The 14th instalment of the European Union Film Festival brings to Nepali audiences European storytellers, emerging Nepali filmmakers and their work in celebration of the shared language of cinema. Films will be screened 14-16 November in Kathmandu, followed by Pokhara from 21-23 November. This year’s EUFF features 25 films, including 10 European features, six BAFTA-nominated shorts, and nine Nepali short films that explore universal themes of identity and belonging. “We didn’t set out with a defined ‘theme’, but as the films started coming together, a pattern emerged, stories of belonging, migration, resistance, and quiet transformations,” says Prasuna Dongol, program director and curator of the festival. “It’s interesting to see those reflections across continents, showing that even though we’re worlds apart, we’re asking the same questions,” Dongol adds. The festival is organised by the EU Delegation to Nepal, in collaboration with embassies and cultural institutions representing EU members in Kathmandu and Delhi, as well as the British Council and UNESCO. The EU selection will showcase films from Portugal, Austria, Finland, the Netherlands, Ireland, the UK, Lithuania, France, Italy, Romania, Hungary, Poland, and Switzerland. The films by young Nepalis, rooted in everyday small towns, friendship, or growing up in a country in transition, mirror the motifs of the selected films that tell stories of life across Europe. Dongol adds: “Our goal was to showcase how young Nepali filmmakers are engaging with ideas of identity, place, and change in ways that feel both personal and globally resonant.” In the lead-up to the festival, conversations were held about Nepal’s evolving film industry, and how storytellers navigate filmmaking as both art and business. Organisers plan to introduce interactive side events including networking spaces and informal markets. A four day workshop brought together 10 emerging Nepali filmmakers to explore how to take their films from idea to market. Participants discussed why film festivals matter, how funding works, and how to build sustainable collaborations without compromising on creativity. Meanwhile, at the British Council and UNESCO’s ‘What Next for the Film Industry?’ roundtable on 12 November, filmmakers, policymakers, and researchers discussed the findings of the recent UNESCO Baseline Assessment of the Cultural and Creative Industries (CCI) of the Valley. “Film festivals like this are not just about watching films; they’re about expanding perspective and networking,” says Dongol. “If someone discovers a new filmmaker they love or feels inspired to tell their own story differently, that’s a success for us.” <h2>WATCHLIST</h2> <h2>Happy</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_bea2f7f1aa998adb05b38d6912fc968204ed592d9bb375edbe163ef0223f1d30.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025111312118_bea2f7f1aa998adb05b38d6912fc968204ed592d9bb375edbe163ef0223f1d30" data-rendition-name="original" width="1222" height="605" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  An undocumented Indian immigrant in Austria strives for a happy life for his daughter amidst the threat of deportation, revealing the shared quest for happiness in those who seem to have it all. 110 mins | Austria Director: Sandeep Kumar <h2>Jeʹvida</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_d19893069ba768408600bf14072c6858f963827be0feb3b2bcfdd60b2528bbf1.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2025111312118_d19893069ba768408600bf14072c6858f963827be0feb3b2bcfdd60b2528bbf1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1078" height="613" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  Sanna and her aunt Iida, who have never met before, drive to Lapland to empty a house they’ve both inherited. The house invokes painful memories in Iida, and Sanna learns of her withdrawn and distrusting aunt’s ordeal during the forced assimilation into Finnish society. 104 mins | Finland Katja Gauriloff <h2>Three Kilometres to the End of the World</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_2a737dd7092e827965065f54eb6e96db873c5c77597f65392f7c9d616ba6a585.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025111312118_2a737dd7092e827965065f54eb6e96db873c5c77597f65392f7c9d616ba6a585" data-rendition-name="original" width="1078" height="617" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  Adi is spending the summer in his home village in the Danube Delta when he is brutally attacked one night. In the aftermath, his parents no longer look at him as they did, and the seeming tranquility of the village starts to crack. 104 mins | Romania Director: Emanuel Parvu <h2>The Last Expedition</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_c9b46e481a46734bc332d30da21465e1d50807f39b54ebe1525a7f3889df855d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025111312118_c9b46e481a46734bc332d30da21465e1d50807f39b54ebe1525a7f3889df855d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="844" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  Wanda Rutkiewicz, the most famous Polish mountaineer, went missing on 13 May 1992 on her way to Kangchenjunga. As past events are confronted with theories of Wanda’s disappearance, questions emerge– is it possible that she is still alive? 86 mins | Poland, Switzerland Director: Eliza Kubarska <h2>Wander to Wonder</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_bd6a0b3494565fed5f86707572064d8b6dd70532f7e352d9b871f3824db3f083.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025111312118_bd6a0b3494565fed5f86707572064d8b6dd70532f7e352d9b871f3824db3f083" data-rendition-name="original" width="3840" height="2160" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  Three miniature actors who starred in a children’s tv show are left alone in the studio after the show’s creator dies, leading them to continue making increasingly strange episodes for their fans. 14 mins | France, Belgium, United Kingdom and the Netherlands Director: Nina Gantz <h2>Stomach Bug</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_980ed53441602df9c8df913e1f5de9abbf9b537953f8b77df074ed4bb0b52109.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025111312118_980ed53441602df9c8df913e1f5de9abbf9b537953f8b77df074ed4bb0b52109" data-rendition-name="original" width="3240" height="2160" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  The life of a fifty-something Chinese father, whose daughter moves out and who feels invisible in British society, unravels as his loneliness manifests physically. 15 mins | United Kingdom Director: Matty Crawford <h2>The Kathmandu</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_85299c1df8dbff3264720f8b2c01cc0633732f32fd1885c30230111ab23ef2ce.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2025111312118_85299c1df8dbff3264720f8b2c01cc0633732f32fd1885c30230111ab23ef2ce" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="640" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  A young musician’s dream city turns into a nightmare when his reflection comes to life, and begins living his life. 6 min | Nepal Director: Nying Hyolmo <h2>What grows in Thari Maila’s Vegetable Garden?</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_3a46e16703144323a733a2beeadde1322e99abcabb53522fb980e54eac7e50dd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2025111312118_3a46e16703144323a733a2beeadde1322e99abcabb53522fb980e54eac7e50dd" data-rendition-name="original" width="3840" height="2160" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  Thari Maila and wife live off of their thriving vegetable garden, but the lush garden hides secrets beneath its surface, as innocence gives way to quiet unease. 14 min | Nepal Director: Patrika Ghimire <h2>Abyss</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_eb40d3fcd85bcd01552481dc1d478d133cf758a45598bce0f268ecedcbb1b177.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2025111312118_eb40d3fcd85bcd01552481dc1d478d133cf758a45598bce0f268ecedcbb1b177" data-rendition-name="original" width="2880" height="2160" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  Richa and Dhiraj, a couple who have just had a newborn, confront the depths of love and pain as Richa struggles with postpartum depression. 13 mins | Nepal Director: Akriti Dhungana <h2>Eternal Kinship</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_638750880715567980ce7654d3b103e202cec2ce6740051927278666d5f4b2f4.png" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2025111312118_638750880715567980ce7654d3b103e202cec2ce6740051927278666d5f4b2f4" data-rendition-name="original" width="826" height="612" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  A boy’s fear of crossing a river becomes a journey toward courage and self-discovery. 11 mins | Nepal Director: Arvin Rai <h2>SCHEDULE</h2>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_dad4593c61a147fed1a19e2c1724f3d4edc4dc7267e476b770723d4f40738b05.png" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2025111312118_dad4593c61a147fed1a19e2c1724f3d4edc4dc7267e476b770723d4f40738b05" data-rendition-name="original" width="1199" height="851" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025111312118_e29696f8a489f5fedf3d044ae23fd2eb4c0f30acd5094754a67a666d06de07d3.png" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2025111312118_e29696f8a489f5fedf3d044ae23fd2eb4c0f30acd5094754a67a666d06de07d3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="852" loading="lazy" alt="EUFF 2025 NT"></figure>  The 14th European Union Film Festival Nepal 14 – 16 November, QFX Chhaya Center, Kathmandu 21 – 23 November, QFX Trade Mall, Pokhara All screenings free

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Cinema’s shared language

Taken in totality, Nepali mainstream cinema concerns itself with a specific ideological inclination, a tendency towards ‘melodramatic realism’.
Disguised as social realism, this is cinema of affirmation cloaked in the language of critique. This tendency is not indigenous but inherited: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Lights-camera-copy-paste,1146">a diluted echo and imitation of Bollywood</a>.&nbsp;
Film directors, driven by the understandable desire for commercial viability, have adopted Bollywood's worst tendencies: its emotional maximalism and narrative predictability. But they have done so without the budget, without its system, without its technicality.
The result is cinema that mimics form without function. The cinematography with its saturated colour and glamour-obsessed image is an aesthetic colonisation. Let us name it what it is: a cinema of sympathy.
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/powerful-movie-upacks-questions-of-identity">Social injustice</a> is not interrogated but assumed. Suffering is not resisted but aestheticised. Characters do not struggle to change the world, they endure it. They are saints in ragged clothes, martyrs in the mountains, whose nobility lies in their passivity. In this cinema, pain is purity, and purity is always poor.
These films are said to reflect contemporary society—but they do so in the way a mirror reflects a dream: distorted, beautified, bathed in the light of sentimentalism. They portray not society as it is, but as it feels to remember. What we have, then, is not realism, but a kind of sentimental mythos.
The culprits are not hard to find. They are the most celebrated directors of our time. Their films win national awards, their actors become stars. Yet what unites them all — from rural dramedies like Kabaddi, family melodramas like Prasad, or soft-issue social parables like Saili — is a fundamental conservatism of narrative logic.&nbsp;
If there is politics, it is personal. If there is history, it is just the setting. Society, in these films, is static. The caste system, the labour exodus, gendered violence, these are presented as conditions of nature, not conditions of power. To suffer within them is to be good, to fight against them would be, it seems, impolite.
What defines this tendency is its inability to dramatise complexity. The films are either naively dualistic or neurotically symbolic. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/she-is-the-story">Women are either goddesses or ghosts</a>. Men are either stoic heroes or cartoonish predators. The poor are noble. The rich are cruel. Nothing is ambiguous. Nothing is difficult. Nothing is allowed to breathe.
Most insidious is the rise of populist humour, that soft, crowd-pleasing comedy which diffuses even the most tragic premises, like a nervous laugh at a funeral. Laughter that is not disruptive.&nbsp;
This humour, often rooted in exaggerated dialect, village caricature, or romantic incompetence, serves to neutralise discomfort. It appears not only in comedies but in ‘social drama’, where it functions as an emotional pressure valve. A girl is nearly sold into marriage — but wait, here comes the lovable drunk uncle with a one-liner.&nbsp;
The humour, while infectious , mocks just the symptoms like arranged marriage and patriarchal values, but not the structures themselves. There is no class struggle here, only romantic miscommunication. When misogyny appears, it is played for laughs, when caste lines emerge, they're side-stepped in favour of musical reconciliation.&nbsp;
Politicians are corrupt, yes, but hilariously so. Systemic failure is rendered absurd, not grotesque. Their jokes are universal. But in avoiding discomfort, they also avoid depth. They laugh with the people, not for them.
But why are we laughing? And what are we laughing at? If the answer is that we are laughing without bitterness and rage, at our own condition, then our cinema is no longer a mirror but a lullaby.
Even stylistically, the image is clean but unimaginative, the dialogue is moralistic, almost liturgical. The endings are too often redemptive, even when they pretend to be tragic. One watches these films not to be challenged, but to be comforted: to be reminded that pain is meaningful, that goodness suffers, that, in the end, Nepal is still beautiful.
But cinema is not therapy. It is not the job of film to make pain feel poetic. To reduce our political and economic trauma to matters of individual heartbreak is not just aesthetically lazy, it is dangerous. This is how ideology works: not through propaganda, but through sentiment.&nbsp;
The films, by making injustice feel tragic instead of intolerable, teach audiences not to resist reality, but to accept it.&nbsp;
This is not to say that all cinema is compromised. There are filmmakers, few but growing—who refuse the consolation of melodrama, like Min Bahadur Bham's <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/must-see/Kalo-pothi-review,3101">The Black Hen</a>, and Sujit Bidari's <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepali-new-wave-cinema">Butterfly on the Windowpane</a>, which create spaces of silence, of interiority. Their characters are not metaphors, but people. Their conflicts are not tidy, their resolutions are not redemptive. In short, they resist the tendency.
But <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/min-bahadur-bham-s-cinematic-quest">these exceptions only highlight the rule</a>. The mainstream appetite, whether among producers or the public, still favours the emotionally saturated, the morally clear and the forced humour.&nbsp;
"Show Nepal," they say. "Make it cry. Make it real. But not too real."
What has become of anger in our cinema? What has become of satire, irony, provocation? Where are the films that disrupt rather than reflect? That confront the audience, rather than embrace them?&nbsp;
If art is meant to mirror society, then what society are we mirroring? A quiet one, perhaps, a stoic one, a beautiful one. But not a just one.
This is the paradox of our cinema: in trying so hard to reflect the people, it forgets to challenge them. In trying to represent suffering, it aestheticises it. In trying to honour tradition, it enshrines conservatism.
Cinema should not be devotional. It should not be a hymn. It must be a question. And until directors begin to ask those questions — not in press kits, but in the language of cinema itself — we will remain, for all fanfare and film festivals, a national cinema without a national consciousness. &nbsp;
Abishek Budhathoki is a multidisciplináry artist specialising in media and mass culture. He has directed a number of short films and has also worked on feature films and documentaries.

Nepali cinema’s melodramatic realism

Nepali films have in the past often portrayed women in limited, one-dimensional roles: selfless mothers, obedient wives, or victims of abuse.&nbsp; Nepal’s very first feature film, Ama was a pioneering drama portraying the socio-political landscape of the 1960s <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/mob-movement-and-mayhem">Panchayat era Nepal</a>. But it reinforced traditional <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/hop-over-the-gender-gap">gender roles</a> where women are caregivers, who silently bear emotional labour, while men are protectors and providers. The mother’s strength is portrayed in her endurance in separation from her soldier son, but she still exists largely just there to support the male protagonist’s journey. “A man was always the hero, that was the norm. Women are either victimised or their struggles are over sensitised,” says<a href="https://www.shantanepaliproductions.com/"> Shanta Nepali</a>, director and cinematographer. “Many have raised awareness through their films, but when it comes to true representation of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/quality-of-equality-for-women">women’s issues</a>, we are still far behind.” Plan International Nepal in a <a href="https://plan-international.org/uploads/sites/79/2022/02/womenincinema_3.pdf">research paper </a>breaks down Matighar directed by BS Thapa and starring Bollywood star Mala Sinha into three acts: first where Maya is a romantic lead who is soon widowed and abandoned, she is then forced to flee with her young son and work in a brothel, and finally she seeks a better future for her son.&nbsp; In the end, Maya is accepted back into society but essentially through mercy, highlighting the film’s theme of domesticity as a woman’s rightful place. Not much has changed since the early days of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-qfx-cinema-needs-a-happy-ending">Nepali cinema</a>, although there have been some recent attempts to alter the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/uncategorized/stereotyping-women-as-victims">stereotype</a>. “Women are still largely seen as eye candy, sidekicks, or an element of glamour rather than a central character driving the story. Their portrayal remains superficial, lacking depth and complexity,” says theatre director and actor Akanchha Karki of <a href="http://kathaghera.com//">Katha Ghera</a>. “There has been some progress in recent years, but not nearly enough.” More recent movies like Shambhala and Rajagunj have tried to break through the mould. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/min-bahadur-bham-s-cinematic-quest">Min Bahadur Bham</a>’s Shambhala is centred around a complex female character defined not just by men around her but her own ambitions and struggles. Pema played by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-star-shines-in-locarno">Thinley Lhamo </a>is an active agent of her own story of self-discovery in the face of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/perpetuating-patriarchy-in-nepal">patriarchy</a>. Rajagunj directed by Deepak Rauniyar follows inspector Pooja Thapa who is sent to a Madhes town to investigate the kidnapping of two boys amidst <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Comment/southern-nepal-in-middle-of-a-humanitarian-crisis,579">political unrest and violent protests</a>.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250329140320_22bd4b6cb901014afb3d166dc4d9e56217f049f3a024d6cd11025fc9c981986f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20250329140320_22bd4b6cb901014afb3d166dc4d9e56217f049f3a024d6cd11025fc9c981986f" data-rendition-name="original" width="5796" height="3870" loading="lazy" alt="Rajagunj"> <figcaption>Still from Rajagunj </figcaption> </figure>  Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/powerful-movie-upacks-questions-of-identity"> Powerful movie upacks questions of identity</a>, Sophia L. Pandé Even the 2001 film Numafung by Nabin Subba stands out for an empowering portrayal of women, and a rare glimpse of Limbu customs. After being widowed early, Numafung is expected to marry her late husband’s younger brother but defies tradition in the pursuit of her own independence.&nbsp; Although the 2019 film Xira directed by Ashutosh Raj Shrestha was critically panned, it did introduce an action-oriented, assertive, revenge-driven female protagonist played by Namrata Sharma. Nepali cinema often takes<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Lights-camera-copy-paste,1146"> inspiration from Bollywood</a> which has also seen a shift in how women are portrayed. Older films like Pink directed by Aniruddha Roy Chowdhury critiqued societal prejudices against independent women as well as emphasised the importance of consent. Last year’s Laapata Ladies directed by Kiran Rao was a critical and commercial success. Through slice-of-life storytelling, the satirical drama set in rural India advocates <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-goal-is-empowerment-and-independence-of-women">women’s empowerment</a>, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/sisterhoods-empowering-education-in-nepal?fb_comment_id=4994256443922836_5028381260510354">education</a>, and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/placing-nepali-women-first-past-the-post">equality</a>. Meanwhile, Mrs, a Hindi adaptation of The Great Indian Kitchen, follows a young woman after an arranged marriage in which she finds her aspirations suppressed. A big part of the reason behind often stereotypical portrayals of women on screen is the lack of female filmmakers, directors, writers, and producers. “Many women who started alongside me are no longer in the field, people try to break you mentally,” says Shanta Nepali. “I also faced caste discrimination, so it is even more difficult for women from marginalised communities.” Nepali is creating platforms such as the Nepali Female Filmmakers’ Community for women to actively engage in the field. She adds: “Even men struggle in this industry but when a woman says she wants to direct, the discouragement outweighs the support. It feels like going to war.” Anjila is a recent biopic based on the real-life journey of Anjila Tumbapo Subba, the captain and goalkeeper of national women’s football team. Subba plays herself, and the movie depicts her struggles and achievements in a male-dominated field.&nbsp; Akanchha Karki says that women-centric films often struggle at the box office. Audience preference for action-packed, masala drama discourages <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-nepali-literature-to-the-world">nuanced narrative</a> as well as reinforces the traditional beauty standards, perpetuating unrealistic ideals.&nbsp; “Producers and directors don’t invest in them because they don’t do as well, making it harder to break the cycle,” explains Karki. “Even current women filmmakers in the field often feel compelled to prioritise commercial viability over authentic <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-have-stories-to-yell">storytelling</a>.”

She is the story

There was controlled chaos at the Chhaya Centre on 8 September before the premiere of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2EXOwDgrIg&amp;t=25s">Shambhala</a>, which has made history as the first South Asian film to be selected for the 2023 Berlinale in-competition lineup in three decades. <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm5336883/">Director Min Bahadur Bham</a> ran around, dreadlocks flailing, to test the DCP in the projection room and welcome an all-star lineup of guests. Even so, he found time to sit down with us for an interview in a quiet corner in the lobby. Despite visible signs of stress, Bham’s passion for his craft shines through. The premiere was the culmination of years of work, but as Bham tells it, the true essence of filmmaking is the journey itself.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240912100956_fe4bb576edb2f6ca22d460c425a8b9fdf8d3855dd4e9cac9e13fb56a69094cdd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240912100956_fe4bb576edb2f6ca22d460c425a8b9fdf8d3855dd4e9cac9e13fb56a69094cdd" data-rendition-name="original" width="616" height="585" loading="lazy" alt="Min Bham NT 3 "> </figure>  Min Bahadur Bham, 40, was born in isolated Mugu. As a boy he already knew he wanted to be a film director after his photographer and journalist father bought a cinema hall in his hometown.&nbsp; While watching Bollywood movies there, his friends all wanted to be actors and would imitate the mannerisms of their favourite stars. But Bham craved something more.&nbsp; “Even back then, I wondered who tells the actors what to do. There must be someone guiding and coordinating their performance,” he says. “I didn’t know at the time that it was done by a director, but I instinctively felt that was the person I wanted to be.”&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-director-from-kathmandu">A director from Kathmandu</a>, Sewa Bhattarai This early fascination set Bham on a journey that would take him far, far away from Mugu. In Grade 8 he was already saving money for film school, and by Grade 10 he had run away from home. He started in theatre in Kathmandu, learning acting, lighting, set design, and costume. This theatre background proved to be formative and influenced his later approach to cinema. “If I had to choose, I’d still give more points to theatre,” he tells us. “It’s a pure art form, it has a poetic and an artistic sense to it, requiring discipline and hard work, unlike the finances and glamour of cinema.” Beyond filmmaking, Bham developed a deep interest in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/medication-to-meditation-in-the-mountains">spirituality</a>. “Creating art is a form of meditation,” Bham says, his eyes shimmering with intensity. “Filmmaking, like meditation, requires pouring all of yourself into it.” His debut feature,<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/must-see/Kalo-pothi-review,3101"> Kalo Pothi (The Black Hen)</a> premiered at the Venice Film Festival in 2015, earning critical acclaim for its nuanced portrayal of two boys caught in the crossfire of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/all-is-fair-in-war-and-peace">Nepal’s Maoist insurgency</a>. The film’s success, however, left Bham ambivalent.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240912110924_b4333fc1aeefc7adc6160a183f0dfc8ca5ee8cd66df6eab085f47436d83c8c4b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240912110924_b4333fc1aeefc7adc6160a183f0dfc8ca5ee8cd66df6eab085f47436d83c8c4b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1442" height="1008" loading="lazy" alt="Movie posters NT"> </figure>  “I felt burdened by the success," he confides. “Looking back, I’m critical about its lack of cinematic language: it felt more like a film essay.”&nbsp; Read more: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Narrating-stories-of-nepal,3082">Narrating Nepal</a>, Smriti Basnet Kalo Pothi was a personal story of Bham’s own memories when his friends in school were joining the Maoists, and he heard of the disappearances. A recurring theme in both Kalo Pothi and Shambhala is childhood. “All the characters in my films are reflections of myself,” Bham confesses. “Of course, they’re manipulated for the sake of the narrative, but their essence is drawn from my own childhood when I was very fragile and introverted.” As a boy, instead of playing with children his age, Bham preferred hanging out with older people, listening to their stories: “I missed out on a normal childhood, but had a wonderful one nonetheless.” These early experiences, the memories and nostalgia, became invaluable storytelling tools for cinema, and his PhD in anthropology was an asset as well. “As a filmmaker, it’s essential to grasp the nuances of human behaviour, culture, and politics,” he explains.&nbsp; Before Kalo Pothi, Bham wanted to study political science to get a &nbsp;deeper, holistic understanding of what was happening in Nepali society at the time.&nbsp; But it is with Shambhala that Bham truly comes into his own as a director. "Kalo Pothi was my love letter to my society, and Shambhala is a love letter to my existence,” he says.&nbsp; Shambhala benefits from Bham’s own spiritual journey. He started meditating at age 12, becoming a more serious practitioner by 15. “Through meditation, I began having vivid recurring dreams of a past life as a lama in a monastery in Dolpo,” he says.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/daughter-of-chomolungma">Daughter of Chomolungma</a>, Pinki Sris Rana He travelled to Dolpo, where the terrain and people matched the dreamscape of the places from his meditation. “It was a surreal moment,” he says. “That’s when I realised I had to make Shambhala, to explore the subconscious and discover what I didn’t know.” When the film was selected for the Berlinale, Bham admits he was not very excited, perhaps because he was confident it was going to go places. In Berlin he did not attend any parties, cancelling all interviews and official meetings.&nbsp; “I wanted to be at peace and simply observe. I didn’t want to get caught up in the networking or the festivities,” he recalls. Though polyandry is a central element of Shambhala, Bham says it only serves as a backdrop to an inner quest into the meaning of existence, femininity and reincarnation. “Dolpo offers such incredible landscape that you can point the camera at anything and it will be stunning,” he says. “But it was not a love story, so I used the mountains as characters themselves.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/streaming-the-himalaya-on-film">Streaming the Himalaya on film</a>, Pinki Sris Rana The film’s protagonist is Pema (played by<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-star-shines-in-locarno"> Thinley Lhamo</a> for which she won the<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0iCvN6jHVMQ&amp;t=973s"> Boccalino d’Oro Prize for Best Acting Performance at Locarno</a> last month) whose power and freedom challenge patriarchal norms.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240912110944_491763c06fc1827cd131157b9b3750c9831ee8252fb1d378769dc800170c7f67.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20240912110944_491763c06fc1827cd131157b9b3750c9831ee8252fb1d378769dc800170c7f67" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="719" loading="lazy" alt="Berlin film festival NT"> </figure>  “Pema’s character is a reflection of inner strength and independence, transcending gender,” Bham explains. “As a male director, I also wanted to explore my feminine side to understand it more deeply.”&nbsp; Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/feminity-to-masculinity,1952">From femininity to masculinity</a>, Bernardo Michael and George Varughese He adds that, in Shambhala the male characters reflect aspects of himself, while Pema represents his feminine side: “Developing the characters, I made sure the male side did not overshadow the feminine side in me.” Bham is researching ideas for his next film which might, for a change, be set in Kathmandu or Angkor Wat to discover his artistic sensibility, irrespective of locale.&nbsp; More than a geographical journey, Min Bahadur Bham is on an artistic voyage deep into his inner being to find the meaning of existence itself. &nbsp; Shambhala is set to release on 13 September in cinemas with Nepali and English subtitles.

Min Bahadur Bham’s cinematic quest

On location in Pokhara

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811114/636a29ac9c7e80680e0458dejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/>Given his multinational background, it was perhaps inevitable that it would be Pema Dhondup would make the first truly global Nepali feature film. Dhondup’s family moved down from Tibet to Jomsom after the Chinese annexation, and from there to Himachal Pradesh and cities across India. He has been living in the United States for the past 15 years.His movie <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt5364878/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Man from Kathmandu</a> is shot in Kathmandu and Los Angeles, features a stellar cast of Nepali actors like <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm4542007/?ref_=tt_cl_t8" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Karma</a>, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0787463/?ref_=tt_cl_t11" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Neer Shah</a>, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm1200073/?ref_=tt_cl_t6" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mithila Sharma</a>, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm7273293/?ref_=tt_cl_t5" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Anna Sharma</a> and international stars including <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0004109/?ref_=tt_cl_t1" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Gulshan Grover</a> from India, and other actors from Puerto Rico and Spain."Many people from across the world travel to be a part of the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/page/87/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">terrorist group ISIS</a>, even educated men from Western countries. But so far not a single one of them has been a Nepali," says Dhondup, “I wanted to explore the story of that one man among thousands. I wanted to find out what is it about Kathmandu that brings about this phenomenon."Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/animated-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Animated in Nepal</a>, Sikuma RaiTheme of his film is interaction between man and city, how Kathmandu changes the outlook of a radical half-Hindu-half-Muslim protagonist. Terrorism is just the backdrop to the plot, the real story is of a man's journey.To be sure, making Kathmandu the setting for this movie seems unusual, since Dhondhup is not Nepali and does not speak the language. And the film itself seems to be an effort on the part of the director to come to terms with his own identity and the definition of ‘home’."You can say the quest has ended in a way for me, in the form of my American passport. But does that really define who I am?" he asks.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811114/636a29af9c7e80680e0458dfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1376"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>We interview Dhondup in the Labim Mall office of the film’s producer Nakim Uddin of QFX. Despite his globe-trotting, the director says Kathmandu was the only city he could have filmed his story in. He has fond memories of Kathmandu from his childhood when he came here to visit family members, and in those days it was as exotic as visiting a foreign country."This is a place where identities and cultures are always in flux. In any other city, you immediately know who is who, what a particular person's origins are. But in Kathmandu, walk down a street and you cannot figure out people. Temples, monasteries, churches and mosques flourish side by side. The city has accepted and absorbed all kinds of identities," he adds.The theme of The Man from Kathmandu actually follows on from Dhondup's earlier movies where he explored the question of identity. His 2004 movie <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0452541/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">We're No Monks</a> was about a group of Tibetan boys coming out of their secluded existence to face the world. His documentaries have profiled members of the Tibetan diaspora scattered all over the world."It is very hard to make it in American filmdom, and not because of the reason you may be thinking," Dhondhup explains. "Being brown, or of any race, doesn't matter as much as you might expect. But it matters how well you fit into the capitalistic, money machine of Hollywood studios. If you fit, you can make progress. If you don't fit, and you want to experiment you will have a hard time."Still, years of working in Hollywood has given a certain rigour to his work which he feels is necessary for <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Lights-camera-copy-paste,1146" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepali cinema</a> to make it on the global stage. Many Nepali films are still formulaic stories, but Dhondhup says that is not the real problem."No matter what kind of film you make, it has to be up to international technical standards, of sound, visual, editing, otherwise we have everything in Nepal to make world class cinema, from good actors to good equipment. Using these, we can tap into huge market in India and China just next door," he says.Whether or not The Man from Kathmandu will be ‘world cinema from Nepal’ and is of international standard remains to be seen. But Dhondup says it is already global in a sense that it meets technical specifications, and is set to be released in 50 countries after its Nepal premier this week. Dhondup hopes to continue working in Nepali cinema with Nakim Uddin, grooming and helping a new generation of Nepali filmmakers.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMvpmY7zfoYThe movie will be in cinemas in Nepal from 15 March.

A director from Kathmandu

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

Nepal’s month-long cricket carnival ended on a sunny Saturday in Kathmandu with a final game in which the Lumbini Lions dominated the Sudurpaschim Royals with both bat and ball.&nbsp; The Royals were bowled out for an embarrassing 85, thanks to Namibian Ruben Trumplemann’s three wickets for three runs, and captain Rohit Paudel’s hat-trick in the eleventh over. Only opener Ishan Pandey’s 33 run-innings was of any note.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="909" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1345" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  The Lions came out with virtually no pressure on them, and Dinesh Adhikari’s 42 off 13 including 27 off the first over bowled by Dipendra Singh Airee won the match. Rohit Paudel came in to finish the match calmly, with 11 overs to spare, scoring two stylish fours and a six before holing out with the Lions on 83.&nbsp; The Lions took comically long to get the final two runs to win the game, losing one more wicket. But it was merely a matter of time, and a single ended the Royal’s misery.&nbsp; As dusk fell, the big fluffy lion mascot was on the field dapping up the Lions as red fireworks went off and Lumbini fans leaped from their seats in the packed stands.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  This capped off an incredible run from the Lions who had finished dead last in NPL Season 1, and had only one win and three losses after four games. They won the remaining three, finishing fourth, barely qualifying.&nbsp; This meant that they had to play an eliminator last week against the Kathmandu Gorkhas and then a qualifier against the popular Biratnagar Kings, whose squad included Sandeep Lamichhane, Faf du Plessis, and Martin Guptill. They won both in style. For the Royals, however, this was the second disappointing final in a row after being the best team in the group stage in both seasons of the NPL. National team batsman Binod Bhandari had had an excellent tournament for the Royals, but was in tears at having come this far again and fallen short.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  Despite the final being disappointingly less action-packed for the neutral viewer, the final marked the second successful execution of the NPL. The addition of seats and floodlights at the TU Cricket Stadium overlooking Kathmandu made evening games possible and improved the experience for fans.&nbsp; The floodlights also made for some gorgeous photography as the sun set behind Chandragiri, illuminating the Himalaya to the north in gradually fading shades of orange.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Adam Rossington’s 323 runs, including a century, and Sandeep Lamichhane’s 17 wickets were the standout individual performances across the tournament in the past month.&nbsp; The tournament brought out characters much loved by the vociferous crowd, including ‘Taklu’ Irish commentator Andrew Leonard who worked in a Dhaka Topi, British presenter Jess Crowe who donned a Sari for the final, and Chitwan Rhinos’ charismatic mascot Mr Gaida who entertained the crowd with enthusiastic nonstop dancing.&nbsp; The tournament was such a draw that the university grounds looked like a carnival with food and merchandise stalls. The capacity 10,000 stadium drew such a crowd that Kathmandu streets were relatively quiet on Saturday with people also watching the game live on tv at home.&nbsp; Kathmandu’s residents were genuinely delighted at being able to talk about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cricket-carnival">a Nepali cricket tournament</a>, and not about the Indian or English Premier Leagues. And while everyone appreciated the cricket no matter who was playing, fans showed up for their provinces in loud numbers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  The organisers having proven themselves, future NPLs may need more stadiums in other provinces, even better overseas players.&nbsp; Sambhav Sirohiya of the Kathmandu Media Group ambitiously tweeted that he believes that the league could already become the second most valuable franchise cricket league NEXT SEASON, especially if the government would loosen up its regulations of advertising, especially that of alcohol. Nepali cricketers and fans are now better prepared for the T20 World Cup in India and Sri Lanka in February, with the experience of playing in the NPL and with the access to world-class cricket talent and seeing how they go about excelling at the sport.&nbsp;

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

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