Mithila art has represented Nepal’s indigenous culture, passing down through generations in the Madhes. Now, noted artist S C Suman explores this tradition with a bit of modern touch that gives it added relevance. Each of his paintings at the ‘Mithila Cosmos VII: Journey of a Pilgrim’ exhibition at Siddhartha Art Gallery exudes culture, colours and feminism, but with added improvisations that make it contemporary. “Mithila is an art form that is mostly used by women. Women have been the ones who preserve culture and pass it to other people and upcoming generations. The art form is what it is today because of women,” explains Suman. Inaugurating the exhibition on oMonday, art historian Julia Llyod Williams spoke fondly of Nepal and Mithila art, relating how she once bought a Mithila painting she liked without knowing its historical and cultural importance to the Mithila civilisation.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216031232_729d03089084a1bc79b0678766a09e13dcd9236ebd628795eb3b8c3aafcf8981.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251216031232_729d03089084a1bc79b0678766a09e13dcd9236ebd628795eb3b8c3aafcf8981" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Mithala exhibition NT"></figure>  Suman is a self-taught artist, textile designer and a radio host from Biratnagar, and one of the country’s most celebrated artists, with national and international honours. He has held 14 solo exhibitions and numerous group shows in Nepal and all over the world. “With Mithila Cosmos, Suman brings his artistic evolution into a deeper, more traditional realm, where pilgrimage is shaped not only by movement but by cultural memory and sacred stories,” says Sangeeta Thapa of Siddhartha Art Gallery. The seventh edition of the exhibition explores and displays reflections of pilgrimage, sharing the artist’s physical and spiritual experience with viewers. The first of this series was exhibited in 2007. “I am confident that this edition will also win visitors’ hearts. In the past, different dimensions of Mithila art were presented through this series. This time around as well, I have tried to give viewers a new perspective,” says Suman.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216031232_2626f5a28e0051157af5d7f414128a1893645ddda02c955448103f4e92078385.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251216031232_2626f5a28e0051157af5d7f414128a1893645ddda02c955448103f4e92078385" data-rendition-name="original" width="1191" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Mithala exhibition NT"></figure>  The exhibition is displayed on two floors of the gallery and includes paintings of Swayambhu, Pashupati, Lord Ganesh, Krishna, Ram Sita Bibabah among other renderings. Explains Suman: “The Pashupatin painting depicts the evolution of the temple, and since I live near Swayambhu, the mantra chanted there gives me energy, inspiring me to paint the shrine.” Use of colour, especially hues of blue, grab the attention of the viewers creating a sublime experience. ‘Samundra Manthan’ depicts how Lord Shiva drank poison to save the world. All the elements of the episode including Vasuki Nag, Kamdhenu and others are elaborately depicted. This carries on the Mithila tradition of telling stories by showing them through art. ‘Ram Sita Bibah’ shows the story of Ram and Sita in an intricate and intimate manner, and this is followed by the Banbas series, where Lord Ram is expelled from the palace, owing to family politics for power. In ‘Banbas I’, when crossing a river, the person rowing the boat asks to cleanse Lord Ram’s feet and then only allow him to board the boat, and pictorialises the storyline of the Ramayana. Similarly ‘Nava Durga’ is painted over canvas, has mantra painted all over the background and comprises ten avatars of Goddess Durga that is worshipped throughout Dasain.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216031232_7a24f7f8d264d7bd204b8f475d1e86dc6fe70765487c37ebed85da8117081a80.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251216031232_7a24f7f8d264d7bd204b8f475d1e86dc6fe70765487c37ebed85da8117081a80" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1570" loading="lazy" alt="Mithala exhibition NT"></figure>  “I finished the Nava Durga painting in the ten days of Dasain. Each day I used to wake up, do my daily puja and then sit for painting. No matter what, I separated time to paint even during festivities,” Suman says, showing how the paintings are a deeply reverential devotional artform. ‘Geeta Saar’ is an equally breathtaking exposition from the Bhagavad Gita, the blues once again giving the show a tranquil ambience. Visitors at the exhibition do not just walk past the works hanging on the walls of Siddhartha Art Gallery, they stand in front of each of them for a minute or two, almost in prayer. The Mithila Cosmos exhibition series started when the Maoist conflict was still taking place, and today it is taking place in the aftermath of recent protests during which government buildings surrounding the gallery were all torched. Suman’s ‘Journey of a Pilgrim’ makes us ponder how it all fits in with Nepal’s history, culture and faith. Says Suman, “My aim is to bring stories of the Valley, Madhes and other cultures into a single canvas. I have tried to find ways to incorporate Nepal’s diversity in every single painting.”  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251216031236_89a12ff1908123e079cb08b77e37a4a875544e6baa6c9c1f4bfdba52b99e4287.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251216031236_89a12ff1908123e079cb08b77e37a4a875544e6baa6c9c1f4bfdba52b99e4287" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1015" loading="lazy" alt="Mithila exhibition NT"></figure>  Mithila Cosmos VII: Journey of a Pilgrim Siddhartha Art Gallery, Baber Mahal Revisited Till 10 January 11:00am – 5:00pm

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Pilgrimage to the Mithila cosmos

Intricately painted Buddha, Aryatara, Krishna, and Parvati gaze serenely at visitors at the Kathmandu Art Gallery under muted amber lights. Moving from one artful devotion to the next, a quiet, profound connection to the divine envelopes the visitor. This transcends art to the realm of the spiritual. &nbsp; The gallery’s latest exhibition, Masters of Devotion, features art by 22 artists all from Bhaktapur. They also include Ajay Karmacharya, Purna Prasad Hyoju, Nhuche Kaji Bajracharya, Rajani Sinkhwal, Shashi Dhar Sainju, Surya Bahadur Chitrakar and Sundar Sinkhwal from the Khowpa Paubha Chowmi Pucha. Paubha are religious and devotional art depicting deities and mandala that date back to the 7th century, when Newa artists began to paint images of the gods on cloth. For the artists who practice this craft, the art form is as meditative as it is meticulous.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251025041028_de34b51d48bcee50ae391301e2ff1890be7ecba3df7e563537c273818825aad5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251025041028_de34b51d48bcee50ae391301e2ff1890be7ecba3df7e563537c273818825aad5" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="art review "> </figure>  The exhibition at the newly-opened space Kathmandu Art Gallery coincides with the festival season and is a collection of extravagant works done in mineral and stone colour, sakura and gouache. The vintage art space is located at Babar Mahal Revisited and is a fitting accompaniment to the paubha featured in the exhibit.&nbsp; Sundar Sinkhwal’s vividly painted Harihara is among the more eye-catching works. “Half of the painting is Shiva and half is Vishnu, hence the name Harihar,”explains Sinkhwal. “Together with their consorts Parvati and Laxmi, I have painted Uma-Maheswor and Laxmi-Narayan.” Nandi and Garuda, the vehicles of the two gods, complete the vibrant painting.&nbsp; In contrast, for his piece titled Lakshmi, Sinkhwal shrouds his canvas in dark colours to paint Kuber, the deity revered as the custodian to the wealth in the Hindu pantheon, accompanied by two khyak apparitions —one black, the other white— both mythical creatures in Newari folklore.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251025041032_1bde6de442b742c300bb8c9278ea8886445aa8df47076fd9aa362ce1f8bef903.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251025041032_1bde6de442b742c300bb8c9278ea8886445aa8df47076fd9aa362ce1f8bef903" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="art exhibition"> </figure>  “The black khyak is considered inauspicious, while white ones are a symbol of good luck,” explains Sinkhwal. Purna Prasad Hyoju has used mineral paint on canvas for a powerful depiction of Ardhanareswar, the composite form of Shiva and his consort Parvati.&nbsp; “I drew inspiration from the Newari Swasthani story about the separation of Shiva and Satidevi,” says Hyoju. Legend has it that Shiva, unwilling to part from his consort, reincarnated as a unified dual gender form of himself and Parvati. Hyoju has painted goddess Parvati in bright yellow, in homage to one of her other manifestations, Gauri, which means radiant.&nbsp; Meanwhile, Ratna Gopal Sinkhwal’s Kurkula Devi, done in stone pigment, is radiant on the cotton canvas. “Kurkula Devi is a tantric goddess whose traces are found in the Sadhana Mala,” says Sinkhwal. “The stone pigment is what makes the goddess look like she is gleaming.” One of Sinkhwal’s other works draws from stories in the Mahabharat to depict Bhimsen, Draupadi, Dushasan and Akash Bhairav in confrontation, expressions fierce.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251025041028_72eea52c8504eccb8b3be7cd4cef616dfb8efd821e8b1e1ae8f440f10782be11.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251025041028_72eea52c8504eccb8b3be7cd4cef616dfb8efd821e8b1e1ae8f440f10782be11" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="854" loading="lazy" alt="art exhibition"> </figure>  The opening of the exhibition last week also featured a music session, during which some of the artists sang traditional songs. Their voices joined the rhythm of the madal and melody of the harmonium, adding warmth to the crisp autumn evening.&nbsp; Each painstakingly detailed paubha reflects the artists’ devotion to divinity and mythology, as well as their heritage. Masters of Devotion showcases the work of veritable masters of their craft, and is a must-visit for art connoisseurs and devotees alike. Says the gallery’s Sangeeta Rana Thapa: “It is our honour to celebrate the artists’ work—to stand among pieces that embody both devotion and mastery, and to witness a tradition that continues to inspire us.” Masters of Devotion Kathmandu Art Gallery Baber Mahal Revisited Until 22 November

Artful devotion

A cosy art space in Thamel comes alive this month with soft light filtering through glass windows and settling gently on ceramic works that radiate both silence and strength. Much like specks of dust shimmering in a sunbeam, fragments of uneven mirrors scattered at the centre of the exhibition catch fleeting reflections of passersby that force visitors to reflect on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-fabric-of-society">life and society</a>. From a distance, the mirrors resemble playful, anime-style sunny side ups in bright shades. It may look random, but on closer inspection the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/hari-the-potter">meticulous craftsmanship</a> reveals itself in every curve, giving more permanent shape and form to the artist’s fingers on the original clay. Alongside are cups, vases, and plates adorned with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/facades-and-flowers-from-nepal-to-italy">delicate sketches</a> of animals, houses, and trees. Some have inscriptions drifting across surfaces like floating letters. The vases rise in varying heights, dressed in muted greens, while some are blended with soft browns and yellows.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025082711084_3ccb0e0e002bee9521867cbca82d56a1dc1e3ed799c5159fc07adc6f674325ab.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025082711084_3ccb0e0e002bee9521867cbca82d56a1dc1e3ed799c5159fc07adc6f674325ab" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="810" loading="lazy" alt="Firing her imagination"> <figcaption>Photo: DALAI-LA ART SPACE</figcaption> </figure>  “Ceramics have taught me patience in unpredictability,” says ceramic artist Aishworya Shakya, 26, whose work is currently on display at Dalai-la gallery in Thamel. Shakya began with simple drawings, but as she delved deeper into her studies of fine arts, she began exploring new concepts and methods of idea formation. She found herself increasingly drawn to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/take-to-pottery-during-the-pandemic">the expressive potential of ceramics</a>. “Clay is flexible and transformative, and the process of turning it into a hardened form is cathartic,” she explains. “For me, it’s about free forms, feelings, and the intangible, which often take shape in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/kiran-manandhar-in-the-abstract">abstract ways </a>through ceramics.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250827100812_4e2efcf1284d6589d5eafb34b276b8d4c69ebba9453efe4af9a70c51b2e31d6f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250827100812_4e2efcf1284d6589d5eafb34b276b8d4c69ebba9453efe4af9a70c51b2e31d6f" data-rendition-name="original" width="739" height="985" loading="lazy" alt="Firing her imagination"> <figcaption>Photo: DALAI-LA ART SPACE</figcaption> </figure>  The writings on her finished ceramics are deeply rooted in her academic explorations of personal history. Shakya contemplated family relationships, and transformed them into patterns and inscriptions on clay — giving her private meditations an extension on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/an-ode-to-the-ordinary">life and lessons</a>. “It is never fixed what I want to make when I begin,” says Shakya. “There might be a frame, but never anything too specific. My forms come through an intuitive process. If I try to meticulously plan everything, it never works out, so I just let it flow.” What begins as an imagined idea often transforms through the process, shaped by the unpredictability of clay and fire, keeping her grounded and open-minded. Shakya’s works usually undergo three rounds in the furnace: beginning with bisque firing, followed by layers of engobe underglaze mixed with pigments, which she applies in three coats before the second firing. Finally, she adds the glaze before the final firing. The most demanding part is actually in <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13617">preparing and mixing the clay</a>, removing bubbles, and refining it so the final product has at least some predictability, she says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025082711080_d4856f6f195e9b2ad06144832121da0068aaf0f94800c483b278a204fbf3865e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2025082711080_d4856f6f195e9b2ad06144832121da0068aaf0f94800c483b278a204fbf3865e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Firing her imagination"> </figure>  The title Burned and Being comes from the ceramic-making process itself. “But more than just the process, it is an embodiment of my existence. As a person learning to take up space, I am filling my surroundings with things that inspire and align with me to create a sense of being and take a stand for myself,” Shakya explains. The artist is now looking ahead to expand her art beyond vases and mirrors to explore more sculptural forms. Burned and Being Till 30 September 11am to 7pm Dalai-la Art Space, Thamel

Firing her imagination

Georgia O’Keefe, a foundational modernist painter most known for her floral and landscape paintings once said: “One can’t paint New York as it is, but rather as it is felt.” O'Keefe's residency in the city occurred during its extreme architectural expansion. Her lesser known body of work is entitled ‘My New Yorks’ and the series of paintings are a bird's eye perspective of New York City. The ongoing exhibition ‘Under the Same Roof’ at Siddhartha Art Gallery by Subodh Bhandari and Sambridhi Ratna Shakya resembles O’Keefe’s ‘love letters to New York’.&nbsp; Bhandari, a Patan newcomer and Shakya, a Patan native, work together to honour their architectural surroundings using mixed media. ‘A Walk Through the City’ is a conglomeration of miniature window replicas.&nbsp; The duo took snapshots of rapidly changing communities, and both styles are similar in their directness. The two artists reconstruct observations through stylistic fabrication, and capture the sensation of traversing a street, suddenly making ordinary objects artistic.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025072210078_3297b124286d188c641120c0742ced23ea15d75906d4454135f758dde501b0fe.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025072210078_3297b124286d188c641120c0742ced23ea15d75906d4454135f758dde501b0fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="2150" height="1438" loading="lazy" alt="From the outside looking in"> </figure>  ‘Under the Same Roof’ centres around Patan’s doors, powerlines, and most notably windows. The two artists roam alleyways looking for features that pique their interest, committing them to memory with photography.&nbsp; Bhandari and Shakya do not allow the objects to go unnoticed, forever examining details which others frequently overlook. For the artists, rendering everyday entities creates unification through relatability. Their overall message focuses on coexistence and interconnectedness. Specifically how easily accessible, recurring items, visible to all, establish familiarity and speak volumes via silence.&nbsp; The artists inject bits of lived experiences into their reproductions, concealing personal artefacts such as bed sheets or posters within windows. They place humanity upon inanimate objects, allowing for exploration of a unified history.&nbsp; Each window represents a personal memory rather than something imagined, as they are constructed from photographs the artists themselves took. Walking into the gallery feels as if you are entering a collective memory. The approximately 500 wooden windows, with photo transfer and acrylic details, engulf the first floor.&nbsp; The incredible amount of small windows establish an immersive experience, prompting the viewer to question, whose homes are attached, what type of people have lived there and for how long? The diversity of each piece astounds the eye. With so much repetition, how can the individual elements be entirely unique?&nbsp; Windows are a common occurrence, present in any building. Viewing this commonality clustered together reveals the personal rather than architectural elements which make them individualistic.&nbsp; Their quaint Patan studio is on the second floor of a residential building with a blindingly mint green room, slightly dusty from the drills and grinders used for constructing and polishing sculptures.&nbsp; Bhandari says he has always yearned for an artistic lifestyle, whereas Shakya picked up a knack for it after a classroom quarrel regarding his artistic abilities at Kathmandu University where both had the same motivation to capture their surroundings.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250722100712_b1d54221ed9e3806a48a98943e9fd4c80c535957144ce6d94b20e788f4a9a4b7.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250722100712_b1d54221ed9e3806a48a98943e9fd4c80c535957144ce6d94b20e788f4a9a4b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1078" height="1430" loading="lazy" alt="From the outside looking in"> </figure>  The two differ in being native and new to the Patan area. So, is this exhibition about new vs native? Bhandari replied: “The idea of new vs native is no more about new vs native, it’s more about new and native, both the things coexisting together.” This is a metaphorical representation of their windows: what can you know about someone from outside appearances? Each window represents a specific period in time, whether it was constructed yesterday or 20 years ago, whether it houses a young family or one which has lived there for generations. The message is to understand how these elements help us coexist, by placing these varying periods of life centimetres apart from each other. It creates a space in which being surrounded by others is inevitable regardless of differences.&nbsp; Star Ross is an undergraduate at Princeton University studying Medical Anthropology alongside Visual Arts and Climate Science.

From the outside looking in

Seldom do we see the smaller things, read between the lines, and realise that the little, fleeting moments are what shape our realities. As we trace the light &amp; dust, Haru Art Collective’s first group exhibition at Dalai-la Art Space revisits the value of these moments. Through the works of ten artists, the exhibition <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/between-the-sacred-and-everyday">details our everyday</a>, ordinary lives, making viewers relate, reflect, and bask in nostalgia. One such piece is Moulik Limbu’s यादहरु सपना जस्तो लाग्छ, a dreamy blue landscape rendered in watercolor and gouache where <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/where-wild-things-are">birds and animals</a> emerge subtly through still, royal-azure leaves. As children, Limbu would stay up late with his brother, imagining fantastical creatures from the shadows outside their window, but at dawn, they would discover they were just leaves. Those quiet nights formed lasting memories that continue to tug at Limbu’s heart which he now preserves in his art. Nischal Gurung’s Familiar Echoes captures the soft emotions of togetherness. Whether it is a person or familiar <a href="about:blank">household objects</a> we often overlook, they stay with us. In काक्रा र करेन्ट, the warmth of huddling together for a meal is carefully portrayed, highlighting how closeness often unfolds in the most mundane of moments.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250721130756_b567c9b5559a81bec03ba5417b6967c1f5849b7ddf7f33b4282e8e9479d40b82.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250721130756_b567c9b5559a81bec03ba5417b6967c1f5849b7ddf7f33b4282e8e9479d40b82" data-rendition-name="original" width="776" height="476" loading="lazy" alt="An ode to the ordinary"> <figcaption>Familiar Echoes by Nischal Gurung</figcaption> </figure>  In another piece, Anil Nepali’s work explores the haziness of distant memories. What seems like a normal painting from afar becomes increasingly blurred up close, much like how traffic lights lose clarity when seen through misty eyes. This visual metaphor mirrors Nepali’s own experience of fading recollections from home which he reconstructs through pixelated squares and muted monochrome tones. The result is a powerful reflection on the fragile, fading <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/etched-in-our-memory">nature of memory</a>. Viewers will see the attempt to reconnect with ancestral roots and traditional practices. The Arrival of Bun-Dyo by Kabir Kayastha, depicts the rain god Bunga Dyo during the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-reign-of-the-god-of-rain">Rato Maytsendranath Jatra</a>. Meanwhile, Shrayam Shakya explores his lineage's deep connection with land and water in his piece, From the Ground. “The oral traditions and stories of my ancestors become the remnants of the land and the knowledge that existed,” he tells us. At the centre of his exploration is the Yaksha – a nature spirit that embodies land and governs the essence of water. For Shakya, the Yaksha is not just a mythological being but also a symbol of ancestry.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250721130728_4c1c4fb646df20bb7f72bc77dc2e71383468e0dc0a187c69e84a82f67ab49288.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250721130728_4c1c4fb646df20bb7f72bc77dc2e71383468e0dc0a187c69e84a82f67ab49288" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="An ode to the ordinary"> <figcaption>From the Ground by Shrayam Shakya</figcaption> </figure>  Terracotta, the material he uses, reinforces this rootedness. “It is used in the architecture of hitis and is connected to the land, so it carries the essence of the theme.” As <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/morals-in-murals">oral histories</a> and traditions continue to fade, Shakya believes art becomes a vital archive. Jyotsna Udas explores themes of femininity in her work. She says, “In my work, I embroider objects <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/of-women-for-women-by-women">tied to femininity</a> – those that adorn, restrain, and define.” Using delicate strands of her own and her family’s hair, she weaves silent but powerful stories of inherited expectations, unspoken rules, and the confined spaces women are told to occupy -- a quiet testament to the strength and complexity of feminine energy. “I cut my hair short every once in a while. It makes me feel free, free from all the burdens, but I get scolded by people at home when I do, or when I dye it,” she tells us. “Long hair is still seen as the beauty standard. Hair colour is taboo. People stare. Women become self-conscious. And when people can judge just based on something as personal as hair, it makes me wonder – how much more do we have to hear in life?”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250721130736_05107d9661e5d210a6c522ed2909b1a93c6dc3f6eb46bb425737e9ce15163e79.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250721130736_05107d9661e5d210a6c522ed2909b1a93c6dc3f6eb46bb425737e9ce15163e79" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="An ode to the ordinary"> <figcaption>Not Just Hair by Jyotsna Udas</figcaption> </figure>  Sadishree Thapa’s A Room that Waits explores the subtle yet profound difference in a house that comes with the presence and absence of a person. When the person is there, it feels like home, otherwise, it is hollow. ‘A room waits, for the warmth of a presence, for the sound that you said were home,’ reads the artist's profound accompanying note. Places Where Dust Settles by Preeti Duwal captures the quiet beauty of everyday household objects, how they gather dust and the silent stories. Rojan Ghimire explores offerings and the subtle traces of life and birth, while Raunak Karanjit’s cyanotype work reflects on memory, identity, and the fading presence of a once-familiar marigold. The artists weave together objects, places, life, and memory, into layered <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-reading-compass">stories</a> shaped by our daily rhythms and reflections, and transform the familiar into the extraordinary. As we trace the light &amp; dust Till July 30 11am-7pm Dalai-la Art Space, Thamel

An ode to the ordinary

The newly-formed Himalayan Art Council is set to launch Nepal’s National Art Protection Platform that seeks to preserve <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-history-of-heritage">Nepal’s unique cultural heritage </a>using<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/artificial-censorship"> AI-powered tools</a>. The Council seeks to safeguard <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-art-going-places">Nepali art works</a> from neglect, theft and counterfeiting as well as preserve existing artwork and celebrate living masters by giving them a cultural space to continue the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/sacred-survival">sacred art traditions</a>. "We are introducing a new digital platform designed to preserve, verify and elevate <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-new-generation-of-alternative-artists">Nepal’s art for generations to come,</a>” says a statement from the Council, adding that the digital platform will use AI told for authentication and blockchain to keep track of works of art. Artists can now be protected by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/ayo-ai?fbclid=IwAR1uwmTVq4gUB70ljfRezjzukD9ArWXPuMnUikopeQ8PoiZMjicToPSwhKE&amp;=1">AI tools</a> that detect forgeries, identify their work even when unsigned, and ensure they receive proper recognition and credit. The archives will be searchable with translated inscription and interactive guides. Says curator Meena Lama: “AI and blockchains are tools that give us the power to detect fakes and identify unsigned paintings and track every piece. With these tools we can restore trust, secure authorship and give artists the dignity they deserve.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250514170544_2ab58f6313c0458f75114a692b0016bd9efb3b59d5f8f07f0da72e1e37b82f53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250514170544_2ab58f6313c0458f75114a692b0016bd9efb3b59d5f8f07f0da72e1e37b82f53" data-rendition-name="original" width="1300" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Artwork at the Traditional Art Exhibition at Patan Museum."> <figcaption>Artwork at the Traditional Art Exhibition at Patan Museum.</figcaption> </figure>  The Council is also holding an exhibition of Nepali cultural masterpieces with 50 historical <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Buzz-the-art,671">thangka and paubha </a>by past masters and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/between-the-sacred-and-everyday">contemporary works by current artists</a>. This curated collection is a living tribute to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/when-yaks-go-so-does-culture">Himalayan culture</a> with economic depictions of deities, mandala and sacred narratives. The exhibition at <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/a-portal-into-patan-s-past-and-present">Patan Museum</a> also provides an opportunity to meet painters and custodians of art and culture. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/golden-deities">Golden deities</a>, Sewa Bhattarai ‘The exhibition is only the first step in a long journey to ensure that Nepali art is no just seen but fully understood, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Narratives-of-Faith-and-Memory-Remembering-the-Lost-Sculptures-of-Kathmandu-exhibition,987">protected and remembered</a>,’ the Council says. Artist Kailash K Shrestha of Artudio has spent decades promoting thankha and paubha traditions because of their beauty and devotional meaning. But he also says artists are underpaid, exploited and ignored. He adds, “AI and blockchain are not just buzzwords, they are powerful tools that can protect Nepal’s artists from fraud, verify authenticity and build a permanent record of provenance.” Traditional Art Exhibition Till 17 May Patan Museum

Digital protection for Nepal’s art

This is the 65th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab. Right from my childhood, it seemed like I was lost in my own world. I was not interested in studying, I never paid attention in class and was completely disconnected from what the teacher was saying. I was not into <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/migrant-worker-finds-farming-in-nepal-more-rewarding">farming</a> or chores, which used to make my parents angry. Instead, I would scribble on the walls using clay and our <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/opening-their-home-to-others">mud-thatch house</a> was covered with my amateur art. There was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-they-kept-nepal-in-the-dark-ages">no electricity</a> and I used to draw all night in the light of an oil lamp. My parents used to be irritated, but they started understanding my obsession with art. With time, my <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/early-nepal-drawings-come-full-circle">drawings</a> started improving. A turning point was when I drew my grandfather’s sketch. It brought a smile to his face.&nbsp; I overheard him talking to my father and other elders, saying the drawing was very realistic. That was very encouraging. But in class, teachers would punish me for not paying attention -- except my principal, who is now in his 70s, and encouraged me to participate in district-wide competitions. While I never did, the acknowledgement uplifted me. After Grade 7 I had to switch schools to one that was two hours away. My craft improved, and the science teacher was impressed with my artwork. By Grade 10, I was getting recognised for my art and would even be paid, for example by the school, to paint its signboard and drawings.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025042705048_70b1e770c5c7126beaaf9b91c0eed0cbdb5ebf4abbfb64734a294664078c6de0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025042705048_70b1e770c5c7126beaaf9b91c0eed0cbdb5ebf4abbfb64734a294664078c6de0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="590" loading="lazy" alt="The world of a working artist"> </figure>  My uncle’s son told me it would be a good idea to go to Lucknow to pursue my <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/Dhwoj-Gurung-Review,1936">passion for art</a>. There in India, I was exposed to diverse talent. My cousin had seen something in me, and we even started an Art Shop, which was a great learning experience.&nbsp; After Lucknow, I went to Chitwan to work at an art gallery under Prakash Thapa, a renowned artist who became my mentor. I used to watch his work closely as an employee and followed instructions, but I still lacked in-depth knowledge since I did not have any formal training.&nbsp; He advised me to go to Kathmandu and join Lalit Kala campus. I had the hunger to learn, but the campus did not take a student who had not passed SLC. So I went back to school, and was embarrassed that my former classmate was now my teacher. But I did not let that hurt my pride.&nbsp; Unlike my<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/82-in"> childhood days</a> as a weak student, this time I had a newfound purpose as a student. I passed, and I used to go to Lalit Kala Campus in the mornings and work during the days.&nbsp; One day, a friend offered me a job in Saudi Arabia where I could get paid to do art. Lucknow, Chitwan, Kathmandu—I had switched lanes, but now I had finally found a clear path that offered more stability and allowed me to focus on art.&nbsp; Starting in 2006, I worked in Saudi Arabia at an art gallery for ten years. I used to draw <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-calligrapher-at-large">large paintings</a> that were kept in Saudi mansions and even palaces. I also painted ceilings, walls, even swimming pools.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250427050412_6685d36eca2fcd92649bb8d8d3f93972f62337c416c1caeca96999f83db88384.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250427050412_6685d36eca2fcd92649bb8d8d3f93972f62337c416c1caeca96999f83db88384" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="942" loading="lazy" alt="The world of a working artist"> </figure>  Taking up art professionally in Saudi Arabia also introduced me to the works of global artists like Van Gogh and Picasso and helped me grow. But as an artist, I had to create <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13008">my own identity</a>, give my work my personal touch.&nbsp; At first, we copy the works of the great masters but as we mature, we start adding our own individuality. This is perhaps the journey of all creators, including singers who start by covering the songs of the greats.&nbsp; After a decade in Saudi Arabia, I returned to Nepal in 2017, but I did not find what I was looking for. And the money here also did not allow me to fulfil my duty as a father. After two years, I migrated to Dubai to work as an interior decorative artist. While I have painted art that hangs on the walls of some of the most luxurious palaces in the Middle East, I come from humble beginnings in Nepal.&nbsp; I had started out painting on clay walls of my home with brushes made from the tail hair of cows. Those art pieces I made on the walls of my house are now just etched in my memory. I had struggled in Saudi to get wider recognition as an artist but in Dubai, it was different. I started making portraits of famous Nepali personalities during my free time. These sketches, such as my picture of the late Satya Mohan Joshi, got wide attention on <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/no-comment">social media</a>. This was another turning point.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250427050412_aa45b66c31cb9e7b40f4fb23774addd893438180995f822b9c31866ffe90e1bd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20250427050412_aa45b66c31cb9e7b40f4fb23774addd893438180995f822b9c31866ffe90e1bd" data-rendition-name="original" width="853" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="The world of a working artist"> </figure>  Art draws me. I am hungry for art. When we are hungry, we find food no matter what. It is the same with art. When you have a hunger to create, you will create no matter what. In Saudi Arabia, I used to paint all night before going for my full time job in the morning. You never get tired, you are always encouraged and focused. Your creations will fuel you, make you content. And the more you enjoy it, the more excellence and depth there is in your work. But other than art, I am also interested in music and literature. Perhaps it is in my genes as both my parents were into music and they used to sing during community events in the village. As children, we used to write songs and sing them during cultural events. From songs, I started dabbling into poetry. Just the way I learnt art through noted artists, I also tried to learn from great poets like Bhupi Sherchan and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/laxmi-prasad-devkota-in-english?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2VmkikQOjLTMsX1QRb8N6WjgJJ6IL1mMUb5F9Q4GDYodQVsMOhLnhj5rQ_aem_YhzUzG_aT5Mdxf4-pbVIgg">Laxmi Prasad Devkota</a>. I have published two books of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10242">poems</a>, and my third one, Dhago, will be released this June in Darjeeling by Buk Ant. When I retire from my <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/speaking-the-language-of-overseas-work">life overseas</a>, I want to dedicate my time to more art and literature. All my life, I have created for others as per their preferences, although I take a lot of ownership of the work I do.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250427050412_c97a9cc80aebb4a5e8e2a3e071f077b15fb3f85cf05920d2ca6302774c6d895c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20250427050412_c97a9cc80aebb4a5e8e2a3e071f077b15fb3f85cf05920d2ca6302774c6d895c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1627" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="The world of a working artist"> </figure>  But in Nepal, I want to start my own <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/tsherin-sherpa-returns-home-to-takpa">art gallery</a> and create art based on my own interests and passions. All of us have our own priorities in life. Some are driven by money, others by community service. People often ask me why I do not have property in Kathmandu despite spending so many years overseas. I have never hankered for material goods. I enjoy <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/art-and-poetry-in-motion">art and literature </a>and want to get lost in it. Just like when I was a boy, I am lost in my own world.

The world of a working artist

Bhaktapur is all about ritual, resistance, and remembrance. Now a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-new-generation-of-alternative-artists">new generation of artists</a> is exploring the city of devotees through art. Balkrishna Banmala was a child <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/deity-devotion-and-divine-dance">deity dancer</a> who performed sacred tantric rituals. But what many saw as divine honour for Banmala was a time stolen from his childhood. “On the surface, it looked beautiful to be honoured with offerings and prayers,” Banmala tells us. “But behind the masks and the barefoot dances, we were children denied a normal life. No school, no shoes, no time to play.” Banmala is now an artist and his canvases are part of the Chitra Katha exhibition at <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/amalgamation-of-nepali-art">Siddhartha Art Gallery</a>. His artwork blur the line between the sacred and the everyday: a masked deity riding a bicycle, a divine child licking an ice cream cone. Some of these images have sparked outrage in his own community. “When I first exhibited these works, community leaders saw them as betrayal,” adds Banmala. “Some even tore up my paintings. A police complaint was filed. But I believe art must speak the truth even when it is uncomfortable.” His <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/painting-a-painter">paintings</a> at Chitra Katha incorporate circular motifs inspired by the Navadurga Jatra where Banmala weaves cosmological cycles into his paintings, saying, “In the cycle of life: Brahma creates, Vishnu sustains, and Shiva destroys. My work reflects this cycle--today, tomorrow, and beyond.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/old-art-meets-new">Old art meets new</a>, Sikuma Rai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250424110456_8f9008ff390c9e49dbd60d4c0a887e04f249686a8d1db3329cc0d66dc3a0737f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250424110456_8f9008ff390c9e49dbd60d4c0a887e04f249686a8d1db3329cc0d66dc3a0737f" data-rendition-name="original" width="848" height="809" loading="lazy" alt="Between the sacred and everyday"> <figcaption>Brahma by Balkrishna Banmala Photo: SIDDHARTHA ART GALLERY</figcaption> </figure>  For Banmala, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-art-of-healing">art has become a form of therapy</a>, a step to healing the inherited burdens of tradition. “Children in my community continue to be worshipped at the cost of their dreams. I want them to have what I didn’t. My <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/art-as-a-call-to-action">art is my protest</a>, my hope, and my prayer.” Altogether, 28 artists from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/clash-of-cultures-in-bhaktapur">Bhaktapur</a> are exhibiting their works at Siddhartha Art Gallery with everyday stories of the city in the form of paintings, drawings, ceramics, printmaking, light installations. Many works use local materials like terracotta, wood and cement, grounding their expressions both literally and metaphorically in Bhaktapur’s soil. Narayan Bohaju’s diptych Floating Hopes II offers a dreamlike view of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15106">urban chaos</a>. Public vehicles float alongside lotus leaves. The visual texture almost resembles Studio Ghibli, and invites onlookers to romanticise even the most distressing reality, thereby offering some hope even in unexpected places. In Echoes of Childhood Community, Bohaju returns to Bhaktapur’s spiritual core. A towering temple-like chariot teems with figures in communion: local vendors, families, fruit baskets, religious icons--anchoring a city where sacred and mundane coexist.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025042412044_81a2b9042948ed7edc871671b486bb14fa1a137e09119b0a0bb945236a72619c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2025042412044_81a2b9042948ed7edc871671b486bb14fa1a137e09119b0a0bb945236a72619c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1999" height="1721" loading="lazy" alt="Between the sacred and everyday"> <figcaption>Echoes of Childhood Community by Narayan Bohaju</figcaption> </figure>  Meanwhile, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/reimagined-roots">Pooja Duwal</a>’s series Custodians of the Ephemeral celebrates the beauty in the ordinary. Rendered in oil, her scenes capture fleeting moments of men in dhaka topi, elders sipping tea, neighbours chatting at street corners. Her remarkable works showcase unremarkable everyday scenes. Reminiscing Memories by Srijan Ulak uses pen and ink to trace the fading outlines of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19496">Bhaktapur’s architecture</a> and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/building-homes-on-a-deadline">ancestral homes</a>. His detailed work speaks to nostalgia, and the slow erosion that came with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/rice-fields-to-concrete-terraces">urbanisation and concrete</a>. For artist Anjila Manandhar, power comes from turning personal struggles into sacred strength. Her artwork often features skulls and divine figures but they represent her, she tells us. “The heads and skulls I draw are like those of Chamunda or Kali. But I gave that power to myself. I made myself the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16471">goddess</a> strong, playful, and defiant. It’s how I motivate myself and heal.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025042412040_a2c54afebe5e244cd5fed0ed30f27956c3aa317c0d8435dcc01d69352e98cbb6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="2025042412040_a2c54afebe5e244cd5fed0ed30f27956c3aa317c0d8435dcc01d69352e98cbb6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Between the sacred and everyday"> <figcaption>Nothing by Anjila Manandhar Photo: SIDDHARTHA ART GALLERY</figcaption> </figure>  Manandhar’s works explore identity through <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/when-art-unites-what-divides-us">surreal metaphors</a>. One recurring image is of an ant with a human face. “Ants are everywhere. Tiny, sensitive, stepped on without notice. In many ways, humans are the same. We keep moving, but we rarely look down. Maybe if we did, we’d be more grounded.” Sunflowers are another constant theme, and Manandhar explains that the blossoms always turn to the sun and feel like guardians that are always rising, watching, and protecting. Anjila’s art moves fluidly between strength and fragility, empowering viewers. The exhibition also features Suraj Shilpakar, a master <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/in-with-the-old-in-with-the-new">woodcarver </a>deeply rooted in his family’s artisanal legacy. Woodcarving is his identity, and he strives to preserve the craft while constantly aiming to reinterpret it. Shilpakar explores modern themes through painting, printmaking, and ceramics. His Baja Gaja series is a standout at the exhibition, a sculptural tribute to the role of music in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/progress-and-or-preservation">cultural preservation</a>.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025042412040_936a3c559c3de6f3177c5d2a01f15e765208727e54949324395668e19bbda11e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_20" data-image-id="2025042412040_936a3c559c3de6f3177c5d2a01f15e765208727e54949324395668e19bbda11e" data-rendition-name="original" width="3222" height="2177" loading="lazy" alt="Between the sacred and everyday"> <figcaption>Baja Gaja series by Suraj Shilpakar</figcaption> </figure>  The piece is built in the tudal style. The struts represent support. He says, “It honours how youth and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-sacred-female-energy-of-shakti">women uphold traditions </a>through music. Today, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-musical-bridge-between-past-and-present">music isn’t just a celebration, it holds culture together.</a>” The work is a reminder that tradition can evolve, adapt, and inspire, while keeping its essence. Each piece at the Chitra Katha exhibition is a meditation on heritage, belief, and identity. The lotus reappears as a quiet metaphor for resilience amidst chaos. The skulls, deities, and age-old rituals find their place beside evocations of temples, myths, and ancestral echoes. Themes of religion, tradition, mortality and divinity recur. Bhaktapur’s artists offer their intimate stories, inviting onlookers to find personal resonance within the folds of collective memory. They are building new ways for future generations to remember their lives. Chitra Katha Siddhartha Art Gallery, Baber Mahal Revisited Until 11 May Sunday to Friday 11AM-5PM Saturdays 12-5PM

Between the sacred and everyday

A <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-new-generation-of-alternative-artists">new generation of Nepali artists</a> is exploring bold narratives and experimental themes, pushing boundaries, and redefining societal conventions.&nbsp; That could be one perspective on the exhibition ‘I Am Rooted, But I Flow’ at <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/tsherin-sherpa-returns-home-to-takpa">Takpa Gallery</a>. Curated by Pratima Thakali, it showcases works by eight female artists who explore the interplay between identity, culture, and personal evolution. Artists Anmari Tamang, Kripa Shakya, Kripa Tuladhar, Krisha Tamrakar, Pooja Duwal, Priyanka Singh Maharjan, Sony Rai, and Sumitra Baral bring together diverse perspectives that challenge traditional narratives and invite a fresh thinking of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/culture-cannot-be-an-afterthought">Nepal’s cultural landscape</a>. These emerging female artists compel us to contemplate the evolution of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/inking-an-idenity">identity</a>, where tradition and transformation coexist in an ever-shifting cultural terrain. The title, drawn from Virginia Woolf’s The Waves, reflects the core theme: the balance between the stability of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/reviving-nepal-s-craft">our roots</a> and the fluidity of our evolving selves. Krisha Tamrakar co-director of Artudio draws inspiration from her hometown of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/patan-for-beginners">Patan</a>, and her fascination with human spaces. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lost-in-translation">Familiar landmarks are disappearing</a>, a theme that deeply influences her work through her series of Between Colors and Spaces. “Traditional brass utensils have begun to blend seamlessly with modern, colourful clothing in my neighbourhood,” she says, explaining her Between Colors and Spaces XXI.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250212040228_b85945a657c6eb7be39c449bfc9f24bd0dbe6786261fb7ec29bd6010526c1844.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20250212040228_b85945a657c6eb7be39c449bfc9f24bd0dbe6786261fb7ec29bd6010526c1844" data-rendition-name="original" width="3599" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Reimagined roots NT"> <figcaption>Artist Krisha Tamrakar draws inspiration from her hometown Patan in her Between Colors and Spaces series. Photo: KAILASH K SHRESTHA</figcaption> </figure>  Tamrakar notes how metal brass utensil shops that once lined the streets have now been replaced by clothing and shoe stores, which also makes us ponder about the effects of rising consumerism. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-art-of-living">The art of living</a>, Kunda Dixit Tamrakar believes contemporary art is essential because it allows her to express herself in the present while providing a lens for future reflection. Despite the surrealist images in her work, she thinks the local community will be able to relate to it as her art integrates everyday aspects of their lives. The founder of Artudio Kailash K Shrestha reflects on the inspiration behind his space in 2010: “Back then, there were no accessible platforms for local, young, and emerging artists. There was a lack of open spaces where artists could come together to collaborate, exchange ideas, inspire one another, and offer mutual support." While Tamrakar thinks every artist’s work is valuable, she also acknowledges the underrepresentation of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/from-paintbrush-to-tattoo-needle">female artists</a> in the contemporary art scene and encourages greater inclusion. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/amalgamation-of-nepali-art">Amalgamation of Nepali art</a>, Aayusha Pokharel ‘To All The Women Who Came Before Me’ by Priyanka Singh Maharjan is another artwork series that stands out. Using embroidery on fabric, she represents the often-overlooked and unacknowledged <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/nepals-working-women-in-photos">work of women</a>, particularly mothers, and grandmothers, a role that is indispensable in society. ‘Amidst the Watts of Steam’ series by Pooja Duwal showcases a three-decade-long local momo shop, Na: pasa: in Bhaktapur. The ambience in which the food is made and consumed outweighs the food itself as it is more about the sense of familiarity and warmth that make customers inhabit the space.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250212040228_1cf576bd9ba9fc3eac16e80796fb176181469701fa1fceec7dd75efe3ee00f52.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20250212040228_1cf576bd9ba9fc3eac16e80796fb176181469701fa1fceec7dd75efe3ee00f52" data-rendition-name="original" width="1505" height="1129" loading="lazy" alt="Reimagined roots NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250212040228_5f1dfb425db65f43a3f6209a23c70a90ce5e68b9552ac704f57940283d5cd526.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20250212040228_5f1dfb425db65f43a3f6209a23c70a90ce5e68b9552ac704f57940283d5cd526" data-rendition-name="original" width="1189" height="1585" loading="lazy" alt="Reimagined roots NT"> </figure>  Kripa Shakya and Sony Rai also incorporate unconventional mediums into their work. Shakya uses <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/weaving-the-fabric-of-a-new-life?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2V6f30hX4eilYDsJKsIZVffQN3SCev4wJJxVYUxPIxY28mHcjlL9XOSmQ_aem_D-yqkaobj1DveD4Uytym3w">fabric</a>, nails, and string along with other mixed media to represent shared experiences of interpersonal conflicts and acceptance, while Rai presents intricately woven threads through aquatint to find beauty in simplicity. Sumitra Baral’s sculptures interpret <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/fusion-fashion">fashion</a> as not just an outward beauty but an expression of inner artistry and cultural heritage. Her art label reads, ‘Fashion is not just about attire; it is a symbol of identity, a definition of personality, and a living story of culture.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250212040228_32955f8db287d4177669a1bbcf5e60cade25ea36aebc6caff5756f23e8a1b7e4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="20250212040228_32955f8db287d4177669a1bbcf5e60cade25ea36aebc6caff5756f23e8a1b7e4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1147" height="1529" loading="lazy" alt="Reimagined roots NT"> </figure>  ‘I Am Rooted, But I Flow’ gives a voice to fluid, multifaceted experiences of how our identities are shaped by both deep-rooted traditions and the transformative forces of personal growth. I Am Rooted, But I Flow 8 February - 8 March Takpa Gallery &nbsp;

Reimagined roots

Four Nepali and four Dutch artists will feature in a project to draw attention to what has been lost as Kathmandu Valley is transformed from an integrated rural-urban society to a metropolis of 4 million people. The transition has happened just in the last 30 years with the growth accelerating after the start of the 10-year conflict in 1996. What was once an emerald valley has turned into a concrete jungle. The NEDNEP3 2024/2026 art project of the eight artists will unfold in two phases with a current show till 5 January in the Netherlands, and during the Kathmandu Triennale in February 2026. The ongoing exhibition is in the northern Dutch city of Haarlem at <a href="https://www.devishal.nl/kunst/from-burning-rice-fields-to-urban-growth/" target="_blank">De Vishal</a>, a popular hub of contemporary art.&nbsp; The exhibition is curated by Dutch artists Erna Anema and Renate Schwarz, who have been frequent visitors to Nepal and they have selected the works of four Nepali artists (Sujan Dangol, Kripa Tuladhar, Sunita Maharjan and Sagar Chhetri) along with artists Maartje Smits and Liesbet Bussche and themselves from The Netherlands. Anema and Schwarz spent five weeks at the ceramics workshop of Dil Bahadur Prajapati in Thimi, making their ceramic sculptures for this project and meeting Nepali artists and planning their collaboration. Sujan Dangol was in The Netherlands during the preparations and the grand opening of the exhibition at De Vishal in Haarlem. He also conducted workshops there and at the renowned Rietveld Academy in Amsterdam.&nbsp; Erna Anema’s work is titled Moraines to Clay and uses clay, oil on canvas in a large installation. She says, “I want to take you on a journey from the pressed clay circles of the Kathmandu Valley supported by sculptures representing the moraines to the towering ice giants of the Himalayas, which are represented on the left wall in sculptural forms.” Anema’s installation includes two clay tiles sourced from one of the valley’s remaining fertile rice fields.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122804128_04e9ed612274775036fc408a7d957e446b84402926b535c7b740ccd0b4a84442.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024122804128_04e9ed612274775036fc408a7d957e446b84402926b535c7b740ccd0b4a84442" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="From Burning Rice Fields to Urban Growth"> <figcaption>Erna Anema's Moraines to Clay</figcaption> </figure>  Liesbet Bussche’s Building Rings are grinded and sanded out of clay blocks, a light building material often used in quick expanding areas of the city. The installation of the carved rings is combined with brick dust and explores urban materiality from a makers perspective. Liesbet’s first project with clay was realised with Pukar Risal in 2008 in the streets of Kathmandu during NEDNEP 1. Kripa Tuladhar’s Remembrance of Shadows is made of traditional lokta paper and thread and evokes the Asan neighbourhood, which she says becomes a canvas of its people, marked by those who have passed through it. “Layers of movement from the footsteps of our ancestors, crumbling bricks and windows, and the future pushing its way against the old reshaping it,” she adds, “cutting out these traces in paper, layering them, like the city’s layers of history, memories of the city are encapsulated in fleeting shadows.” Renate Schwarz has sculptures titled Jars of Then and Now with clay and plastic taps that draw attention to water. The abundance of it in the lake that was once Kathmandu Valley, torrential rain, the glacial streams in the mountains. Water irrigated the Valley’s soil, making it fertile. Says Schwarz: “The transformation of the Kathmandu Valley has struck me ever since my first visit in 1984. What a mega tsunami of change has come over this valley … with my sculptures I express the delicate balance between water, clay and craftsmanship.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122804124_92e1b1a2b10f9fc3e91691989bf44302d9b1ce81c77b0187db2c9f0e3579667d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2024122804124_92e1b1a2b10f9fc3e91691989bf44302d9b1ce81c77b0187db2c9f0e3579667d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1333" loading="lazy" alt="From Burning Rice Fields to Urban Growth"> <figcaption>Renate Schwarz's Jars of Then and Now</figcaption> </figure>  Nepali photographer Sagar Chhetri’s Brutality of Geometry explores the definition of land and how earth, soil, vegetation all become monetised commodities. The photographs depict the greed that drives the ecocide of hillsides by real estate ‘plotting’ on the Valley’s rim. The photos show maps of property, and Chhetri explains: “As an artist, I wish to respond to and investigate this geometry of brutality on the land in depth.” Sujan Dangol’s Mandala is a mixed media tribute to the original fertility of Kathmandu Valley with a collection of 54 types of grain, beans, and spices that used to grow here. He also collected bamboo, copper, glass, plastic, and steel utensils to represent the shift from an agricultural era to an industrial one. “The place which we call home—the Earth—is not only ours. Coexistence with animals, birds, plants, insects, water, and soil is essential for the well-being of our Ecosystem,” Dangol says.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122804124_058b88c5a00c1a8ab178b37a734cfb900eeb090d8e5602eb6469049e28300a98.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2024122804124_058b88c5a00c1a8ab178b37a734cfb900eeb090d8e5602eb6469049e28300a98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1333" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="From Burning Rice Fields to Urban Growth"> <figcaption>Sujan Dangol's Mandala</figcaption> </figure>  Sunita Maharjan’s Curtain of Change is stencil print on handmade cotton and depicts her hometown of Kirtipur, where the ancestral lands of her ancestors are now occupied by Tribhuvan University. “The continuous influx of students has altered the fabric of Kirtipur - both figuratively and literally,” Maharjan says. “In Curtain of Change I want to document and comment on the evolving identity of my hometown, where urbanisation, industrialisation, and educational migration intersect, leaving both visible and invisible marks on the community.” In Wild Bees in the Netherlands Maartje Smits uses letterpress prints on paper to show the &nbsp;sudden disappearance of honeybees in Europe, and how the artist decided to become a beekeeper, hoping it would help. But honeybees are competing for survival with wild bee species. “Just as with the Kathmandu Valley, the Dutch landscape has been hollowed out and built up.” She says. “Food and nesting places for flying pollinators are scarce, so trying to save one species can mean the demise of another.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024122804124_16461120522a119da0966d714da5e20f67c123fccc8a029419dc344e5d6b35ea.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2024122804124_16461120522a119da0966d714da5e20f67c123fccc8a029419dc344e5d6b35ea" data-rendition-name="original" width="1658" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="From Burning Rice Fields to Urban Growth"> </figure>  NEDNEP3 2024/2026 From Burning Rice Fields to Urban Growth De Vishal, Haarlem (29 November-5 January) Kathmandu Triennale in Nepal (February 2026)

Rice fields to concrete terraces

When Winston Churchill addressed the Canadian Parliament in December 1941, he recalled that generals of Nazi-occupied France had said that England would “have her neck wrung like a chicken”. Churchill went on to quip: “Some chicken.” As the laughter and applause subsided, he added: “Some neck.” (Even longer laughter and applause) We do not know who first started calling the narrow corridor that joins India to its northeastern states a 'Chicken’s Neck', but there also was the hint of a Churcillian connotation. Akhilesh Upadhayay in his new book In the Margins of the Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck, uses this strip as an entry point to explore a region adjoining Nepal, Bhutan, China, Sikkim, Darjeeling, India’s northeast and the tectonics that shaped its geo-strategic terrain.&nbsp; Upadhyay’s Chicken Neck is an organic whole, connected through centuries by transboundary traders, travellers, monks, spies, missionaries, mountaineers, and more. And as infrastructure and connectivity improves, smaller countries like Nepal and Bhutan (and earlier Sikkim) are caught up in the region’s rivalries. The tri-junction of the Chicken’s Neck is a potential flashpoint that has obsessed India’s military strategists ever since Partition in 1947 and the formation of East Pakistan, and the Chinese annexation of Tibet. India found itself squeezed between Chumbi Valley in China to the north and Pakistan to the south. So, when Sikkim started acting too independent for its own good 50 years ago, India engineered its annexation and turned it into its 22nd state. The 1962 Sino-Indian war elevated its strategic importance even more. Alarm bells ring in New Delhi each time there is trouble around the Chicken’s Neck: the Naxalite uprising had to be swiftly crushed, the Indian military moved in to liberate Bangladesh, Gorkhaland and ULFA activities were dangerously nearby, Bhutan had to be appeased. Every once in a while things would flare up between India and China, as in the 2017 Doklam standoff.&nbsp; And last year’s regime change in Bangladesh has rattled New Delhi enough to deploy its Rafael fighters and BrahMos cruise missiles in the Chicken’s Neck. It is now the most densely militarised strip of real estate in this part of the world. &nbsp; As a journalist and former editor of Kathmandu Post, Upadhyay also peers at the Chicken’s Neck through Nepal’s perspective. After all, Jhapa (where the author is originally from) sits right there astride India’s strategic lifeline.&nbsp; Geopolitics is at the front and centre of the book that takes readers back to the time Nepal was a closed Himalayan kingdom.&nbsp; Nepal may be a yam between two boulders, but it may just as well be a thicker Chicken’s Neck as far as New Delhi and Beijing are concerned. Nepal’s rulers have always had to walk the tightrope between China and India. Khampa guerrillas, covertly helped by American and Indian intelligence, raided Chinese military convoys from bases in Nepal, and King Mahendra had to do some intricate diplomatic footwork. India is often described as Nepal’s closest friend, but our relations with China go back as long in terms of the Lhasa trade, Bhrikuti and Arniko, religious exchanges and people-to-people relations. While Nepali researchers are wary of touching on Chinese, Indian or American sensitivities, Upadhyay’s journalistic background means he has no qualms about tackling the subject head-on, and objectively. He spent more than a year researching the book, sniffing around Siliguri, Bagdogra, Naxalbari, Darjeeling and the villages on the Jhapa side. Then he travelled to Olangchung Gola to listen to ordinary people of the Himalayan rimlands. Despite the perception about rigid frontiers between nation states, the book hints at how absurd the notion is. The Chicken’s Neck is also a wild elephant migration corridor, disturbed by the India-Bangladesh border fence, new expressway embankments, airport runways, and expanding cities. Similarly, the people on the Nepal-tibet border used to cross over to graze yaks — this expanded the gene pools of not just the yaks but also the nomadic humans who moved with the herds.&nbsp; Despite the hard borders, trade flourishes. Upadhyay marvels that a shop in Phungling in Taplejung has embroidered saris from Siliguri and fluffy jackets from China. he finds that residents in the northeastern and southeastern tips of Nepal have more in common with kin across the border in Tibet or India than with someone from Kathmandu. Nepal was once one of the biggest trade hubs in ancient times, and our products were treated as equals in Indian border cities. People too, could move freely, especially if they were and are from bordering Tarai cities.&nbsp; Nepal’s rich history and culture was shaped by the proximity to neighbours, and despite borders it is still cemented by marriages and trade — especially in the Nepali-speaking lands to the east. Its geographical positioning makes Nepal not landlocked but land-linked, adjacent to the largest emerging economies of the world. Nepal needs to deploy its soft power with effective diplomacy to take advantage of these two empires, and not be choked by their rivalry. The book was going to press when the GenZ protests ignited in September, but Upadhyay nevertheless managed to insert the current political transition into the pages with deft editing. &nbsp;The final section of the book examines at least three possible scenarios that may unfold as South Asia continues to be shaped by great power rivalries and imperial contests that have weakened the unilateral influence of the west.&nbsp; Akhilesh Upadhyay extrapolates from the Chicken’s Neck, zooming out for a wider perspective on the Subcontinent. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="In the Margins of Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck NT"> </figure>

Some chicken, some neck

‘Get out of my house.’ ‘All my sickness is because of you.’ ‘You’re a millstone around my neck.’ Arundhati Roy heard these admonitions from her mother over and over throughout her life.&nbsp; This must be a singular, yet universal experience. There must be very few daughters who make it through life unscathed by their mothers. And vice-versa.&nbsp; How many of our mothers look at us and see in us the potential of all of the lives they could have lived? How many resent us for it, or want us to live those lives in their stead? And how many of us look back at our mothers and imagine what they would have achieved had they not been expected and assigned to play the role of wife, daughter-in-law, mother — had we never existed in their lives? How many mothers project their experiences onto their own daughters and continue the cycle? No daughter seems to escape it — no matter how well-behaved, docile, unruly, or rebellious. Certainly not the child who would go on to become a Booker prize-winning author. Arundhati Roy’s memoir Mother Mary Comes To Me chronicles her complex relationship with her mother Mary, or Mrs Roy, as her educator mother had her two children refer to her. In December, Arundhati Roy was in Kathmandu to sign books and briefly interact with readers at two bookshops in the city. She describes a childhood overshadowed by her mother’s volatility towards her and her brother. Mary herself was raised by an abusive father to escape whom she married the first man who proposed — Arundhati’s father who in her mother’s words turned out to be an alcoholic ‘Nothing Man’.&nbsp; Mary left her husband in Assam and eventually wound up with her two children in her town of Aymanam in Kerala, encountering other family members along the way who did not treat her, or her children with respect. The trauma and cruelty her mother endured could not be contained in her body, and spilled out onto her two children, towards whom she was physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive.&nbsp; While she treated her children with disregard, she would build a school in the nearby town of Kottayam from the ground up, educate thousands of children, take up a legal fight that led to the Supreme Court granting Syrian Christian women in India equal inheritance rights, and uplift many orphaned children and women in Kerala.&nbsp; Arundhati lived with both her mother’s brutality and brilliance. And like her daughter, readers must reconcile the indefensible parts of Mary Roy’s personality — the cruelty of calling her nine-year-old daughter a bitch, or shooting the family dog that mated with a stray — with her unyielding drive to educate thousands, fight for equal rights, and challenge the way her world viewed women.&nbsp; Mrs Roy had little kindness for her own children, but plenty for the students, children, and women whose lives she shaped, and made better. And her kindness was not rooted in empathy, but in anger at the hand she had been dealt in life. Eventually, Arundhati decided to temporarily cut all contact with Mrs Roy — not because she did not love her, she writes, but so that she could continue to love her. Her desire to get away from her abusive mother, and her fascination with the ideas inspired by the architect who built her mother’s school, would lead her to the Delhi School of Architecture at age 16. In Delhi, Arundhati became roommates with Hisila Yami before she and her Maoist ideologue husband Baburam Bhattarai went underground to lead Nepal’s decade-long armed struggle. &nbsp; But architecture was not her calling. In Delhi, the heart of India’s statecraft, Arundhati came into young adulthood against a backdrop of the country’s changing socio-politics, which began to take a turn for the hyper-nationalist, Hindu supremacist community that it has now largely become. The winds of those changes have now blown into Nepal. In the city, far from her mother, Arundhati met the man who would become her partner of many years, collaborating with him on several films and screenplays before finding the language (‘I needed to hunt [language] down like prey,’ she writes) she needed to become the writer she is now.&nbsp; She went on to write her Booker prize-winning novel The God of Small Things, but the wealth and status the book brought her did not sit comfortably. So she smashed her newly-built gilded cage, as she describes it, and became more political. Contrary to norm, she published several works of non-fiction, and would only publish her second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, in 2017, 20 years after The God of Small Things. &nbsp;&nbsp; Her fierce opposition to India’s nuclear policies, to a dam that would displace millions of indigenous people and ecologically damage the Narmada Valley, her championing of Kashmiri self-determination, and her time spent with Maoist rebels in the forests of Chhattisgarh as they took up arms to defend their land and resources against corporate interests made her an enemy of the state.&nbsp; Meanwhile, being raised by a single mother had never sat well within her Syrian Christian community. ‘I wasn't Christian enough. I wasn't Hindu enough. I wasn't communist enough. I wasn't enough,’ Roy writes in her memoir. For all her love for India, the nation did not seem to reciprocate. The circumstances might be different, but it might strike a chord with readers in Nepal, many of whom marched on the streets in September hoping for a better tomorrow, but were gunned down by the very institutions meant to protect them. It might resonate with those who are not seen as citizens of this nation simply because they might not fit into an imagined idea of Nepali nationhood.&nbsp; Arundhati’s relationship with her mother, who was simultaneously proud and disdainful of her daughter’s accomplishments, continued to be tumultuous until the end of Mary Roy’s life.&nbsp; One of Mrs Roy’s last messages to her daughter before she passed was: ‘There is no one in the world whom I have loved more than you.’ Arundhati muses that her lifelong refusal to stop loving her mother must have finally breached her barriers. One wonders if that final declaration of love was solace enough, apology enough, for all the pain caused.&nbsp; But for Arundhati Roy, her love for her mother and her motherland outweighs the cruelty both have shown her. This, too, must be a singular, yet universal experience.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Mother Mary Comes to Me review"> </figure>

The sins of our mothers

This is the first instalment of our new series Nepal Made, where we profile world-class Nepali products and the people behind them. The Himalaya is the home to Ayurveda, the preventive and curative medicinal practice that relies on the tremendous diversity of plant life. This is where Hanuman is said to have come to find a specific rare herb when Ram was wounded in battle. When he could not find it, he tore off a whole mountain and hauled it down to Lanka. Since then, herbal medicines and care products have been steadily modernised in India and Nepal. Now, one Kathmandu-based company, Herveda, is going global with an all-natural skincare brand that blends traditional knowledge of medicinal plants with modern technology. Originally a Sanskrit word, Ayurveda literally means ‘the science of life’ and promotes physical and mental wellbeing through a holistic knowledge system that is 4,000 years old. Ayurvedic products have gotten more popular as global demand rises for all-natural, chemical-free cosmetic and wellness products, instead of wasteful fast fashion and beauty trends. Herveda was founded by Prativa Pandey, a scientist-entrepreneur and mother of two. She did her PhD in nanotechnology chemistry from Northwestern University in the United States and returned to Nepal in 2015 after the earthquake, staying back to explore the market and launch her brand.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_b699e74ee82333951b99b22648705dc916deb8eef3d425c77c1e2f3b1058a64d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251218141216_b699e74ee82333951b99b22648705dc916deb8eef3d425c77c1e2f3b1058a64d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  “I wanted to do something in Nepal, but didn’t want to be a doctor or engineer,” says Pandey at the elegant Herveda showroom in Jhamsikhel. “Whatever knowledge that I had gathered, I wanted to spread it in my own country.” Nepal is rich in traditional medicinal herbs and Ayurvedic plants, but proper utilisation and mobilisation has always been lagging. Most of the benefits are reaped by large companies and not local farmers. Pandey wanted to change that. To ensure that it gives back to the community, Herveda collaborates with farmers and local traders for fair trade. “I have always been fascinated by the medicinal herbs found in Nepal, and wanted to create high value products with them. It was a way to combine valuable indigenous knowledge with my academic research background,” adds Pandey. “I did not require a huge investment, just a proper marketing strategy.”  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_350f6eb1511523ea54a8aba468f20a7dffcb5def3fade4dcced30324417f83bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251218141216_350f6eb1511523ea54a8aba468f20a7dffcb5def3fade4dcced30324417f83bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  According to the Trade and Promotion Center under the Ministry of Industry, Nepal’s import of cosmetic products is increasing every year, driven by demand from a younger population. These younger customers are also more conscious about the products they use. For brands like Herveda, it is important that customers engage in wellness and skincare in an ethical and sustainable manner. Apart from being all natural, Herveda’s flagship store in Jhamsikhel has a reuse box where consumers can drop used bottles, which are then recycled. The store also displays products from 35 local businesses. Pandey believes that Nepali brands should cross-promote and complement each other: “Rather than competing, I believe we should support each other. 1+1 can be 11, and not two.” Effectiveness and functionality hold great importance for Herveda. which employs 25 scientists to develop and lab test its products at its research institute. Currently, there are products ranging from Rs400-2,000, which include lip balms, serums, and essential oils. A signature product is the Berry Boost Radiance Mask, which contains Spikenard (Jatamansi), Ashwagandha, Orange Peel, and Rhododendron.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251218141216_7ec1104e0dd63db2fbbfe666034b468fe5b7e6876fde8b5446cb9d9fe27566cf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251218141216_7ec1104e0dd63db2fbbfe666034b468fe5b7e6876fde8b5446cb9d9fe27566cf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Looking good by doing good NT"></figure>  Herveda exports to the United States and plans to expand to China and Europe. The products get a 50-100% markup in the international market. The company recently received a grant from UKAid to expand the market as well as build capacity to scale up. It has partnered with Agriplayer software to help to develop QR codes on its products, which consumers will be able to scan to track the product sources and evaluate pricing. Nepal lags behind in rules and regulations, and the lack of monitoring has allowed low quality cosmetic products to penetrate into the market. Herveda has got an international certification from USFTA, which is important for its foray into the export market. “For the cosmetic industry to scale up, there should be a central testing facility that is well equipped and meets international standards. Additionally, export should be made easy,” adds Pandey. “If there are too many barriers to entry, no one will be willing to invest.”

Looking good by doing good

Samrat Upadhyay’s newest novel <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/10/books/review/darkmotherland-samrat-upadhyay.html" target="_blank">Darkmotherland</a> imagines a Kathmandu in political turmoil after a large earthquake. In the aftermath, Home Minister Giridharilal Bhagirath Kumar stages a ‘koo’, and has convinced people that he is the answer to the crisis.&nbsp; He is now known as ‘PM Papa’, and picks up classic dictatorial ways — propaganda, statue-making, history-revising, and a gang of Shiva-worshipping ‘Fundys’.&nbsp; We are introduced to two complicated protagonists. The first is Kranti, a fetching young woman and ‘Madam Mao’, her Communist professor mother. The chef father loved classic rock and died by gas cylinder suicide. Kranti hates her mother, and the Communist group which congregates at her home to plot against PM Papa, although they seem to take forever to get anything done.&nbsp; Kranti has a complicated relationship with the handsome Bhaskar, the middle son of the Ghimirey family oligarchy that is aligned with the dictator. She loves him, but as Bhaskar gets more and more involved with her mother and the Communist group, finds herself heading out to the ‘Bhurey’ (Bhu-kampa Rey-fugee) tents, to spend time with poet Kabiraj.&nbsp; Kranti is also given to delusions, paranoia, and psychosis, convinced that Bhaskar’s family is spying on her, and that one in the Communist group has supernatural powers of suggestion that led to her father’s suicide. Despite mental issues, she marries Bhaskar and into the Ghimirey clan, and the complex nexus between business and politics.&nbsp; The second is Rozy, initially the genderqueer lover of PM Papa who he discovered in the streets, and is described as a ‘gorgeous homosexual’. She turns heads due to her sexuality and beauty, and gets more and more politically powerful as the story moves along.&nbsp; Upadhyay tells us Nepali writers writing in English often feel a pressure to create an “all-embracing world” (interview), but that is what he seems to be getting at with the monumental plot of his novel. Unlike the realism in his previous novels, this one drifts off into magical realism. His narrative blends the ever-present risk of a big earthquake and the actuality of political tremors. The speed of political upheaval seems a little unrealistic for anyone who lived through the 2015 earthquake, although the GenZ protests showed just how quickly a regime can be reduced to a heap of rubble. The age-old question: oppression can be overcome, but what comes after? The PM Papa character is a Gyanendra-Oli-Deuba-Prachanda-Modi-Trump-Papa Doc composite who is good friends with the not even thinly veiled President Corn Hair.&nbsp; Through the character of Kranti, Upadhyay conveys the dynamic between a parent and a child who is now a full adult, on relationships in Kathmandu as marriage looms, on pervasive corruption which one might denounce but have to take advantage of to get things done.&nbsp; Through Rozy, Upadhyay brings attention to the non-binary identity, one that has existed forever in Nepal, and although is discussed a lot in the West lately but not so much here. Upadhyay explores the origins, the present, and the various advantages and disadvantages of the queer.&nbsp; Storytelling in the early parts of the book oscillates between the real and absurd fantasy amidst the physical and political backdrop that does not have to be Nepal -- it could be Modi's India or Trump's America.&nbsp; The reader sees the world through Kranti’s psychosis, or PM Papa’s displays of power, such as when a ‘Sweej’ wrestler is beaten to death with a mace in a wrestling spectacle.&nbsp; These elements <a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/authors/profiles/article/96329-samrat-upadhyay-wants-you-to-expect-the-unexpected.html" target="_blank">coagulate in the novel</a>, and Upadhyay has all the pages at his disposal to prod and push them against one another to see what happens. The novel is still at its best and most engaging when describing vulnerable scenes, of Kranti and her mister, or of Rozy’s messed-up childhood.&nbsp; Any Nepali reading his weighty novel can recognise the allusions and nudges such as the Tourist Area: Thamel, Open Stage: Khula Manch, Tri-Moon: Tri-Chandra etc. But anyone not from these parts may have a tough time keeping track. Keeping a notebook handy may be useful.&nbsp; Ultimately, the novel does work, it provokes and entertains. For best results, serialise the reading over 30 days, not 3 like this reviewer.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Darkmotherland NT"> </figure>  <h2>More things change, more they remain the same</h2> First US-published Nepali Samrat Upadhyay is the award-winning author of novels and short story collections like Arresting God in Kathmandu, The City Son, Mad Country, and Buddha’s Orphans. Upadhyay is also the Martha C. Kraft Professor of Humanities at Indiana University, where he teaches Creative Writing.&nbsp; Recently in Kathmandu, he talked to the Nepali Times over coffee in Boudha about his writing, his teaching, and his newest novel, DARKMOTHERLAND.&nbsp; Nepali Times: Darkmotherland is 732 pages long. What was it like writing a much longer book? Samrat Upadhyay: Torturous Ha ha ha. Around 2014 I started a story. I knew it was going to be a novel. It was about this woman who is accused of being a Mangalik. Then the big earthquake happened in 2015. I was in the US but my parents were still here, they were living in tents. Then I started thinking, what would happen if a dictator came to power. That’s how PM Papa was born. I think mostly because of his character the novel exploded. I had never written a character like him before. I don’t do any plot outlines when I write. Let’s see where it goes. I like the process of writing to lead to discoveries. If I knew everything then I’d get bored. Not knowing where the storyline might go is very exciting. All these different threads started coming in, the character of Kranti started taking on a big role. Her mother, a Communist-leaning professor, started taking shape. Kranti also had a love-interest from an oligarchical family. The novel just took off and I just continued writing. A novel is as long as it needs to be. The initial draft was 1,700 pages. I was writing pretty fast. I don’t pause to see if the sentences are pretty. I whittled it down, and by the time I sent it to my agent it was 1,100 pages. He was able to sell it to Soho Press. I worked with an editor who suggested some further cuts and expansions. The editing part was even harder than the initial writing, because by that time I was tired of looking at the novel. There was a bit of a delay because of Covid, then we got back on track. What’s your daily process of getting the words on paper? I am a morning writer. I get up in the morning and start writing. You can have all kinds of theories but there is this saying, Shut Up and Write. The writing is where the meat is. You encounter difficulties in writing that you may not encounter when thinking about it. I see this in my students. I knew this was a big project so I knew that if I wanted to get it out I would need to write a lot per day. I got a couple fellowships in the university that gave me a few semesters off teaching. I would write for about 4 or 5 hours. Sometimes I would give myself a 1,000 word deadline, but I’m flexible with it if I don’t get there. You have to be kind and patient. What is your inspiration behind the gender-queer character, Rozy? I’ve always been a strong supporter of LGBT. I would say that at this point half of my students are non-binary or on the gender spectrum. Some of them are going through transitions. In some ways Nepal has become more accepting, but in other ways not. I did a workshop with Blue Diamond Society, and heard pretty harrowing stories. I didn’t intend to create a gender-queer character, but it seemed like the novel was demanding that. Especially in terms of the tyrannical stronghold that PM Papa has over the entire country, it made sense that there would be a counterpart, I wanted to put these things in motion and see how they interact. As I was writing Rozy, her character became very formidable. How much do you draw from Nepali politics? Do you form characters off people you know? Not in a very concrete sense, but I’m always drawing from them. I grew up in the Panchayat System, and lived in Lainchaur. The palace was there. The monarchy was such an institution. But then I was in the US, so I wasn’t here when the pro-democracy movement happened. In some ways it felt like things had changed, but were the same in other ways. I feel the same way now. I do draw upon people. I think my father makes an appearance in my work in various forms, I disguise him, of course. You’ve taught creative writing for a while now, how is literature changing?&nbsp; My students are also writing non-binary characters, because they want to be reflected in the stories. This is something new that we didn’t have. White authors, characters were the default. People of Color on the margins. African American and then Hispanic, South Asian authors were always pushing back on this status quo. When I was growing up in the classroom we were reading a lot of white male authors, but in my own life I was reading Salman Rushdie, African, South African friends and writers. My students have a lot more interest in fantasy, many are writing dystopian. One student is writing a novel where the characters start playing a game, and then they enter the game, and an entire new world opens up. On the one hand there are complaints that students aren’t reading enough, which is true, but my students are producing smarter work. Writing that is a lot more insightful. The calibre of discussion in my graduate-level novel writing classes is mind-boggling to me, and makes me want to keep on teaching. Do Nepali writers who write in English feel a certain pressure, from the market or self-imposed, to make their stories more Nepali? My experience for a long time was that there was a pressure, I felt it true in my case, I was supposed to be the representative of every Nepali. But Nepali writers writing in Nepali are not asked, how are you representing Nepal. At that time there was a lot of pressure to write a novel that is all-embracing, that is supposed to speak on all aspects of the country. Politics felt like an integral part of it, that these novels had to make big political statements. I always felt like this was wrong. I mean, people have to write what they want to write. &nbsp;You write what you want to write, and if it resonates with readers, that’s great. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too. Art isn’t going to speak to everyone. We do a competition every couple of years called Writing Nepal. We make a call for stories, and we decide the best ones. I find it refreshing now that the writing isn’t all about Nepal. The best stories are quite varied. What are Nepalis writing about?&nbsp; Several of the stories are about the role of women in our society, done with a lot of nuance, about the sort of multitasking they have to do. Some of it was deeply historical, some dystopian, the coming of AI. Some of them have an old-timey type of feel, and some of them are very modern, contemporary. The general level of art in movies, TV shows, and novels seems to have regressed compared to say the 90s.&nbsp; I don’t think that’s entirely true. Publishing has been harder, for sure, but there are a lot of novels being published every year. My writing workshop had always been a good vehicle for short stories, but a lot of my students now—even undergraduates—are working on novels. I haven’t formulated my thoughts on AI, it is so new and has hit us so hard. Many of my students are using AI, especially when writing response papers to works of literature or peers, which I find appalling. That’s going to be a struggle. I tell my students, who are you fooling? If you feel that you want to be an artist, or a writer, then what’s the point of using AI? AI-generated stories are also just not that good. They’re almost too perfect, too well put-together, making moves that are easy to detect. There is something about human-written stories that are messy and exciting. But there are also plenty of students who want to do original work and don’t want anything to do with AI.

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