https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHEfw0E8LdgIn a time when everything from medicine to marriage has shifted into a digital medium, there is something almost spiritual about a vinyl record: the weight of the thing, the way it sits in both hands, the ample real estate on the cardboard cover for actual artwork, lyrics, and the occasional essay.The music sounds crisp and crackled, so warm and wholesome that any imperfections or skips only add to the authenticity of the experience. The thing about old records is that they actually smell good: that sweet, lost, analogue smell of dust and time and all of the hands that have held it before.Vinyl pushes one into hyperbole, and modern collectors of old records tend to be privileged enough to entertain deliberate and impractical passions, to be hopeless connoisseurs of the senses – which, in this age of digital hyper-convenience, can be a beautiful thing.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111120/636cd0d99c7e80680e08f87cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="800"/>This is a story about three fellow dreamers, three dedicated friends who have never actually all met in person, three successful entrepreneurs and professionals who, inexplicably, decided to start a vinyl record company targeting a country where you still cannot buy a record player.In researching this article, I struggled to understand whose idea it was to start a record label in the first place. So I will start with Sushil Koirala, a public health expert who advises international policymakers on pandemics from a small room stacked floor to ceiling with vintage stereo equipment in Bangkok.When not fighting HIV/AIDS across Asia, Sushil was spending his late-night hours on the internet, searching for antique Nepali records. During an ultimately unsuccessful pursuit of a rare Japanese pressing of a Narayan Gopal record, he met Neeraj Gorkhaly.Neeraj, in keeping with our story, is a public policy expert who advises the US Government on physics and astronomy. Based in Washington DC, he describes his 15 years with the National Academies of Sciences as a means to an end. And that end is collecting records and philanthropy. He received the aforementioned Narayan Gopal record as a wedding present, and said he will “carry it with me to my grave”.Kiran Byanjankar rounds out the trio. Kiran’s introduction to vinyl was listening to his ठुलो दाइ play Pink Floyd and Deep Purple on an ancient wind-up gramophone at their home in the Chyasal neighbourhood of Patan. He first met Neeraj at a cassette shop in New Road where Neeraj worked, dubbing bootleg mixtapes and manning the counter.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/on-a-high-note/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Tibetan music in Nepal’s sacred valley</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111120/636cd0dc9c7e80680e08f87djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1920" height="1080"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>By this point, Kiran had found punk and heavy metal, and was in pursuit of Megadeth. After an unsuccessful attempt to fail his interview for a study visa to America, Kiran reluctantly ended up in Chicago. He completed his computer engineering degree and promptly started up a series of successful Nepali restaurants. As his businesses grew, Kiran started collecting vinyl records and taking his employees out to heavy metal concerts as an annual bonus.And this is how Wild Yak Records started: three friends, spread across the globe, spend countless hours chatting about records on the internet and decide to start a strictly-vinyl Nepali record label. There was never a question about where to begin.<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/making-the-sound-of-music-in-patan,3976" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Saving the sound of music</a>, Sebastian Wellingbat“There is no other singer who is as beloved in Nepal as Narayan Gopal,” says Sushil. Narayan Gopal – the स्वर सम्राट himself – in many ways helped invent Nepali popular music. His voice, smooth as scotch, silky as the Queen’s sari, was on heavy rotation across Nepal and Darjeeling for nearly four decades, and came to define the fundamentals of Nepali film soundtracks and pop.There are few Nepalis in popular culture, and even fewer outside of the monarchy or the Maoists, that achieve a level of fame and ubiquity that allows them to shed their last name.Narayan Gopal Gurucharya, born to a Newa family in the very heart of old Kathmandu, was one. His art was also inseparable from his legend, which invited plentiful speculation and rumour: the prodigious drinking and smoking, the whispered affections for (and from) Queen Aishwarya, partnerships with poets and writers that all somehow crumbled – and cumulating in an early death in 1990 from his excesses at 51.It was as if this life could not keep him around, and his songs about love and loss were real, lived experiences. He tapped into the sublime melancholy of the soul -- the kind of thing that led his contemporaries in the American South to coin the blues.In 1961, under the tutelage of King Mahendra, His Majesty’s Government founded Ratna Recording Sansthan, which paired with Radio Nepal to press records of Nepali national music. Most of the recording was done in Nepal or India on old reel-to-reel tapes, then shipped off to Calcutta or Japan for pressing onto vinyl. (There are rumours of records made in the former Soviet Union but these remain as elusive as the yeti.)These records all made their way back to Nepal and were played on the radio or listened to on the scratchy gramophones that now gather dust in the attics, or hold cocktail glasses in the well-appointed living rooms of Kathmandu’s gentry. This lasted for about two decades, until it was thoroughly and permanently made irrelevant with the introduction of affordable cassette tapes in the mid-1980s.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111120/636cd0e09c7e80680e08f87ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="599" height="602"><figure><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Narayan Gopal would have been 81 this year. Nobody really knows how many recordings of his songs actually exist. His legend, now amplified on the internet, claims something in the neighbourhood of 500, but all estimates point to something closer to 130-150 recordings.As Ratna Recording shut down, the original tapes were moved to Nepal Television. After that, it’s murky. But thankfully, Music Nepal has carefully saved copies of the analogue recordings of many of the original recordings from that era.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111120/636cd0e49c7e80680e08f880jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="644" height="859">In 2018, Sushil tracked down the original recordings at Music Nepal and had them copied directly onto vintage reel-to-reel tapes, imported from France. It was clear to everyone at Wild Yak that this would be a completely analogue process from start to finish. The master copies were then sent to Ohio where they were painstakingly remastered.“We made every attempt to keep the old sound intact,” recalls Sushil. “In some cases, this even meant sacrificing cleanness or quality, but we wanted the records to sound like they originally did.” Before long, 300 copies of Swor Samrat Narayan Gopal – Golden Collection were pressed into metallic gold vinyl records, and began their slow journey to eager collectors across the Planet.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18795#.X-_siy8w3BJ">Songs of our past</a>, Amar Gurung<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111120/636cd0e79c7e80680e08f881jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1100" height="733"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Was the effort worth it? It seems so. Kiran told me: “The record left me spellbound.” Sushil adds: “When I first listened to it I could make out Narayan Gopal’s Newa accent.”Kashish Das Shrestha, a former radio DJ and editor of Wave magazine, spent a few of his own more productive years searching fruitlessly for Narayan Gopal’s original recordings. He was thrilled to receive his copy of the new record: “It’s phenomenal. Something I’ve wanted for over a decade.”Of the 300 records, only 50 remain available for purchase. With these strong, albeit modest, sales of the Narayan Gopal collection, I couldn’t help but ask again: Was all this effort worth it? “This was never started to be a profitable business,” Neeraj replied. “We roll all of our income into paying for the next project.”With this in mind, Wild Yak has nearly completed its next album. With the hope of tapping into a younger generation of enthusiasts, a Hanuman-esque bright orange pressing of Bipul Chhetri’s Sketches of Darjeeling will be ready for distribution in January.“Bipul is like the new Narayan Gopal. Everyone loves him,” says Kiran.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/eastern-melodies-in-kathmandu/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Eastern melodies in Kathmandu</a>, Sewa Bhattarai<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111120/636cd0ea9c7e80680e08f882jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1375" height="916">After this, the label has plans for compilations of Kumar Basnet, Aruna Lama, and a selection of popular Nepali rock and roll from the ’70s and 80s – bringing back bands like The Influence, Cross Roads, and 1974 AD.But first, they need to locate the original tapes.When I first received my own copy of Swar Samrat in September, I had just returned to the United States. Awash in the Covid sterility of America, I was quickly nostalgic for Kathmandu. As I pulled the record out of the dust jacket, I was struck by the gold colour, shining like a storefront on New Road during the week before Dasain.I put the record carefully on the turntable and set the needle. Out of my speakers crept a flute and loping bass, lightly dusted with reverb. A few seconds in, The Emperor’s voice emerged crisp and rich, sweet as जेरी and चिया, I was transported.मेरो गीत भन्ने अधिकार छैन,गीत को पो म हुंमेरो गीत हैन।I have no right to call this my song,The song doesn’t belong to me, I belong to the song.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/ex-refugee-takes-refuge-in-music/">Ex-refugee takes refuge in music</a>, Gopal GartoulaBen Ayers is a humanitarian, documentary filmmaker, and National Geographic Explorer based in Kathmandu.

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The sweet smell of music

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

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.

A new normal

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

Nepali Times spoke to Manoj Kumar Gyawali, CEO of Nabil Bank about the post-GenZ economic condition of the country. Excerpts:
Nepali Times: With COP30 in Brazil having failed to agree on tangible goals on phasing out fossil fuels, how important is the concept of sustainable banking in Nepal?
Manoj Kumar Gyawali: Sustainable banking is not optional anymore for countries like Nepal. It’s essential. We are one of the most climate-vulnerable countries in the world, and our financial decisions today will determine the kind of Nepal we leave behind.
When Nabil joined the Partnership for Carbon Accounting Financials (PCAF) it encouraged us to take a much closer look at our financed emissions. And the truth is, once you start measuring your impact, you can’t unsee what the numbers tell you. It naturally pushes you to rethink how and where you deploy capital.
For Nabil Bank, sustainable banking is about more than compliance, it’s about directing finance toward sectors that safeguard the environment, uplift communities, and strengthen governance. Frameworks like PCAF give us a credible, globally recognised way to measure and manage our ESG impacts. 
That level of transparency and accountability not only improves our own decision-making, it also positions Nepal to tap into blended finance and other concessional funding streams that reward responsible, forward-looking investments.
So, for Nepal, sustainable banking is not a niche activity - it’s central to how we operate.
But is sustainable banking itself sustainable, given that international commitment to climate financing is not adequate to tackle climate breakdown?
This is a concern I hear quite often, and it’s valid. Global climate finance must increase, especially for countries like Nepal. Our economy is already feeling the impact of climate change across agriculture, hydropower, tourism. But sustainable banking, in my view, does not depend solely on external funding.
For us, it’s fundamentally about managing climate and environmental risks more intelligently, understanding the footprint of our own portfolio, and reallocating capital toward climate-positive and resilient sectors. These are things we must do anyway if we want long-term financial stability. It also means embedding strong ESG practices into our daily operations, supporting social impact, advancing financial inclusion, and driving sustainable economic development.
So even if global climate finance remains inadequate, sustainable banking is planned to be sustainable for Nepal in long run. It strengthens the resilience of our financial system, safeguards our clients, and positions banks to tap into emerging opportunities in the green economy. More importantly, it ensures that Nepal’s development pathway remains environmentally responsible, socially inclusive, and anchored in good governance. For now, we are not looking at whether sustainable banking is sustainable financially but considering our responsibility as the leading bank of Nepal.
Nepal’s banks, including yours have a lot of exposure in hydropower. Is there not a need to diversify Nepal’s energy mix
Hydropower is and will remain Nepal’s strongest natural advantage. At Nabil, we have financed 56 hydropower projects across 37 rivers in 21 districts with a total installed capacity of over 3,000 MW, so we understand the scale and importance of this sector.
But we also cannot ignore the realities of climate change — unpredictable rainfall, increased glacier melt, more frequent glacier lake outburst incidents, floods, and landslides. These risks make it clear that while hydropower is essential, Nepal must diversify its energy mix to remain resilient. 
The good news is Nepal has enormous solar potential and wind corridors. Our national commitments already call for at least 15% of total energy demand to come from clean energy, with 5–10% from solar and other renewables. This creates real opportunities for banks like Nabil to support solar, wind, and emerging clean technologies alongside hydropower. We have already approved financing of 5 solar projects having a total capacity of 120 MW.
Tax rebates on EVs allowed Nepal to take a lead in adopting battery-operated vehicles in Nepal. How can we build on this to reduce our petroleum import bill?
The EV push has already shown results—we saw a reduction of nearly Rs22 billion in our petroleum import bill in 2024/25. That's a notable achievement.
But if we want to truly scale EV adoption, we need three things: More charging infrastructure that is reliable, widespread, and commercially viable, Local assembly and value creation we should be assembling EVs here, and Stable policy that gives people and businesses confidence to invest.
We are ready with financing models for EV fleets, public transport, and charging infrastructure. With the right ecosystem, Nepal can significantly cut its oil dependency.
The GenZ uprising showed the urgent need for transparency in government and investment in productive sectors to create jobs. What would be the banking sector’s role in this? 
The GenZ movement is more than a protest, it’s a clear message. Young Nepalis are demanding transparency, good governance, and real opportunities at home, and their concerns could be considered justified. The banking sector has a major responsibility: we need to direct more lending toward the real economy, sectors that create jobs, build productivity, and strengthen long-term growth, while also encouraging businesses to adopt stronger ESG practices.
Our financing has helped support around 112,000 direct jobs, with nearly 30% held by women. And through initiatives like the Nabil School of Social Entrepreneurship and our wider CSR programs, we’re working directly with communities to uplift the most vulnerable and nurture the next generation of entrepreneurs.
Across Nepal we also see evidence of haphazard over-development, at Nabil do you have guidelines about projects that result in environmental degradation?
Absolutely. We cannot afford to support development that harms the environment, it eventually becomes a financial risk as well. Environmental stewardship is one of our core priorities. Haphazard development may look profitable in the short term, but it leads to long-term economic, social, and ecological losses and ultimately becomes a financial risk. 
Nabil has a strong Environmental and Social Risk Management (ESRM) Guideline, a clear exclusion list in our credit policy, and a Sustainable Banking Policy to guide our decisions.
Every project we finance must meet both local regulations and international standards. If it doesn’t, we simply don’t fund it. Our goal is straightforward: to support development that is responsible, sustainable, and in Nepal’s long-term interest.
Nepal’s macroeconomy is looking good, remittances are up, but the economy is not growing as fast as it should. Banks have cash, but no one is borrowing. Do you see a light at the end of the tunnel?
Nepal’s economy today carries both optimism and caution. As you say, remittances are strong, reserves are healthy, and liquidity is available. Yet investment appetite remains subdued because of structural issues like political instability, slow government spending, and weak investor confidence.
That said, I do see early signs of improvement. Lower interest rates are beginning to restore public and business confidence. Rising remittances provide a safety net and fresh investment capacity for households. And if government capital expenditure continues to improve, it will act as the essential boost for private sector activity.
From Nabil’s side, we are ready to finance strong, bankable projects. With stable policies and timely execution, I believe Nepal is on a path toward gradual but meaningful economic recovery. The road ahead may be challenging, but the lights are definitely there.

narayan-gopal

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Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

Sustainable banking protects the ecology and economy