhakal’s Instagram and TikTok <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shantanu__dhakal/">posts are simple, short videos</a> every other day about his treatment process, dressing his wound and cleaning his tracheostomy tube, attending events with others injured during the protests, and scenes from everyday life in his family farm.&nbsp;
The comment section has Nepalis and people from around the world reaching out to ask how he is doing and keeping his spirits up. Dhakal now has a caring social media community, and he uses the platforms to keep in touch with other injured protestors across the country.&nbsp;
Life is returning to a new normal. This week, he returned to college to resume classes after more than two months and is making up for lost time. He has adjusted to speaking and eating with the tube, although the pain never quite goes away.&nbsp;
“I can eat mostly fine, but it is still difficult to speak,” he says. Soon, he will go to hospital for his fortnightly follow-up, and doctors will determine when his tracheostomy tube can be removed.
Like other young Nepalis, Dhakal is now even more politically engaged and actively reads the news of the interim government installed after the GenZ protests.&nbsp;
With the 5 March elections only three months away, young Nepalis like Dhakal hope that the elections will throw out the old and bring in the new. He is among the more than 800,000 new voters who have registered.&nbsp;
“The most important thing is that we have stable government,” he says. “As far as candidates go, an ideal one for me would be a person who prioritises health and education. But if the candidates in my constituency are not up to mark, I may not vote.”
Dhakal along with other injured protesters and relatives of those killed met &nbsp;Energy Minister Kulman Ghising, who has launched his own Ujyalo Nepal Party, and he is cautiously optimistic about the work of the current leadership. &nbsp;
It is a different story in Kathmandu, where Prime Minister Sushila Karki is struggling to manage the expectations of various youth collectives while trying to convince the old parties to participate in elections.&nbsp;
While the UML and NC are actively trying to delegitimise Karki’s government as they prepare to hold their respective general conventions, they are also preparing to give out tickets for elections.&nbsp;
Self-proclaimed GenZ leaders who used Discord to elect Karki prime minister are putting up their own conditions for the polls, even demanding her resignation for failing to meet their demands. This is in sharp contrast to the feelings of many of those injured during the protests who want elections so the nation can heal, and move on.

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Too little snow, too much rain

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

A new normal