The Tokyo High Court this week ordered the Tokyo Metropolitan Government to pay over JPY39 million ($250,000) in damages to the family of Nepali migrant worker Arjun Bahadur Singh who died in police custody eight years ago.
The order brings justice to the family of Singh, who was 39 when he died after being handcuffed and restrained following his arrest in Tokyo in March 2017.
With help from Japanese human rights lawyers, Singh’s widow Ambika had filed a lawsuit claiming a JPY62 million compensation for her husband’s death at a police station, allegedly due to mistreatment.
The Tokyo District Court had initially ordered a compensation of only JPY1 million to the family citing reciprocity for Japanese nationals in Nepal, but after the Tokyo Metropolitan Government appealed that decision, the court slapped a much bigger amount.
“Police violated their duty to ensure that Arjun was not restrained too tightly than necessary, and it was this action that restricted his blood circulation, leading to his death,” the court order said.
It justified the higher compensation saying it calculated Singh's salary in Japan before returning to Nepal, and added: “Strict adherence to reciprocal compensation could lead to injustice and violation of international human rights law.&nbsp;
<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/nepalis-from-chitwan-to-chidoya,4110" target="_blank">Arjun Singh</a> first came to Japan in 2011 as a migrant worker to work in a Nepali restaurant in Saitama Prefecture. With his savings, he supported his two daughters and wife in Bajura district in Nepal. But he fell sick and went back to Nepal where he could not pay back his debts.&nbsp;
He re-migrated to Japan, but could not hold on to his job and police picked him off the Tokyo sidewalk where he was living. In his possession, police found a credit card, which they accused him of stealing, although he had just found it on the street and had not used it.&nbsp;
Police said Singh was disorderly and violent in detention, and had to be restrained before being interrogated at the Tokyo Prosecutor’s Office. They said his handcuffs were taken off just before he collapsed and was rushed to hospital where he was declared dead. No cause of death was determined.&nbsp;
Japanese lawyer Tohru Takahashi who works for Solidarity Network with Migrants Japan, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/worker-s-widow-sues-japan-government" target="_blank">told Nepali Times in 2018</a> that a doctor's testimony showed that being handcuffed and shackled for a long period was the cause of death due to muscle necrosis.&nbsp;
Takahashi and another activist Azuma Toyohisa took Singh’s body to a Zen temple in Nagoya for an autopsy before cremation. The two activists took care of the expenses and also flew in Ambika Singh from Nepal for his funeral.&nbsp;
“If it wasn’t for the Japanese people who helped me, I would never have been able to take my husband’s ashes back to Nepal, I hope no one has to go through what I did. I couldn’t tell whether I was living a nightmare or a reality,” Ambika had told Nepali Times in 2018 after returning from Japan.
One of the Japanese lawyers defending Singh, <a href="https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2018/07/27/national/crime-legal/wife-nepalese-man-died-interrogation-sues-state-tokyo-metropolitan-government/#.W1xJsi0Q0Wo" target="_blank">Ryutaro Ogawa, told the Japan Times</a>: “This is about how foreign workers don’t get the support they need when they lose their job … I think there is a lot to learn from this case.”
The number of Nepali migrating to Japan has surged in recent years as the country sees a shortfall of workers due to a calling birthrate. There are said to be <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/nepalis-from-chitwan-to-chidoya,4110" target="_blank">nearly 200,000 Nepalis</a> in Japan, mostly working in the service sector, manufacturing and studying. &nbsp;

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Compensation for death of Nepali worker in Japan

This is the 66th 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. <h2>Siya Sada&nbsp;</h2> My husband never gets on cars or buses on his own. I cannot even imagine him flying on a plane by himself. His phobia of travel is very strong. Which is why unlike many men here in Janakpur, he never migrated.&nbsp; Instead, I sent my son to Saudi Arabia and Qatar, but both times he returned before his contract was up, with outstanding recruitment loans of Rs400,000.&nbsp; I had also taken additional loans for my daughter’s wedding. Heavily in debt, and frustrated with constant calls from the money lender, I decided to go overseas myself.&nbsp; There were other women I knew who had migrated to work as domestic workers in the Gulf and sent money home, so I decided to do the same. I did not tell anyone that I was migrating until the last minute.&nbsp; I had disappeared for 11 days in Kathmandu getting my documents ready, and my husband had gone around the village frantically looking for me with my father. I only informed them about my decision before my flight and ignored pleas from family not to leave.&nbsp; After our plane took off from Kathmandu to Kuwait, I enjoyed looking out of the window as we flew higher and higher. I worked there for six years.&nbsp; The first employer was mean spirited and terrible. She had a mischievous चकचके son whom I had difficulty taking care of. She expected me to carry his heavy toy car down four flights of stairs on my head for him to drive. This was just too much. She did not care whether I ate or not. After two years, I moved to a new family which was much nicer and treated me like family. The work was lighter because the children were all grown up and there was more consideration of my time to sleep, eat and work.&nbsp; There were no disagreements like with the previous employer, and I did as I was told उठ भने उठ, बस भने भस. The arrangement in that joint family was that each had their own domestic worker.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250501140524_cefaa6e60345191a95e702b387fea36a5b760b93a5f6d08ea89e9c3b3bf94388.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250501140524_cefaa6e60345191a95e702b387fea36a5b760b93a5f6d08ea89e9c3b3bf94388" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 65"> <figcaption>Siya Sada</figcaption> </figure>  We shared a room with an Ethiopian, Filipino and fellow Nepali. We had a strong bond between us, and we communicated with each other in Arabic which I had already picked up.&nbsp; In a foreign land, every day was a day closer to pay day. We would wait impatiently and count our fingers. I earned money, and I sent everything home to my family back in Nepal: “मैले कमाउने, परिवारले गन्ने”.&nbsp; I had plans to stay in Kuwait for 10 years but had to come back after six when I fell sick. I broke down when leaving, as I had become attached to the family I worked for.&nbsp; They bought me parting gifts like a watch, blanket, flashlight. I handed over my job to another Nepali domestic worker from Sunsari whom I trained before returning. I had managed to pay off my loans with my earnings in Kuwait, and had enough left over to buy some land and marry off my son. But since my stay was cut short, I could not manage to build a house.&nbsp; No other woman from my neighbourhood in Janakpur has migrated overseas that I am aware of. It is only men who migrate from around here.&nbsp; Perhaps I too would not have migrated if my husband had gone overseas, and my son had not returned. In addition to freeing myself from loan sharks, going overseas also widened my mind and horizon. If I had just stayed here in Nepal I would not have achieved as much, my loans would still have been unpaid. Life is back to normal now in Nepal. I am back to washing clothes with my hands and getting water from the well. I wish we could have brought back appliances like washing machines, rice cookers and vacuum cleaners but they are not practical here.&nbsp; Here, even when we leave the lights on for too long we have to worry about the electricity bill. How can we afford anything more ? I don’t even use the iron and hair dryer that I brought back. <h2>Gulbandan Devi Sada&nbsp;</h2> I spent three years and three months in Saudi Arabia and almost six years in Kuwait. It has been five years since I returned.&nbsp; My aunt-in-law had gone overseas, and I also wanted to go abroad to pay the medical bills of my sick husband and support four children. My husband supported my decision saying fate would determine if he would live or not, but we had to take care of our children.&nbsp; I traveled through India where the agent made us wait for a month. My husband died the day before my flight to Saudi Arabia. Everyone told me to continue with my journey as my husband would not return and my children needed to be taken care of. I went, and it took me a year to learn Arabic. Me and my employers relied on sign language and hand gestures to communicate with each other. It was not easy by any means.&nbsp; My employer taught me how to run the washing machine, iron and to cook as per their liking, after which she left things in my hands. Initially, I burnt clothes while ironing, broke the washing machine and my employer threatened to deduct the cost from my wages, but she thankfully did not do it.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250501140524_8d09bf4a54f9e844829543d822d05e67832f51c8f2b20a9cab20a4d154525fdf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250501140524_8d09bf4a54f9e844829543d822d05e67832f51c8f2b20a9cab20a4d154525fdf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 66"> <figcaption>Gulbandan Devi Sada</figcaption> </figure>  But I found out my employer made money off of me by sending me to work at other people’s homes. I did not enjoy my stay there as she was किचकिचे demanding. I used to miss my children while taking care of her children who were of similar age. I had left them with my late mother.&nbsp; When I took care of children overseas, I had to be more cautious than with my own back home since the consequences would be severe if they fell down and got hurt while running around. With my savings, I bought land here, got my brother married and did a big puja. After a few months in Nepal, I went to Kuwait to work. This time, the experience was easier because I spoke Arabic and had gathered experience. But even there, I had to change two employers as I did not have a good experience with the families. The third house I worked in was better, and I stayed with them.&nbsp; Back home I built a house with my earnings, and married off my daughter. Although I wanted to stay longer, I decided to return because I had health issues. I worry about old age and the need to have savings, and even consider migrating sometimes. My only hope now is my children. When I returned to Nepal, my Kuwaiti employer kept calling me saying I should return because the children missed me. But I have my own children to focus on now.&nbsp;

Every day is closer to pay day

Last year, 775,000 Nepalis left for employment abroad, and another 100,000 students flew out to study overseas. Nearly a million young Nepalis left in 2021-22, and that figure does not even include those who went to India.&nbsp; This is the largest mass exodus of young Nepalis in the country’s history. No country can sustain such a sustained haemorrhage.&nbsp; There are few Nepalis left in villages, and those in cities seem to be mostly waiting for documents to leave. Every day, 3,000 Nepalis leave on student visas from Kathmandu airport. The 2021 census put the country’s absentee population at 2.1 million, and that appears to be a gross underestimate. “The youth are not keen to stay at home, and their parents do not want them to stay here either,” says sociologist Ganesh Gurung. “It seems as if the entire nation is on the move.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/migration-not-a-wish-but-necessity-for-nepalis">Migration not a wish, but necessity for Nepalis</a>, Shristi Karki <div class="embed-block"><iframe src='https://flo.uri.sh/visualisation/14955345/embed' title='Interactive or visual content' class='flourish-embed-iframe' frameborder='0' scrolling='no' style='width:100%;height:600px;' sandbox='allow-same-origin allow-forms allow-scripts allow-downloads allow-popups allow-popups-to-escape-sandbox allow-top-navigation-by-user-activation'></iframe><div style='width:100%!;margin-top:4px!important;text-align:right!important;'><a class='flourish-credit' href='https://public.flourish.studio/visualisation/14955345/?utm_source=embed&utm_campaign=visualisation/14955345' target='_top' style='text-decoration:none!important'><img alt='Made with Flourish' src='https://public.flourish.studio/resources/made_with_flourish.svg' style='width:105px!important;height:16px!important;border:none!important;margin:0!important;'> </a></div></div> An increasing number of Nepalis are leaving to study while working: primarily in Australia, Japan, Europe, and North America. Those who leave face bureaucratic hassles trying to get no-objection certificates, and when they come back they get the run around trying to obtain an equivalency for foreign degrees so they can work here. Last month, six young Nepalis from Rasuwa left their studies, jobs, and businesses to seek employment in Croatia. “With luck, I can get a PR (Permanent Residency) in some other European country, Croatia is just a stepping stone,” said Bhuvan Neupane, one of the six. Elsewhere in Nuwakot’s Bidur village, Binod Poudel is hoping to go abroad and has handed his passport to a foreign employment agent. “All my friends have left Nepal,” he says. “What am I supposed to do here?” Aakriti Timilsina is a high school graduate, and has given up on college in Nepal and is preparing to study in either Canada or Australia by working part-time there. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-hard-working-students-overseas">Nepal’s hard working students overseas</a>, Sonia Awale <div class="embed-block"><iframe title="Studying Abroad " aria-label="Map" id="datawrapper-chart-0JsdR" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/0JsdR/4/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border: none;" width="900" height="483" data-external="1"></iframe></div> A recent study by the online platform Studyportals revealed that Nepali students make up 14.3% of international students across the world. Sociologist Dinesh Prasain notes that a lack of employment and meaningful earnings are the primary reasons for the young to leave. Basic items have become unaffordable even in fixed-income households. But there are other push factors as well: peer pressure, falling living standards, and a growing hopelessness that the future will be better because of corruption and political disarray.&nbsp; At the end of the Maoist insurgency in 2006, there was expectation that stability would yield a peace dividend. But Nepali politics remains in the stranglehold of tried, tested and failed leaders. Volatile and populist behaviour of new elected leaders has disappointed many young people, while some parties resort to religion and bigotry.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/inconvenient-truths">Inconvenient truths</a>, Editorial  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230908040920_e0cbd240a58b106e912ff5929f838821076ca23de511298525fc5a6fb19da0d1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230908040920_e0cbd240a58b106e912ff5929f838821076ca23de511298525fc5a6fb19da0d1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1333" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Page 1"> </figure>  Young Nepalis enthusiastically voted for alternative candidates in the 2022 local and federal polls, but mayors Harka Sampang and Balen Shah have been more adept at posting inflammatory comments on social media than actually delivering on election promises. This week Shah made outright threats to burn down Singha Darbar because the car carrying his wife was stopped for speeding. The post got millions of shares and likes before he took it down. Many also took the outburst as a sign that the Kathmandu mayor offers no real hope of reform. A series of corruption scandals from fake refugees, the Baluwatar land scam, gold smuggling and politicians trying to protect each other by transferring police investigators has added to the public disillusionment. “Nepali society has lost faith in politics and the leadership to make things better,” explains sociologist Dinesh Prasain. “Nepali parents &nbsp;would rather their children go somewhere better, and youngsters do not want to remain in what they see as a sinking ship.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-editorial/false-equivalence-in-nepal-academia">False equivalence in Nepal academia</a>, Aastha Dahal <div class="embed-block"><iframe title="No-Objection Certificate for students" aria-label="Column Chart" id="datawrapper-chart-c67xC" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/c67xC/2/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="width: 0; min-width: 100% !important; border: none;" height="450" data-external="1"></iframe><script type="text/javascript">!function(){"use strict";window.addEventListener("message",(function(a){if(void 0!==a.data["datawrapper-height"]){var e=document.querySelectorAll("iframe");for(var t in a.data["datawrapper-height"])for(var r=0;r<e.length;r++)if(e[r].contentWindow===a.source){var i=a.data["datawrapper-height"][t]+"px";e[r].style.height=i}}}))}(); </script></div> Nepalis are lining up to fight in foreign armies, and even recruited themselves into both sides of the Russia-Ukraine war because of the promise of earnings and citizenship. This movement is helping keep Nepal’s economy afloat. Remittances contributed significantly to lowering Nepal’s poverty rate to below 17%, but over the long-term the cost of losing such a large proportion of the working age population is incalculable.&nbsp; Some 65% of Nepal’s total population is in the 15-64 age group, and Nepal is losing this demographic advantage. The country has only one-and-a-half decades left to take advantage of an active youth workforce. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/in-a-federal-kleptocratic-republic-of-nepal">In a Federal Kleptocratic Republic of Nepal</a>, Shristi Karki <div class="embed-block"> <iframe title="Population by age group" aria-label="Split Bars" id="datawrapper-chart-3L11U" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/3L11U/2/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border: none;" width="600" height="595" data-external="1"></iframe></div> Sociologist Dinesh Prasain describes the exit of young Nepalis as a moral crisis: “It is a failure of the political leadership. A country without its youth has lost its soul.” Meanwhile, Nepal’s politicians are just mouthing platitudes. Finance Minister Prakash Sharan Mahat last week urged young Nepalis to “change their mindset”, even arguing that Nepali students should be barred from studying abroad. Economist Pushkar Bajracharya says that there has to be a step-by-step strategy to create opportunities for Nepalis at home in order to prevent a brain and brawn drain: “If out-migration continues to grow as this pace, we are not only looking at a socio-economic crisis but also a threat to our sovereignty.”&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/high-risk-remittance">High-risk remittance</a>, Upasana Khadka

Push factors driving Nepalis out

Migrant workers returning from the Gulf and Malaysia make up 40% of infertility cases at Paropakar Maternity and Women's Hospital in Kathmandu. Studies have highlighted the problem of sterility among men who have<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/caring-for-nepals-women"> returned from working abroad</a> in extreme temperatures and are prone to unhealthy lifestyles including smoking and alcohol consumption. Sarlahi resident Sanjeev Sah had gone to Saudi Arabia for work just a year into his marriage. Concerned about his wife having to raise a child alone during his absence, 32-year-old Sah and his wife postponed their plans for a baby. Three years later after his return, the couple has not been able to conceive. They sought treatment at Paropakar Hospital in Thapathali. Sah was diagnosed with azoospermia, with no measurable sperm count. “Doctors told me that working in high temperatures abroad reduced the quality of my sperm,” says Sah. Suraj Adhikari from Dhading worked in Malaysia for three years, He married at 28 but was unable to conceive with his wife and was also diagnosed with azoospermia at an infertility clinic. Adhikari worked at a construction site in Malaysia which left him little time for basics such as food and water. Despite<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/gulf-workers-need-protection-from-heat"> extremely high temperatures</a>, he often went without water for prolonged periods because it was not always available. Doctors blame his time and lifestyle for the decline in his sperm quality. “Neglecting essentials while working abroad has led to a costly and time-consuming treatment for me,” Adhikari laments.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230903040916_17d0de92dd3eb03aa0e268ca5e30187ad21900f10f86f1bc6b7e9cc7ca1d540b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230903040916_17d0de92dd3eb03aa0e268ca5e30187ad21900f10f86f1bc6b7e9cc7ca1d540b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Migrant infertility NT"> </figure>  Infertility is on the rise, globally and in Nepal. This is especially true for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/migration-not-a-wish-but-necessity-for-nepalis">workers returning</a> from the Gulf and Malaysia, having worked in hotter temperatures. Half of the patients with childlessness visiting the outpatient department at Paropakar Maternity and Women's Hospital every day are migrant returnees. “Working conditions with high temperatures reduces the quality and quantity of sperm in young men,” confirms Vinita Thapa, sperm specialist at the hospital. Shree Prasad Adhikari, the director of Paropakar Maternity and an infertility pathologist, notes that 25 out of every 100 couples face infertility presently, and the problem has now grown particularly among those returning from foreign employment. Two years ago, Tribhuvan University Teaching Hospital conducted tests on 186 men seeking infertility treatment at the institute. Of these, 46.2% had previously worked in the Gulf. The research report, published in the journal PubMed, revealed low sperm quantity and quality in some cases as well as a very low number of sperm capable of fertilising eggs in others. According to the WHO, one in every six adults, or 17.5% of the world’s population suffers from infertility. In Nepal, where children are seen as a form of security and add to the social prestige, infertility can have far-reaching implications. An increase in infertility could also be a contributing factor to an ultimate decline in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/counting-on-nepal">population</a> together with delayed marriages. And yet, assisted reproductive technologies such as in vitro fertilisation (IVF) remain financially inaccessible and carry social stigma for many individuals.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230903040916_fc6932b9f60d4f08e3c9834b4e141afba4d939726f297f9d4f1bcd8a674ebb23.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230903040916_fc6932b9f60d4f08e3c9834b4e141afba4d939726f297f9d4f1bcd8a674ebb23" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Migrant infertility NT"> </figure>  A study by the Hebrew University of Israel and Mount Sinai School of Medicine in the US found that the average sperm count globally has decreased by half over the past 50 years. The study also revealed a decline in sperm quality, including a decrease in the number of sperm capable of fertilising eggs. Between the 1970s and 1990s, the rate of sperm count decline increased from 1.16% per year to 2.64% by the early 2000s. Paropakar Maternity and Women's Hospital introduced a semen storage service in June, allowing Nepalis to preserve semen and eggs if they require delayed childbirth. For instance, young individuals going abroad for a long time can <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/freezing-a-future-family-IVF-embryo-surrogacy,3881">store semen for reproduction</a> upon their return. Additionally, if the husband is absent, the wife can undergo artificial insemination using the stored semen, a technique called intrauterine insemination (IUI). In the IUI process, women are given medication and injections to stimulate egg production. Once mature eggs are produced, they are released through an injection. About 36-40 hours after releasing the eggs, a viable sperm is selected and placed into the uterus using a catheter, explains sperm specialist Thapa. The hospital is performing IUI on four to five women on a daily basis, at Rs5,000-10,000 per procedure. If pregnancy doesn’t occur after six IUI attempts, IVF is recommended. Adds Thapa: “Many are not aware but 90% of couples facing childlessness can be treated.” Since the introduction of the storage service in June, 15 couples have inquired but only two couples have agreed to store semen. The maternity home is also launching semen and egg donation programs wherein women having difficulty producing eggs can use donor eggs and the husband’s sperm. Similarly, when their husband’s sperm isn’t viable, the wife’s egg can be combined with donor semen for insemination.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230903040916_bb962f67de4e8325418117724d37ab0d9cc744195c68224e45973832aad89be1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20230903040916_bb962f67de4e8325418117724d37ab0d9cc744195c68224e45973832aad89be1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Migrant infertility NT"> </figure>  “The stored semen remains effective for almost six years, retaining 60% of its initial quality,” assures Thapa. But more often than not, most childless couples fail to seek medical attention on time, resorting instead to shamans, witch doctors, and other ineffective measures. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-first-human-milk-bank">Paropakar </a>is the sole government facility providing effective treatment for childlessness at present. Hospitals often lack counselling services. Infertility treatment depends on the underlying cause ranging from pharmaceuticals to embryo implantation through assisted reproductive technologies (ART). Some 80-90% of childless couples can find solutions through regular treatment, says Paropakar director Adhikari. He adds that weight loss could be a solution for obese women struggling with infertility. In the case of blocked fallopian tubes, there are medications. For those with uterine tissue growth causing pregnancy complications, surgery can help their chances. But while normal medication can stimulate egg production, up to 50% of women facing infertility lack viable eggs. “Some older women might have reduced fertility despite having eggs. In such cases, medications and hormones can increase their capacity,” says Adhikari, adding that the government doesn’t need as much resources to fight infertility as much as it needs commitment. Treatment needs to be scaled up to reach all the district hospitals so that couples can easily access artificial insemination and other services while also promoting awareness and reducing the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/maybe-baby">stigma associated with childlessness</a> in Nepal. The fact that migrant workers who are in every sense the backbone of Nepal’s economy don't have access to treatment means it is even more crucial that infertility, the stigma and the treatment are prioritised and effectively addressed. &nbsp;

Migrants returning from the Gulf with infertility

This is the 33rd instalment of Diaspora Diaries, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. I still remember the first day I landed in the UAE in 2009. Dubai airport was sparkling clean, spotless. Outside, there was a fancy air-conditioned van with a smartly uniformed driver waiting to pick us up. As he cruised through the wide and clean roads effortlessly, I thought to myself that the driver looked more like a pilot. But reality soon hit. It was past 3 AM, and the scene outside started looking dirtier and dimmer as we drove further away from the airport. We had reached our labour camp and were dropped off in a dingy part of the city. This was our reality, not the glamour and the glitter of the first impression. At 18, I, too, had come to work in the country as a cleaner to add to the sparkle. Despite the disparity that quickly became evident, I found a sense of warmth in the way the Nepalis at the camp welcomed us. There were no cups, I cannot recall why. But the dais cut water bottles in half, and used the lower half to serve us tea with bread. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/finding-a-niche-in-nepal">Finding a niche in Nepal</a>, Babare Bahadur Bomjan  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230528120552_326d17bbffedb8976f6d683175327188fa8674025e58a56217ba935fcbde0e53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230528120552_326d17bbffedb8976f6d683175327188fa8674025e58a56217ba935fcbde0e53" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="DD 33"> </figure>  They went out of their way to feed us after our long journey as they told us about our new home. I will never forget their 4 AM hospitality. &nbsp;&nbsp; As I was brushing my teeth after waking up, uncertain about what awaited me, I heard someone shout out my name. It turns out two of my school friends were already working in the same company for two years. What were the odds, I thought. I had finished Grade 12 and landed in Dubai to work so as to better my life. I used to get jealous of the village boys who came home from bidesh every two years or so for a month to relax and splurge money. It was one of those acquaintances on vacation who had advised me to make my passport. Like other Nepali youth, this was my foreign dream. My father was getting old so I had to assume responsibility of a provider. My induction training in Dubai, even for a cleaning job, was three weeks long. I had not thought of cleaning as a professional job, but here, it was being taught like it was a science. We were not going to mindlessly scrub floors, we were required to have a deeper understanding of the chemicals and cleaning tools. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/wounded-in-the-line-of-duty">Wounded in the line of duty</a>, Antare Khatri  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230528120552_3f46ed3a561e53d6023428e6baefce013098e025882249b8b320a2702a72c589.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20230528120552_3f46ed3a561e53d6023428e6baefce013098e025882249b8b320a2702a72c589" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="692" loading="lazy" alt="DD 33"> </figure>  I learnt a lot and as I scored over 80% in my assessment exam, and got placed in hotels. Those who scored lower had to work in office buildings and malls. At the hotel the manager had been secretly watching my work. He was obviously impressed because when a supervisor left he offered me the job. At just 20, I was unsure if I was up for the task as I would have to manage people significantly older than me. But I took a chance and was promoted from cleaner to supervisor. Over the next nine years in the UAE, I worked in about six hotels. I could not stay put in the same place for long because once the work would start getting repetitive, I wanted to move on to better things. From a normal hotel to a five star and subsequently to a luxury five star. I was also getting a degree in tourism on the side at an Indian-affiliated open university in Dubai. I did not manage to attend all classes because of my hectic work schedule, but I knew I needed the credentials for my future so somehow managed to complete it. My last employer in Dubai was Fairmont. Working at a five-star hotel has its perks. It is more professional, the staff is more competent. The managers had significantly better skills and experience that made you want to emulate them. There were also a lot of training opportunities. Lessons from books like Emotional Intelligence and Who Moved My Cheese? were taught in ways that injected Fairmont's values in our blood. I enjoyed my work and even got the 2018 Manager of the Year award, something I had never even dreamt would happen. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/i-went-to-earn-and-learn">“I went to earn and learn”</a>, Nawaraj Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230528120556_db73120f959e11e19fd626e9de4fd44c9c835ff45db50fd8ebc4f94480a4bed9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230528120556_db73120f959e11e19fd626e9de4fd44c9c835ff45db50fd8ebc4f94480a4bed9" data-rendition-name="original" width="750" height="794" loading="lazy" alt="DD 33"> </figure>  &nbsp;At a get-together at a colleague's home, I saw a wall that was full of pictures from all over the world. I asked my friend's husband what countries he had been to. He laughed and said, "Perhaps it would be easier if you asked me what countries I have not been to." Indeed, as a flight crew, he had traveled the world. That was a turning point in my life. I had been stuck in one country for nine years, when there was a whole wide world out there. I made it a point to look for jobs that would allow me the same kind of mobility so I could broaden my horizon. Within a month, I identified a recruitment drive in Dubai for a cruise ship and passed the interview. I was to work on an Italian cruise ship as Assistant Chief Housekeeper. &nbsp;I remember the mixture of excitement and nervousness I felt when I first saw the ship at the dock: it had over 1,250 guest cabins and 800 crew cabins. It was so gigantic that when I tried to take pictures, the ship would not fit on my screen. My colleagues laughed at me saying it was a relatively small ship by industry standards and that they had worked in much bigger ones. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/diaspora-diaries/migrant-worker-returns-to-create-work-at-home">Migrant worker returns to create work at home</a>, Sunil Bhujel  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230528120552_1a4b4d075d8cfc9262fd9564cf6213e38942bf9dc17351eac418eb35114f8c2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20230528120552_1a4b4d075d8cfc9262fd9564cf6213e38942bf9dc17351eac418eb35114f8c2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1293" height="1725" loading="lazy" alt="DD 33"> </figure>  Life onboard is busy. Most of our guests are older people from all over the world who have the time and the money to travel around. As we hustle around the clock, it is easy to forget that we are in the middle of the ocean because the vessel is a world of its own. It does not matter where we are, really. Whether in the middle of the desert or ocean, we are working day and night to make money and provide for our families. Regardless of land or water, our lives revolve around that one day every month when we get our salary notification in our cell phone, this is what all this hustle is about. Everything else is secondary. I have now sailed to over 45 countries across the world in 17 months. It is like reading the review of a 300-page book: you just get a little taste of what those countries have to offer. At every port stop, we get to see the few main tourist spots, visit a couple of malls and have a meal before we hop back on to continue our journey. &nbsp;I make it a point to get good Indian or Nepali food, something I miss on board. But now that I am married, I am restless again. I am not as excited about traveling and meeting new people as I have been. My longing for home, to be with family, is growing stronger by the day. I can feel my priorities shifting, and it is just a matter of time before I act on it. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/for-better-or-verse-in-the-gulf">For better or verse in the Gulf</a>, Dalbir Singh Baraili Translated from a conversation with the author. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to editors@nepalitimes.com with 'Diaspora Diaries' in the subject line.

Mountain to desert to ocean

This is the 25th instalment of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/nt/here-now/diaspora-diaries/">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad.&nbsp; I am 70 years old, and finally got to travel to the UAE where two of my sons live. It was multiple firsts: the first time I left the country, the first time I got on a plane, and more importantly, it was the first time I saw what my sons, Krishna and Ram, had been describing to me for the last decades that they have been working overseas. We struggled to raise our children amidst poverty and hardship to ensure they got a good education, which was not easy. From dawn to dusk my husband and I looked for ways to ensure they were well fed and educated, while taking care of the livestock and farming.&nbsp; I did not have enough money to run a shop so I sold tidbits like chocolates, biscuits, cigarettes and bidi on a box by the wayside. Even this makeshift shop had its fair share of local customers in the village.&nbsp; When Krishna, my eldest, finished Grade 12, he decided to go abroad for employment. Not many people had left our village for overseas work in those days, unlike now when every house has someone abroad.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/baking-as-a-metaphor-for-life/">Baking as a metaphor for life</a>, Aliza Basnet  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230308060348_419a84eb70a4d3131f66fbad99bd9a7a486242bc9bc2ddc73e6ca2b5e3279b9d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230308060348_419a84eb70a4d3131f66fbad99bd9a7a486242bc9bc2ddc73e6ca2b5e3279b9d" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="A mother's sons NT 2"> </figure>  We were worried about sending him away, but he was determined to go. The only consolation was that we had a family member in the UAE who had helped Krishna secure his job, and would be there in case he needed support. Even then, we all wept when he left home, not knowing what to expect.&nbsp; He wrote us letters every month or so, and there was much relief when they arrived. My family members used to read out those letters to me and respond on my behalf. One message in Krishna's letters to us was not to &nbsp;compromise on the education of his siblings, like he had to.&nbsp; Ever since he went to the UAE 21 years ago, as the eldest son he had taken up the role of being the guardian of my children. Despite being young himself, he provided financial support for the family back in Nepal and ensured that his siblings had a good education. Fortunately, my children did not squander this opportunity and have done well for themselves.&nbsp; Even though Krishna sent us letters, it was only two years after he left that I first got to hear his voice. The shop with the phone was three hours away from our house, and I had to walk there to speak with him. The minute I heard his familiar voice, I choked and could not utter a single word. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/turning-the-desert-green/">Turning the desert green</a>&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230308060344_2b7622565be48a5407fbb4a4bfad30eff8cdd684bd788ab58bf296c1890f04d0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20230308060344_2b7622565be48a5407fbb4a4bfad30eff8cdd684bd788ab58bf296c1890f04d0" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="719" loading="lazy" alt="A mother's sons NT 1"> </figure>  It was overwhelming and it felt like my son's voice was coming from a vacuum. The following year, he came home to visit for the first time. Since then, his trips have become more frequent.&nbsp; But this time, it was my turn to visit him in the UAE. My husband and I finally got to witness where two of my sons live. My youngest son Govinda, who is now in Nepal, is also a UAE returnee who after spending a few months there, quickly realised that if he was to progress like his brothers have in the UAE, he should first complete his studies so he returned mid-contract. I had seen the UAE through pictures and videos my sons showed me. But experiencing the place myself was completely different. The buildings are really tall, and the roads are wide. Everything is systematic.&nbsp; I especially liked how they treated my husband and me with respect in public places. We were not expected to wait in lines, for example. In Nepal, elderly people do not receive the same kind of respect.&nbsp; Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/prisoners-of-the-green-passport/"> Prisoners of the Green Passport</a>, Mahendra Thulung Rai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230308060348_764ba063a4dd78891e9313833c53488cde096dd112fcf5926caab0bf0a3811a2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20230308060348_764ba063a4dd78891e9313833c53488cde096dd112fcf5926caab0bf0a3811a2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="A mother's sons NT 3"> </figure>  &nbsp;Despite their busy schedules, my sons pampered us in the UAE for an entire month and showed us around. Even then, Krishna complains that he did not manage to take us to a couple of places he had planned because of time. I especially liked the tall aquarium and the botanical garden. We met many other Nepalis, I have lost count how many. There were at least a dozen from our own village who made it a point to come and see us. The person who drove us around was also from Arghakhanchi.&nbsp; Many of the Nepalis we met, reminded us just how lucky we were to be in the UAE. There are many Nepalis there, but not all parents have the luxury to visit their children.&nbsp; The Nepalis we met showered us with love and attention. One girl, in particular, who had lost her mother a few months back cried saying we reminded her of her parents, and that she missed them terribly. &nbsp;As we consoled her and gave her our blessings, we too could not stop our own tears.&nbsp; Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/for-better-or-verse-in-the-gulf/"> For better or verse in the Gulf</a>, Dalbir Singh Baraili  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230308060348_09a945d0b8a91141d6a7355daf8ea087743fe52f3e0d58b093acc470101f4680.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20230308060348_09a945d0b8a91141d6a7355daf8ea087743fe52f3e0d58b093acc470101f4680" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="A mother's sons NT 4"> </figure>  There were many moments like this when we felt emotional in the UAE. After all, it is a country in which my sons spent significant periods of their lives.&nbsp; One such moment was visiting Krishna's office, a travel company that he recently started in the UAE. At the office, they welcomed us with bouquets and sacred खादा scarfs. It is his perseverance that has brought him so far.&nbsp; He started small as an office boy 17 years ago and worked his way up, supporting &nbsp;his parents and siblings on his back as he rose. I could not have been prouder. What more can a mother ask?&nbsp; The month in the UAE went by quickly and I have come back bearing gifts for my grandchildren. I tell them we will visit my sons again “बाँचियो भने” (if we are still alive). Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/speaking-the-language-of-overseas-work/">Speaking the language of overseas work</a>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230308060352_714abdde7300a7d866c96050d869b77f281e0865ce049344975de509633fe467.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20230308060352_714abdde7300a7d866c96050d869b77f281e0865ce049344975de509633fe467" data-rendition-name="original" width="1536" height="2048" loading="lazy" alt="A mother's sons NT 5"> </figure>  Because we were not used to travelling, Ram had come to Nepal to escort us to the UAE, and Krishna came back with us to Kathmandu. He will spend a few weeks with us, and this will make the separation somewhat easier.&nbsp; I have six children and ten grandchildren but such is life that other than during festival times, we do not get to see everyone. As they say, “छोरीहरु अर्काको घर जाने जात, छोराहरु कमाउन जाने जात” (the daughters get married and move out, the sons get jobs and move out). &nbsp; Because of my sons, we now live in a पक्की house in Butwal, very different from our thatch-roof home in the village which had खरको छानो and later a tin roof. Our home in the village is now empty. We go there once a year during festivals, when the abandoned house comes to life temporarily as we fill it with laughter, भैलो music and singing.&nbsp; Krishna refuses to let me sell the village house even though it is locked up most of the year. He does not want to give up the clan home where he was born and raised. There is too much emotional attachment.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/cut-from-a-different-cloth/">Cut from a different cloth</a> Translated from an interview with the author. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to editors@nepalitimes.com with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

A mother's sons

This is the 24th instalment of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/nt/here-now/diaspora-diaries/">Diaspora Diaries</a>, a regular series in Nepali Times with stories of Nepalis living and working abroad. [dropcap]O[/dropcap]ne of my earliest memories growing up in Butwal is my maternal uncle coming home with cakes on our birthdays. He ran a bakery and his arrival with cakes and other tasty pastries during festivities made me associate the profession with joy and good memories. Perhaps this is what instaled a passion for baking since my early childhood. Like my uncle, I also wanted to bring joy to others. From Butwal, I went to Kathmandu for further studies and an undergraduate in hotel management was a natural choice. My uncle had taught me things practically and a formal education pushed me to understand the theory behind what I had seen and learnt in his bakery while growing up. I chose baking as my specialisation. When Covid-19 hit, I immersed myself completely into the art of baking, and kept myself busy. I had moved back to Butwal and worked at my uncle’s bakery. The lockdown and closing of the world had made time available in abundance and I found ways to stay productive. From a loyal customer in my uncle’s bakery as a little girl, I had now transitioned to become his protégé, baking cakes in the mornings and bread in the evenings. It came naturally to me, and I realised that this is what I want to do all my life. Baking is exciting because it combines dedication, creativity and patience, and can transform seemingly familiar household items that are lying around in the kitchen like flour, oil and sugar to rise into mouth-watering delicacies. I particularly like preparing birthday cakes because it allows me to indirectly contribute to and become part of peoples’ lives and celebration. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/turning-the-desert-green/">Turning the desert green</a>  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230303150320_267981e4e01c806b8d419798715b1067221059d8cb46ce69d899bd5edcdef0eb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230303150320_267981e4e01c806b8d419798715b1067221059d8cb46ce69d899bd5edcdef0eb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1901" height="1533" loading="lazy" alt="Baking as a metaphor for life NT 2"></figure>  When things started getting repetitive at my uncle’s bakery, I moved back to Kathmandu and took up internships at Yak &amp; Yeti and the Marriott. These short-term stints were enjoyable, but what I really wanted was an actual job, and like all Nepalis, I was faced with the dilemma of staying back or leaving. Having worked in Nepal in different places already, I felt like an overseas job had more to offer by way of learning, and would give me exposure. A job advertisement for a vacancy at the Atlantis in Dubai in my college social media group caught my eyes. The ‘free visa free ticket’ scheme as advertised felt like a scam, since most recruiting agencies falsely advertise such offers despite charging workers exorbitantly. But when I asked around, I found out that the job facilitated by my recruiter, Vision and Value Overseas, indeed was free and the aspirants were not charged a single penny. This was too good to be true. Perks like these and the possibility of working at a luxury hotel made the choice to try for an overseas job easy and exciting. I applied, and the recruitment fair was conveniently held at the Yak &amp; Yeti, the hotel where I was working on a temporary contract. But my heart sank when I did not see my name in the list of selected candidates. Two months later, however, I successfully passed the interview round in another ethical recruitment drive for the same hotel by the same recruiter for which I had prepared more seriously. Until then, I had not told anyone that I had applied for overseas jobs. My baker uncle was the first person I consulted with when I had the offer, and he encouraged me to pursue my overseas dream. Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/prisoners-of-the-green-passport/"> Prisoners of the Green Passport</a>, Mahendra Thulung Rai  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230303150320_5322ce4f8213bd190624aa3dc0be6d67ce2db8bea1b7c30ce206432a902c0a27.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20230303150320_5322ce4f8213bd190624aa3dc0be6d67ce2db8bea1b7c30ce206432a902c0a27" data-rendition-name="original" width="1672" height="1700" loading="lazy" alt="Baking as a metaphor for life NT 3"></figure>  It has been four months since I came here to Dubai, but I have already learnt a lot. I get to work with colleagues from diverse backgrounds, but it is also humbling to know that despite the language and cultural differences, we are all the same. Whether from Mexico, Ukraine or Nepal, we are here in search of better learning and earning opportunities with hopes of improving our lives and pursuing our passions. There is a strong emphasis on soft skills like team work and communications. While there were language barriers initially, I think my English has now vastly improved. As someone new here, I am still in my learning phase but then again, when does learning really stop? I may have learnt how to make bread in Nepal, for example, but am also exploring new methods to do so in the UAE as there are differences in the ingredients used and procedures followed. Hygiene, in particular, is of incomparable standards in the kitchen here. I also have it easier than many because my own brother and a cousin also work together in another hotel in the UAE as bartenders. Having a support system of family members overseas has definitely helped me adjust here. I earn six to seven times more than what I did in Nepal, and am able to send support to my mother and sometimes, even to my grandparents, even though they are reluctant to accept what I send. At this luxury hotel, it is common to see high profile visitors, even though waiters and those in customer facing roles get to interact with them more than we in kitchen who are behind the curtains. But I was fortunate enough to watch a Beyoncé show during our hotel opening. It was exciting beyond words. My ultimate dream is to become a Pastry Chef, but as a Commis III, I still have a long way to go. My journey has just begun. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/speaking-the-language-of-overseas-work/">Speaking the language of overseas work</a> Translated from a phone conversation with the author. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to editors@nepalitimes.com with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

Baking as a metaphor for life

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/639057989c7e80680e0ce164jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="667" height="1000"/><figcaption>Mural in Lalitpur highlights the human cost of FIFA World Cup infrastructure building.</figcaption></figure>On 18 December 2022, the Men’s World Cup football final will be held at Qatar’s Lusail Stadium. It will mark the end of a journey that started in December 2010 when Qatar was awarded the tournament hosting rights.18 December is also International Migrants Day, a day set aside to honour migrant workers for their contributions and sacrifice. It is also Qatar’s National Day.Over the past 12 years, millions of migrant workers have toiled to make the 2022 World Cup possible, building key infrastructure, including the stadiums in Qatar. However, these workers have always been at the margins, and the authorities have been less than responsive to their abusive work conditions.Qatar’s Labour Minister recently <a href="https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RSS1_VHsjjDGpSpqbAe8P">rejected</a> proposals for a remedy fund for abuses faced by migrant workers, including uncompensated deaths, further highlighting the lack of recognition for the people who perform the vast majority of the country’s labour. FIFA, football’s governing body, has not made a decision.But South Asian governments, too, share responsibility for these abuses. They wasted many opportunities to collectively push for reforms to address shared concerns, including numerous unexplained, uninvestigated and uncompensated deaths, high recruitment fees, and wage abuses.The preparations for the tournament owe a lot to South Asia. It is not just that the footballs are made in <a href="https://dailytimes.com.pk/954864/sialkot-made-footballs-to-be-used-in-fifa-world-cup-2022/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://dailytimes.com.pk/954864/sialkot-made-footballs-to-be-used-in-fifa-world-cup-2022/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw1NzGeZj8KixiILH3AFfWMZ">Sialkot, Pakistan</a>. Every state-of-the-art stadium in Qatar, and all of the <a href="https://dohanews.co/why-is-qatars-fifa-world-cup-the-most-expensive-in-history/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://dohanews.co/why-is-qatars-fifa-world-cup-the-most-expensive-in-history/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw36QhvzvoqCzGDLJL6mPe2s">US$220 billion</a> in surrounding infrastructure, is largely built by South Asians. Migrant workers from the region are also employed in stadiums, hotels, malls, and airports, providing key services. The remittances these workers send to their families are critical to make ends meet—often the only source of income for many families.FIFA, football’s global governing body, has been a complacent enabler of abuses, while Qatar, the host country, has faced well-deserved criticism for the high human cost of the Road to 2022. FIFA did not carry out human rights due diligence over the abusive kafala labour sponsorship system in Qatar, or the prohibitions in Qatar that keep workers from forming unions or striking.After years of pressure over the conditions, the Qatari government introduced reforms that partially addressed key abuses. The government set up a Workers’ Support and Insurance Fund that became operational in 2020 to ensure that workers are paid even when companies fail to do so. Over $320 million has been disbursed as of September 2022 — an indication of the wide-scale nature of the problem.Such initiatives have had immediate impact on families far away. One South Asian worker <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/08/12/fifa/qatar-commit-compensate-abused-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/08/12/fifa/qatar-commit-compensate-abused-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3rObbFC7ovQisdJ9ep2geO">told</a> Human Rights Watch in July that he waited months for the system to process his request and send his money, even contemplating suicide, knowing his family had to take loans for his children’s education and parents’ health bills.Furthermore, only a small fraction of workers secured jobs without paying illegal recruitment fees.  One lucky worker <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/10/20/qatar/fifa-reimburse-migrant-workers-recruitment-fees" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/10/20/qatar/fifa-reimburse-migrant-workers-recruitment-fees&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2Lo8cYNRViKeJkCdZGqNyn">said,</a> “If I had not come for free and had paid recruitment fees as is common for Indians, my first paycheck would be going to the local money lender back home, and not to my mother.”But most of the migrant workers ‘paid to build’ the multibillion infrastructure project in the scorching heat. A 2020 <a href="https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---asia/---ro-bangkok/---ilo-dhaka/documents/publication/wcms_766198.pdf" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---asia/---ro-bangkok/---ilo-dhaka/documents/publication/wcms_766198.pdf&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw0Brh7VArawHHhAGhRxsxTK">survey</a>found that the  average recruitment costs for Bangladeshis going to work in Qatar was around $3,863, equivalent to 18 months of  earnings in Qatar. A significant portion of the remittances are simply spent to pay off loans taken to get these jobs.Companies affiliated with Qatar’s Supreme Committee for Delivery and Legacy, the body responsible for planning and delivering World Cup infrastructure, have committed to reimburse over $28 million in recruitment fees to 48,814 workers in Qatar. While a positive initiative, its impact is inadequate considering that it does not cover most migrant workers who helped build and service the necessary infrastructure for the World Cup. At any given time, there are over 2.2 million temporary migrant workers in the country.Qatar deserves credit for attempting reforms, but the benefits have been limited due to their late introduction, narrow scope, or poor enforcement. This is why Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International and other organisations have called on FIFA and Qatari authorities to remedy past and ongoing abuses during World Cup preparations, including deaths, injuries and wage theft.Despite growing pressure from sponsors, football associations, former players and fans, FIFA is dragging its feet while the Qatari Labour Minister rejected the call last week, labelling it “a publicity stunt.”Qatar and FIFA still have a chance to shape the legacy of the World Cup. They have the resources and responsibility to remedy these abuses.The labour minister <a href="https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RSS1_VHsjjDGpSpqbAe8P">said</a> that “every death is a tragedy”. But the greatest tragedy is that the authorities failed to properly investigate the causes of many worker deaths, deeming them ‘natural’, ‘unexplained’, or ‘cardiac arrests’, leaving their families without compensation because these causes are not considered work-related. Without adequate investigation, deaths caused by working conditions such as heat stress have gone uncompensated.FIFA has provided a total of $260 million of what it calls ‘legacy funds’ for humanitarian causes to host countries for three previous tournaments: in South Africa (2010), Brazil (2014) and Russia (2018). Qatar should be no different. It needs to set up a remedy fund for abused workers and the families of those who died unless it wants its legacy for the 2022 World Cup to be about worker abuse.There is one last opportunity for South Asian governments to back the call for a remedy and to work to ensure stronger protections for their workers. In particular, they are well placed to respond to <a href="https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RSS1_VHsjjDGpSpqbAe8P">Qatari authorities</a> who claimed there is no data to establish these funds, with the Qatar Labour Minister <a href="https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RSS1_VHsjjDGpSpqbAe8P">asking</a>: “Where are the victims, do you have names of the victims, how can you get these numbers?"South Asian governments can be an important resource to connect FIFA and Qatari authorities with families of migrant workers. This requires a detailed review of the existing databases and welfare systems. The Qatar government and origin country governments also have <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/07/11/families-bring-home-migrant-worker-remains-qatar" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/07/11/families-bring-home-migrant-worker-remains-qatar&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw119geBHsZHFpkVL5gX3A6_">data</a> of worker deaths because of the bureaucracy that families have to navigate to repatriate deceased loved ones. Origin country governments can also seek support from local civil society groups and media to locate families of deceased workers and other victims, putting out calls for information on national media outlets and government websites.The problem of establishing a compensation fund for migrant workers and their families has never been about data, —which is available, but about political will.Only if there is remedy will this tumultuous, 12-year journey end on a more humane note on 18 December 18, the day of the final of the 2022 World Cup, and more important, the International Migrants Day and Qatar’s National Day.Meenakshi Ganguly is the South Asia director at Human Rights Watch and Mohna Ansari is former member of Nepal’s National Human Rights Commission.

Labour rights legacy of the FIFA World Cup

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cac9c7e80680e0bd4a3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="1276"/><figcaption>Ajay Shrestha in his cricket jersey during happier times. All photos: courtesy ANIL SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>I left for the UAE six years ago. It was a struggle to adjust to the new environment, but the country gave someone like me who had arrived with no experience a platform to work hard, and make a decent living.I started as a crew member at a restaurant, and by the end of six years, was working as an assistant manager making five times more than my starting salary.I did not have any reason to leave the UAE given my job security and attractive benefits, but my younger brother, Ajay, who was based in Malta wanted me to join him there.“Europe is Europe,” he used to say.My only motivation to go there was to be with my brother. Why live in two separate places when there is opportunity to be together to support each other, to celebrate festivals together, and create some semblance of a ‘home? My mother also loved the idea of her sons being together.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721caf9c7e80680e0bd4a4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1600" height="1200"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>He helped me find a job in Malta, also in the restaurant line. The salary was not all that different from what I was making in the UAE.When I joined my brother in Malta on 31 January  this year,  it had been three years since I had last seen him. We were thrilled. What I did not know then was that it would be a reunion that would change the trajectory of our lives.In addition to the excitement to see me, he was also looking forward to his trip back to Nepal on 1 March. He was already in holiday mode, excited to be back for the first time since he got here.A cricket fanatic, he had set aside a 1,900 euro fund to organise a game back home through a cricket academy in Bardia that a common friend had set up.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-1/">Diaspora Diaries 1</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb39c7e80680e0bd4a5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A mother’s boy, he was trying to decide between different mobile sets to buy for her, and also for an uncle.He worked as a bike delivery rider in Malta and in the morning of 16 February, he was scrolling through his phone when he got a delivery request and decided to take it up. Every extra euro would help, he said.I was playing a game on my phone and barely paid attention as he left the apartment. He later called from below the apartment to ask me to pass his power bank that he had left. As a delivery boy, it was an essential he could not afford to leave behind.He called again me to tell me to throw him his purse from the balcony. He caught it with a grin. Sloppy boy, I thought.A while later, I got a call from a fellow Nepali. He told me to go to the hospital because Ajay had met with an accident, about three kilometers from our apartment.I could feel my soul leave my body when I heard the news as I rushed to the hospital. As soon as I arrived, I was told by the doctor that Ajay was no more.The fact that he had come back twice to take his phone charger and wallet still haunts me. He had died on the spot when a truck hit him. Perhaps if he had not been delayed by those couple of minutes due to his absentmindedness, he would still be alive. The difference a few split seconds would have made.Needless to say, I was shocked beyond belief. How could this have happened? My eyes hurt to see my brother as he lay there in the hospital, as if we was in peaceful sleep. He looked normal and was still warm.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-2/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Diaspora Diaries 2</a>, Nepali TimesMy mother back in Nepal had to be rushed to hospital as she collapsed after hearing the news. This added to my grief and worry.In that abyss, I felt numb, unable to process what was going on. It had been only 17 days since I had arrived in Malta. Everything was a blur.Back in my brother’s apartment as I wept, I could not comprehend what was going on and what was next. I had to figure out how to take my brother’s body home. I did not know anyone there, or how the system worked.Friends came to the apartment to pay their respects. They were all in tears, and hugged me, brought me food and made sure someone was always at my side. I have no idea who these people were, but they were all Ajay’s friends and they were there for us, and to support me.Growing up, I was always the quiet one, and Ajay the more outgoing sibling. I used to be known as ‘Ajay’s Dai’ rather than Anil. Even in his death, I was ‘Ajay’s Dai’, surrounded by his friends, in an unfamiliar country, among unfamiliar people.It was also evident how much goodwill Ajay had garnered in Malta. I had at least five Nepalis who came to me to repay money they had borrowed from Ajay. They didn’t have to but they did. They were in tears.Many recounted memories of how he had helped them when they were struggling financially. In the following weeks, there were football games organised in his memory with moments of silence in his tribute. My brother, he had left a mark among many.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-3/">Diaspora Diaries 3</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb79c7e80680e0bd4a6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="720" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>These stories of death in a foreign land are common. It is a familiar sight for us Nepalis to see coffins arrive at Kathmandu airport. Most of them are on flights from the Gulf, where I spent six years.But this was the first fatality among Nepalis in Malta. Even the Prime Minister of Malta and the Mayor reached out to me and extended their condolences. The Nepali community there was stunned. Nepalis and Maltese friends crowdfunded for his repatriation, to support our family, and raised nearly Rs2.8 million with which we could send the body to Nepal.How do you describe the feeling of being on a plane with your brother in the cargo hold in a box? How can you talk about bringing a younger sibling’s body home to your parents?<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cb99c7e80680e0bd4a7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="720" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On the flight back home, I kept thinking about how my brother had brought me to Malta just weeks before he died. It was as if he had wanted his elder brother to take care of him, and bring him home.Had I been in the UAE, there was no way I would have been able to go to Malta to do that. The longer the wait, the more difficult it would have been for my parents, since seeing my brother’s body and completing the final rites at least provided them a sense of closure.Here in Bardia, the days are passing slowly. My priority is to take care of my parents who are distraught. My mother is almost  unrecognisable with shock and loss of appetite. She has no more tears left to shed.Things were just starting to look up for us. Three months ago, we bought our father a scooter so he could get around more easily than in his bicycle.My brother and I had just moved in together in Malta, and this happened. Nothing makes sense. I now want to find ways to keep my brother’s memories alive, and to fulfill his dreams.We organised the cricket tournament in his memory, and the finals were on Monday. A team from Banke district won.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/diaspora-diaries-4/"> Diaspora Diaries 4</a>, Nepali Times<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cbc9c7e80680e0bd4a8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="750" height="403"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Both us brothers were very fond of cricket growing up, perhaps because India is right across the border. But back then we could not even afford the basic equipment.We played with a tennis ball, and even that was expensive. We made our own bats. My brother had wanted to make sure that children of our home village would not have to suffer the same deprivation.Just a month before his death, my brother had sent another Rs15,000 to the sports academy to organise the tournament.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721cbf9c7e80680e0bd4a9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="958"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On the opening day, I wore one of his favorite jerseys that said ‘AJ’ on the back. It is the little things that remind me of him, and make me suddenly burst into tears without warning. There are many memories of our childhood that make me feel simultaneously close to him, while reminding me of the cruel reality that he is not around anymore, and he will never be.The jersey is among his possessions that I brought back with me from Malta, leaving nothing behind in his apartment that I gave up before returning.I don’t think we will ever learn to move on from this loss. But perhaps one day we will learn to live with it.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-qatar-job-mirage/">The Qatar job mirage</a>, Nepali TimesTranslated from Nepali. Diaspora Diaries is a regular column in Nepali Times providing a platform for Nepalis to share their experiences of living, working, studying abroad. Authentic and original entries can be sent to <a href="mailto:editors@nepalitimes.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">editors@nepalitimes.com</a> with Diaspora Diaries in the subject line.

Fate joins, then separates, siblings

<img width="800" height="466" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209d49c7e80680e0b5566jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>After <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-days-of-international-migration/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali migrant workers</a>, it is water sourced from Himalayan springs that have found a market 3,500km away in the desert nation of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/human-rights-referees-blow-whistle-on-world-cup-fouls/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Qatar</a>.The export project was derailed for two years by the pandemic, but Rudra Ganga Natural Water has started shipping Rasuwa: Super Premium Himalaya’s Natural Spring Water to Doha. Eight tonnes of water was recently air-freighted from Kathmandu to Doha in the first phase. The water samples were successfully tested and certified by Qatari authorities, where the 330 ml and 500 ml Rasuwa bottled water are available at 3.50 riyals ($1) and 4 riyals ($1.4) respectively in supermarkets. The company is planning to export additional 16 tonnes soon, and has got orders for another 50 tonnes to Dubai by March.“Those countries became rich by selling oil to the world and now we have started selling our water to them where drinking water is more expensive than petroleum,” says Bibi Kharel of New Langtang Himalaya Trading and Contracting, which is distributing Rasuwa Water in the Gulf.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/greens-from-nepal-in-qatars-desert/">Greens from Nepal in Qatar’s desert</a>, Upasana Khadka <img width="1280" height="828" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209d69c7e80680e0b5567jpeg.jpg" alt="">The sheikhdoms of the Gulf region suffer from some of the most chronic water shortages, and they spend billions every year desalinating sea water as well as in importing bottled water brands from Europe. Rasuwa is trying to tap into this market by selling the Himalayan and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/made-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal brands</a>. The exporters say Nepalis in Qatar and other Gulf countries are well regarded, many work in supermarkets and restaurants and can be good brand ambassadors. "Many Nepalis work in the hospitality sectors and with hotels being one of our biggest consumers we have reached out to our Nepali workers there,” says Kharel who is eying the 2022 FIFA World Cup later this year and the Doha Expo in 2023 to further promote water from Nepal.He adds: "As tourists from all over the world will be coming for the World Cup, it will also be a marketing platform for Nepal’s water globally.”However, all is not rosy for a small first-time exporter from Nepal to compete in the West Asian market which has attracted the world's largest water companies including Fiji water and Évian.Kharel is well aware of the competitive market but is hopeful that there will be greater interest in Nepal’s high-quality chemical-free Himalayan natural spring water collected from springs near Dhunche in Rasuwa at an elevation of 2,000m.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-days-of-international-migration/">The days of International Migration</a>, EditorialRudra Ganga Natural Water, which has a water treatment plant in Dhunche started production two and a half years ago with the goal of exporting water. While the pandemic delayed its initial plans, it is now researching markets including China, Australia and Saudi Arabia for export.“China has big potential, and we have spent a huge amount of money for the promotion of the Rasuwa Water market in Chinese cities. Our distributor will soon start mass sales in China,” says Ganesh Bahadur Bhandari of Rudra Ganga.In recent years, businesses have been looking at the possibility of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11264#.YhIyPi8w3u0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">exporting Nepal’s water overseas</a> and experts believe that Nepal can tap foreign markets if it properly utilised the good reputation of Himalayan spring water globally. <img width="195" height="462" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209d99c7e80680e0b5568jpeg.jpg" alt="">Rudra Ganga is in fact not the first company to attempt water export in Nepal. About 15 years ago, Himalayan Spring Water, also in Dhunche, had started exporting water to Korea. But it was unable to continue when its Korean investors pulled out.The company, which is now owned by businessman Ajay Raj Sumargi, produces water under the Himalayan On Top brand. Although On Top also started exporting to Saudi Arabia and Dubai, the venture has not been as successful.Bhandari of Rudra Ganga says that high air freight costs from Kathmandu is the biggest hurdle for expansion of the export market adding that it costs them about 60 cents (Rs72) to export 500ml of bottled water to Qatar. “For us, shipping costs are higher than production. Only by reducing it can we reach our potential,” he claims.Distributor Kharel agrees, it costs the company Rs55 per kg while shipping bottled water to Qatar, which he says should be reduced to Rs35 per kg to make Nepal’s water market competitive. Similarly, he argues that air cargo charges should be waived when exporting water through state-owned Nepal Airlines to support businesses.“If cargo cost is reduced by half, it will help in the export of other homegrown products too and in destination countries, we need support from Nepali missions abroad to market our products,” he adds.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/oil-rich-gulf-turns-to-renewable-energy/">Oil-rich Gulf turns to renewable energy</a>, Kunda Dixit <img width="1200" height="1460" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209da9c7e80680e0b5569jpeg.jpg" alt="">There is a cheaper alternative, businesses can export bottled water through the Indian sea ports at 10 per kg but it takes at least 45 days for cargo to reach Qatar via Kolkata, and a month through Visakhapatnam port.  Instead, if the government can make arrangements for exports from the Mumbai port, the goods can be delivered to the Gulf countries in five days. Nepali workers have played an important role in the transformation of West Asian countries which were built on the blood, sweat and tears of labour migrants. On the other hand, remittances from these workers have kept Nepal’s economy float despite recent crises including the pandemic. Migration experts say that bilateral agreements between Qatar and Nepal could explore mutually beneficial projects like this that could help Nepal’s economy -- and not just with income from remittances. Says Bibi Kharel: “We should now think beyond just exporting human resources, we should now be exporting our products too. And this will be crucial in generating reliable foreign exchange earnings and expanding enterprises.” Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-must-now-send-skilled-workers-to-qatar/"> Nepal must now send skilled workers to Qatar</a>, Nepali Times

Nepal’s water in Qatar

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

A new normal

This is the 75th 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. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.

Things eventually work out

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

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

The <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/DQtSOT6ilFC/?img_index=1">post on Instagram </a>has an image of Sudan Gurung. Over the top is the message: ‘We wont let this year’s election happen if Gen Z’s demands are Ignored’. The account’s bio is ‘Uniting Nepalese Through Independent Investigative Research.’ Post like these have become a template for the information ecosystem in the aftermath of the GenZ revolt in September. Social media feeds are saturated with content that uses multimodality of captions, video, audio, to convey alarm and warnings about how GenZ aspirations are being subverted. Research by MIT showed that on X false news reaches 1,500 people six times faster than the truth. Fake news goes ‘farther, faster, deeper, and more broadly than the truth’, researchers concluded. Narratives compete on platforms, and users gravitate to the shock-value of the news and not to factual precision or nuance.&nbsp; “On social media misinformation easily mutates into disinformation,” says media literacy trainer Deepak Adhikari. “The news we see on social media are often out of context, with little information that misinforms more than inform.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251203121236_6daaeaf8ed255fda4a431d0419d9ae1a0908259af14529835034ce48653064a9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251203121236_6daaeaf8ed255fda4a431d0419d9ae1a0908259af14529835034ce48653064a9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1501" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Doomscrolling democracy NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251203121232_8a7a41b8bd1892137d1dd97fd1c1408d2879ff96fa69a4d6d5acff7239869d4b.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251203121232_8a7a41b8bd1892137d1dd97fd1c1408d2879ff96fa69a4d6d5acff7239869d4b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1601" height="340" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ instagram"> </figure>  Indeed, today’s ‘Post-Truth Society’ is characterised by a media environment where users give more credibility to their pre-existing beliefs and emotion rather than objective facts or subjective nuance. Post-Truth does not refer to what comes after the truth, but rather a cultural or information environment where pre-held personal beliefs shape public opinion, not facts.&nbsp; Rumour, bias and propaganda have always been a part of the informationsphere, but what makes it different today is the velocity at which falsehood spreads. The news cycle is short, and before content can be verified the damage is already done.&nbsp; Adhikari says that pre- and post-publication fact checking can be a potential antidote. However, when a video with misleading content goes viral, and even after fact-checkers catch up to correct it, the fear-mongering, anger or hate has already spread.&nbsp; In Nepal’s social media, apparently everyone is tarred as guilty, or funded by a foreign government. Calls to dismantle federalism, restore the monarchy, or teach political leaders a lesson by supporting authoritarian alternatives are no longer fringe ideas discussed in private. They circulate routinely in the algorithmic streams legitimised not by evidence but sentiment. When misinformation becomes the default, nostalgia for a mythical prosperous past begins to look like a rational response. While these positions are not new, their algorithmic amplification gives them perceived legitimacy that makes it hard to estimate, or far exceed, their actual political support. “We have not highlighted the achievements of our multiparty democratic system, and the new generation has not experienced authoritarianism,” Adhikari explains. “Therefore statements like federalism is expensive and the monarchy was better have taken up space, because the evidence of the counter narrative is underreported.” There is a positive side to social media. The GenZ movement took on momentum, and the protestors organised and supported each other through the very platforms that are now full of content that can potentially derail the democracy they wanted to strengthen. Just like it was trendy to be revolutionary during the protests, it is now trendy to be skeptical and to distrust the very people who were installed in the interim government through online voting. Such is the architecture of social media: it rewards immediate reaction over reflection, and due to its interface design, it not only shows what could be relevant ‘for you’ but also tells you what others are thinking about that. The role of the mainstream press as the traditional gatekeeper of information has been superseded by the digital sphere — both in access and sharing. This poses new challenges because social media content may not be news, and just because a page claims to be a news site that does not mean it is journalism. Social media feeds are not chronological newspapers but an algorithmic marketplace. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, YouTube all rely on recommender systems, now powered by AI to keep users on their platforms for as long as possible. The feeds then collapse the distinction between credible news, speculation, parody, and deliberate disinformation, especially in a politically volatile environment.&nbsp; Everything appears in the same vertical stream, formatted with similar fonts, voiceovers, and music, making a platter of content that they know you are most likely to consume. For Nepali users, this has created personalised and parallel political realities. Two people living in the same household may open TikTok and encounter completely different idea of the problems and solutions of Nepal. One is fed content in favour of elections in March, while another pushes conspiracy theories about anti-GenZ activities aided and abetted by foreign powers. None of these feeds reflect the whole picture. Each reflects what the algorithm has learnt will capture user attention. Academics have long found that social media sites do thousands of A B testing to silently optimise which colors, captions, or video formats users respond to most intensely.&nbsp; Tests help design the most addictive feeds. Interface interference allows platforms to limit discoverability of certain features such as the ‘Logout’ and ‘Privacy’ settings so the system remembers users preference for the next time they are scrolling the platform. When faced with such infocalypse, we have the option to withdraw and not engage with our feeds or our phones. But billions of dollars have been spent by Big Tech to keep us hooked. We need more structural revisions that integrate the need of a safer online environment. Media and digital literacy must be woven into both formal education and public institutions. It cannot be an optional topic or a workshop for a select few.&nbsp; Students must learn how algorithms work, how misinformation spreads, and how to verify information before sharing it. Adults need community-level programs that help them navigate the online world that now shapes politics.&nbsp; Content creators also must be held accountable. Profiles posing as news sites must also be brought under the same scrutiny as the mainstream press. Directives for social media journalism, a section in the Press Council’s Journalism Code of Conduct can be introduced as provisions that foster transparency and ethical journalism practices on social media. Creators should pledge to verify facts, cite sources, and clearly label opinion or commentary. While this will not entirely curb disinformation, it can be the first step towards a digital public sphere that can host democratic dialogue with nuance and facts.&nbsp; Says Adhikari: “Journalism doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and our knowledge space, academia, think tanks, research centres, archives, are scaffolding to support journalism, and we must make them stronger. The role of journalism can be to humanise the news and journalists can be storytellers, but the responsibility of the information ecosystem does not rely on journalists alone.” Ayusha Chalise is a communication and development scholar specialising in how politics is experienced in the digital space.

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