<figure><img width="4000" height="3000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/639057119c7e80680e0ce13ejpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Ajit Baral of FinePrint in Kathmandu (left) who published Faatsung, the Nepali language novel from Darjeeling by Chuden Kabimbo (right), and also translated it into English as Song of the Soil which has been shortlisted for the JCB Prize in India. </figcaption></figure>Darjeeling-based writer Chuden Kabimbo’s Nepali language novel Faatsung was translated into English as Song of the Soil and published in Kathmandu by Ajit Baral of FinePrint. Now, Song of the Soil has been shortlisted for the JCB Prize for Literature which honours Indian authors. Kabimbo and Baral sat down for a conversation recently. Excerpts: Ajit Baral: You often stress that literature transcends geographical and linguistic boundaries. You were trying to prove that, literally, when you travelled to Nepal looking for a publisher. What made you look for a publisher in Nepal, even though your debut book, 1986, a collection of short stories, was published in Darjeeling? Did you have any inkling it might cross borders and be translated into other languages? Chuden Kabimo: I believe love and literature don't have any boundaries. I was born in a small village from where it took hours to reach Darjeeling. I had thought I would tell the story of this smaller Darjeeling to the bigger Darjeeling, and if possible, to people beyond Darjeeling. But I didn't know that this story would go as far as it has.  When I finished the novel, I thought it would be good if I could get some copies to Nepal. This brought me to Kathmandu, the city of my dreams, whose landmarks I grew up hearing about on the radio. Why would Kathmandu believe in an ordinary writer from a remote corner of Darjeeling? I had no reason to be hopeful. But fate had something else in store for the novel.  I had travelled to Nepal hoping to find a publisher, but returned with the happy news of simultaneous publication in Nepal and India. My story had, as you said, already crossed one boundary. Every book makes a different journey. The writer guides the story forward, but after the book is published, it is the other way around. Perhaps Faatsung made me aim for the wider world. Nothing is more important for a writer than the trust of their readers. This trust gave me the courage to go to Kathmandu for the first time in my life. Readers in Nepal loved the book, which must be why the translators were interested. The year it was published in Nepal, Samik Chakrawarti translated it into Bangla in Kolkata, enabling me to cross yet another geographical boundary. It was then translated into English, taking me as far away as the UK. And then the JCB shortlist happened. The Hindi translation is now complete. Soon it will make another journey into yet another geography, and I don’t know where it will go next. Ajit, you yourself have been a part of this beautiful journey, first as a publisher and then as a translator. Did you ever think that this novel would come this far? <img width="640" height="982" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/639057169c7e80680e0ce13fjpeg.jpg" alt="">Ajit Baral: No. Not in my wildest dreams. I knew that the book was beautiful and that it would do well. Remember, I had asked you how many copies you would have printed had you printed it in India, and you had said 1,000 copies. To that, I told you we would print 10,000 copies. That is how confident I was about your book. But I never imagined that I would translate it into English as well, and it would go on to be translated into several other languages and published in the UK and India.The idea of translating came to me much later while editing the Nepali book, when I got to appreciate it better. Chuden Kabimbo: I still remember the days when you started work on the manuscript. Whenever you would come across a sentence or a paragraph that struck a chord with you, you would write to me saying, ‘What a beautiful line!’ or ‘What a beautiful paragraph!’ And I would feel that you were my true reader. But when you found something wrong with my writing, you would say, ‘This doesn't make sense. Please rewrite this bit.’ At that time, I must say you came across as a mean teacher. After dozens of changes, I even started to get irritated. Did you feel annoyed about all the work you had to put into it?  Ajit Baral: No, never. On the contrary, it was a sheer pleasure working on your manuscript. It is always fun when a draft is so good it requires little editing. And yours was just that. I may have made you rewrite a few sentences, but these were just for clarity, to make them read better, striking out repetitions, or asking questions about a character here or an incident there. I was careful not to make substantive changes to your writing which is so lyrical.  Chuden Kabimbo: And that continued when you started translating the book …Ajit Baral: Yes, it did. As Jhumpa Lahiri says, translating a novel ‘is the most intense form of reading and rereading there is’. It became apparent that I had overlooked a few weaknesses in the text, which I flagged and you tried to fix them. A translator should fix problems, if any, in the original text. More so in texts that  haven't gone through rigorous editing. But Anurag Basnet, who vetted and edited the translation, a champion of fidelity to the text, suggested that I remain faithful to the original. Now that we are at it, how did you feel when you read the novel in English translation? Chuden Kabimbo: When you first sent me a draft of the translation to read, I found that my own story had a different taste. The story was the same, but the tone was different. Maybe this is where the power of translation lies. I cannot read Bangla, so I don’t know how that is. But when I read the Hindi translation, I found its tone was also different. It had its own rhythm as well. And I realised that Nepali idioms sound pleasant in Hindi only after reading the translation.   Translation is a bridge through which not only our language and literature but also our society and culture cross over to different places and milieu. With Faatsung being translated into three languages, I feel our geographical imagination is also transported to a new society. You can feel the snow falling when reading a Russian novel. Faatsung's Hindi translator Namrata Chauturvedi keeps saying that every language is endowed with the power of its geographical imagination and that geography plays a vital role in forming memories and experiences, which we tap on to write literature. When translating Faatsung, local references often threw her off. Having grown up in Uttar Pradesh, she hadn't seen a landslide or terrace farming in the hills, which is very different from the plains. It was therefore important for her to describe the geography in the novel. A translator has to imagine it precisely, she says, otherwise, the writing risks losing its poetic strength. You are also from the mountains, Ajit, but the story of the Gorkhaland movement is not your story, and you had to translate it for an audience that was culturally and geographically removed. How challenging was that? Ajit Baral: I cannot recall the translation being challenging on account of this. I didn't worry about certain references getting lost on readers, as I had no idea at the time that it would get published outside Nepal. In any case, our UK publishers didn't ask us to make any changes to help readers, either. In hindsight, however, we could have expanded the context of the Gorkhaland movement a little for the benefit of those unfamiliar with it. This leads me to post you a counter question: Would you have written Faatsung a little differently if you had known that it would be translated into many languages?Chuden Kabimbo: I don’t know if I would have written it a little differently. In any case, I had written a novel, and I don’t think one has to describe everything to make the reader understand an event in a novel. My concern was only the story, and I was more interested in how much of that time of the Gorkhaland movement I can bring into the story and how I can tell the pain it unleashed without boring readers.Yes, people in other languages may not have heard of the Gorkhaland movement. They may be unfamiliar with the grim times that Darjeeling experienced. They may also be unaware of the story of that movement in which thousands of people lost their lives. But a work of fiction is to provide a glimpse of how the events affected the characters. It is to sketch out how terrible that conflict was, or how much was burnt when that fire raged.And I believe tears don’t have any language. When you see someone weeping, you feel their pain even though they may speak another language. I wanted to write about Darjeeling’s pain, and tell the story of that sorrow. Read more: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-nepali-literature-to-the-world/">Taking Nepali literature to the world</a>, Ashish Dhakal

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A novelist talks to his translator

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209f39c7e80680e0b5572jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="507" height="600"/><figcaption>Author Buddhisagar. Photo: BUDDHISAGAR/FACEBOOK</figcaption></figure>Buddhisagar’s novel Karnali Blues starts with a father, who says after seeing his newborn son for the first time, “He has a mole on the sole of his foot, so he will have to walk a lot but he won’t go off anywhere and leave us.”His mother then asks the baby, “Will you go off and leave us when you’re big?”A statement from one parent, a question from the other.In a Thamel restaurant on a sunny winter afternoon, Buddhisagar walks in wearing a brick-orange jumper and black pants, looking as if he just returned from a track meet-and-greet. He apologises for being late. “I walk everywhere,” he offers as an explanation.He does not look like any of the pictures on the Internet, those that make him out to be larger-than-life celebrated Nepali author. Maybe it is because he is not expecting to be photographed.Read more: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/former-gurkha-soldier-turns-author/">Former Gurkha soldier turns authors</a>, Chun Bahadur GurungThis is the real Buddhisagar, in his most natural state. Perhaps this is how he looks writing in his own company, while sipping tea from a local vendor and building stories out of childhood nostalgia.Like Brisha Bahadur in Karnali Blues, Buddhisagar was also born in Matera, and brought up in Katasé and Kalikot. Like the main character of his novel, he was not academically gifted. But unlike his fictional counterpart, he was rather shy, Buddhisagar  confesses. So the prolific author most likely did not go around looking for mischief or drawing moustaches on pictures he found around the house.Many call Karnali Blues an autobiographical fiction. “Some parts of the beginning of the novel are real,” the author admits.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209f59c7e80680e0b5573jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="725" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The inspiration for the novel came in a hospital, a place of both birth and death. “My father was sick and like in the novel, he was in Kohalpur. He died later, from brain hemorrhage as well,” he says.But Buddhisagar does not think he is our protagonist. He explains, “A writer is never one character. They are inside the minds of young and old, of men and women - they are everywhere in fragments. There are some parts of me in Brisha Bahadur. There are some parts of my mother and father in him as well. He is not all me.”After a pause, he adds, “Just look at the poems he writes. If he was me, he perhaps could have written them better.”There is also the juxtaposition in the book between the two Harsha Bahadurs — one is the breadwinner of the family and the other lies paralysed in a hospital bed.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-literatures-thulnani-toya-gurung/">Toya Gurung: Nepali literature’s Thulnani</a>, Muna GurungThen, there are the two Brisha Bahadur: the child who looks up to his father, and the youth who still does so even as the father lies on his deathbed.Father and son oscillate between having to give and receive care to one another. There is also the pacing of the past and the present in the chapters of the novel. The present moves in a numbingly slow pace as the human mind goes through moments rejecting death, and yet accepting the hopelessness enveloping it whereas the past rushes up to the narrator like a deadly current in a moody river that catches up to those who do not want to be caught.“What matters the most to me is <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/writing-about-nepal-from-afar/">authenticity</a>,” Buddhisagar says,  sipping on a single-shot Americano. “Regardless of whether a story is autobiographical or not, the readers must think that the events happening in the story can actually happen in reality.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209f89c7e80680e0b5574jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1222" height="900">Karnali Blues tells us about <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-nepali-literature-to-the-world/">people and places that age</a> through immaculately detailed visuals of the great river’s tributaries weaving themselves into the story.Villages and towns also have characters and stories to tell. A tea shop by the river turns into a small market. The river becomes a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-the-bagmati-civilisation-is-becoming-uncivilised/">dumping site to accommodate modernisation</a>. The cattle get sick. A new bridge opens up a nearby town, and its population migrates, hoping for a better future.The village dries up, but the rivers stay polluted. There is death and abandonment, but even if one life ends, the other has to move forward. The title is apt, there is no other place to feel blue and desolate than in the Karnali.“The back-and-forth style of storytelling in Karnali Blues came from those hospital nights with my father,” Buddhisagar says, this time holding a freshly-lit cigarette between his fingers. “You start by reading about an unknown person, sick and on his deathbed,  and slowly, you walk along the story with him. Eventually, the readers get to know him and so when the end comes, it creates an emotional response.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-nepali-literature-to-the-world/">Taking Nepali literature to the world</a>, Ashish DhakalBecause we spend 400 pages with Harsha Bahadur, we know that he is a constantly caring patriarch whose love for blue waistcoats is immeasurable. We also know that Brisha Bahadur’s nameless mother is constantly forgiving. Despite being a troublemaker, we still adore Brisha Bahadur’s predilection for an expensive bicycle, or a leather jacket. His love for tea makes him the most relatable Nepali on earth. And thus we come to care for all of them.“Since I spent many years writing the novel, it opened a whole new world for me,” Buddhisagar says, blowing out blue smoke through his nostrils.It has been 12 years since he came out, and readers have come to love the world he created as well. It has now found new visitors with <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-nepali-literature-to-the-world/">Michael Hutt’s English translation</a> (see above).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209fb9c7e80680e0b5575jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1080" height="792"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Language bridges distance, and so when asked whether he wishes to change the way he had written Karnali Blues, especially now that he has become a father himself, he shakes his head.“I don’t have any regrets about my past work. Whatever I had felt while writing the book has dissipated. If I read it now, I will do it as a reader,” says Buddisagar. “We are fathers of a different era. I don’t feel the need to change the way I have written about fatherhood in this novel.”Perhaps it is not Buddhisagar we should be looking for in our narrator, rather it is us readers that find ourselves in his characters. The way we were as children, the kind of parents we want to become.Maybe Buddhisagar has expertly hidden himself somewhere within lines like these in Hutt’s translation: “Once Father set out, he never looked back. He used to say, ‘If you turn to look back, your attachments will trap you and you won’t be able to go.’”Buddhisagar is working on his third novel. The English translation of Karnali Blues translated Michael Hutt is available in Kathmandu bookshops. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-story-of-books-in-nepal/">The story of books in Nepal</a>, Ashish Dhakal

The Man from Karnali

<img width="640" height="640" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114091156/637202dd9c7e80680e0b27d8jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>With 1,084,170 words, 198 chapters, seven books, one play and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13770#.Yc-5xi2B3-Y" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">a billion-dollar franchise</a>, the Harry Potter series revived the reading habit of millennials everywhere. Twenty-five years after the first book came out, it is still the bestselling book series in history, translated into 80 languages – including Nepali.  Few know that in 2008 Sunbird Publishing House in Kathmandu secured the copyright from J K Rowling to officially translate Philosopher’s Stone into Nepali. This was part of Sunbird’s aim to publish more books in Nepali for rural children at a time when the Maoist insurgency had destroyed schools, disrupting education. The book was released as ह्यारी पोटर र पारसमणि  (Harry Potter ra Parasmani) translated by Shlesha Thapaliya and Bijaya Adhikari, and edited by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/exploring-nepals-culinary-diversity/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Kedar Sharma</a>. Having grown up reading Harry Potter books, Thapaliya remembers being thrilled when Helen Sherpa of Sunbird reached out to ask if she would be interested in translating it. “Helen asked if I could translate the first chapter as a sample, and they were happy with my work,” she recalls. It took Thapaliya a year to complete the draft, during which time Bijaya Adhikari also joined. Adhikari first read the books in 1998 when Chamber of Secrets had just come out, and only the <a href="https://www.britishcouncil.org.np/digital-library-nepal" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">British Council Library</a> had copies. He was also familiar with Nepali Unicode, which came in handy during the translation process. It was also the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-they-kept-nepal-in-the-dark-ages/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">time of loadshedding in Nepal</a>. “I used to sit with the book and translate by the candlelight,” Adhikari remembers. Power cuts were only part of the challenge. The real Forbidden Forest, so to speak, was to correctly translate many specific terminologies, such as muggles or quidditch. “We weren’t sure at first how Nepali children reading it, especially in the rural areas, without exposure to the British context would relate to the story,” says Thapaliya. Spells, Adhikari adds, posed a particular challenge. Rowling uses a modified version of Latin to create incantations in the original series, often a play on their desired effect: levicorpus, for example, to hoist the victim by their ankles, has roots in levare ‘to lift’ and corpus ‘body’. The same reasoning and effects were difficult to contextualise for Nepali audience. Even the words ‘witch’ and ‘wizard’ had to be reconsidered, as बोक्सी (boksi) and बोक्सा (boksa), which carry a negative connotation in Nepali society. So, the translators used जादूगर्नी (jadugarni) and जादूगर (jadugar) which more closely mean 'magician'. Proper names had diphthongs with no Nepali equivalent (for instance the vowel sound in ‘Harry’ – not quite the strong ह्या, nor the long हा. Food items were uniquely European, as were the festivals and holidays. “We decided that we couldn’t obviously change the context of the book by Nepalifying everything,” Thapaliya says, “as reading is supposed to strike one’s imagination and teach new things.” So, instead of a literal, direct translation, Adhikari came up with the formula to rather try and translate the meaning and the feelings. The editing process was equally rigorous, as he sat with his cousin, Aditi Adhikari, and her father Kedar Sharma to go through the text from cover to cover. “As the cultures of Nepal and the UK do not align exactly, we would often end up adding two or three words to explain the terms that were confusing or unfamiliar,” he says, “We were constantly asking ourselves if the translation was making sense to the children in Ilam or <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/first-drought-then-downpour/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Rukum</a> who are not familiar with western folklore.” The translation did not get much hype upon release, even as Helen Sherpa wanted to take the book to different parts of the country and share with children there, and its distribution was limited among a handful of Potterheads. Adhikari adds, “The cultural relevance of Harry Potter is significant to people who have been exposed to Western media and literature.” Consequently, the planned translation of the second book did not pan out. Even ह्यारी पोटर र पारसमणि is now difficult to find. <figure><img width="1320" height="951" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114091156/637202e09c7e80680e0b27d9jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Its rarity is comparable to the first edition of Philosopher’s Stone of which only 500 copies were printed. One was <a href="https://www.reuters.com/lifestyle/harry-potter-first-edition-sells-smashing-471000-2021-12-09/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">sold for a smashing $471,000</a> in the United States on 9 December, setting the record price for a 2Oth century work of fiction. The global cultural impact of Harry Potter is a result of its universal themes of love, friendship and discovering oneself, while combatting the dangers of authoritarianism and propaganda. And J K Rowling managed to make school fun and thrilling, where one can expect adventure and room for growth in every corridor, instead of only homework and punishment. But will the series sustain its relevance as attitudes change owing to Rowling’s controversial politics? Many fans, organisations, and even the cast of the film adaptations have distanced themselves from Rowling because of her trans-exclusionary feminism. “We should have seen it coming,” adds Soph Levinas, a 22-year-old non binary Nepali: “Growing up, we never saw the problematic aspects of the books because we didn't have the context for it. Now, it is difficult for me to gloss over the stereotypical portrayals of many characters.” <a href="https://www.amazon.in/Harry-Potter-Philosophers-Stone-Rowling/dp/1408855658" target="_blank" style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" rel="noopener noreferrer">Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone</a> first came out in 1997 at a time when Nepali children would be playing cricket, tag or hide-and-seek in the streets. The internet and mobile phones were a novelty. Whatever time remained, children did homework or read the Nagraj comics. Harry Potter took his sweet time aboard the Hogwarts Express to find his way to Nepal. It was not until the mid-2000s that Pottermania finally caught on, and even then it was a such a different world and culture that it did not have much of a readership. English folklore, tales of vampires, werewolves and dragons were not so familiar to Nepali youngsters. But at a time when there were not enough books either in Nepali or English targeted especially for young adults, Harry Potter appealed to a niche readership. Anjan Shrestha of Educational Book House in Jamal, one of the first bookstores in Kathmandu to introduce the series, recalls that Harry Potter was slow to pick up momentum here. “We brought the books in 2001, but it took another two years before there was a decent fanbase,” he says. But by the time <a href="https://www.amazon.in/Harry-Potter-Half-Blood-Prince/dp/1408855704/ref=sr_1_1?crid=11OS11VIUYFPG&amp;keywords=half+blood+prince&amp;qid=1641003890&amp;s=books&amp;sprefix=half+blood+princ%2Cstripbooks%2C204&amp;sr=1-1" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Half-Blood Prince</a>, the sixth in the seven-book series, was published in 2005, self-proclaimed Potterheads were sharing the bulky hardbacks among friends, discussing plot lines and theories, turning twigs into wands, and re-reading while they waited for the next book. In subsequent years, the appetite for the wizarding world only grew. It is a different world today, of course, and whether Harry Potter remains popular among children born today is a question to ask in another 25 years – half a century after Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was published.

Ashish Dhakal

The lost Nepali translation of Harry Potter

Architecture can be a powerful agent of change, shaping not just spaces but the way people live, connect, and experience the world.&nbsp; For Nepal, which is <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/natures-fragile-gift-to-nepal">gifted by nature</a> and rich in <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/ambassador-fund-cultural-preservation-nepal,2092">cultural heritage</a>, &nbsp;reviving rural architecture with modern amenities could hold the key to more <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/what-sustainable-tourism-means-in-practice">sustainable tourism </a>that benefits local people more. “<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/bayalpata-hospital-in-nepal-wins-global-design-award">Design and architecture</a> are amazing tools to create a unique experience for visitors,” says Spanish architect Tomeu Esteva of Esteva i Esteva Architecture Studio. “Difficult destinations have beautiful hotels with design and comfort.” Esteva was in Kathmandu with his colleagues at an event organised by the Spanish Honorary Consulate at Dwarika’s Hotel last week to showcase buildings which Nepali architects can adapt with local material and design inputs.&nbsp; Rural architecture holds a unique significance: it is more than a shelter and must reflect <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/inking-an-idenity">local identity, culture</a> and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-humla-from-heritage-loss">heritage</a>. An area’s natural and cultural harmony can be upset by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/protecting-protected-areas-from-infrastructure?fbclid=IwAR1wK0MDFlFST_2EYb3f54LS4-fPt6rYfLG1DJ1JaQsU3w8-ezyXIxGOqzk">poorly planned development</a>, speakers at the event said, but the environment can be improved and revitalised by well-integrated structures.&nbsp; Another Spanish architect, Belen Moneo, has designed hotels at elevations of 3,700m in her home country Spain that supply natural spring water spas. “<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/lost-in-reconstruction">Creativity in construction</a> must be encouraged. Rural architecture always shows possibilities of what we can do better,” Moneo explains, adding that designs must enhance <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-healing-power-of-nature">the beauty of nature</a> and give a natural feel at a time when steel, glass and cement dominate <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/rebuilding-kathmandu-after-the-1934-quake">urban design</a>.&nbsp; This is why the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/weaving-nature-into-craft">use of natural products</a> such as bamboo, local timber, straw and rammed earth are in demand from customers who want a fresh eco-friendly look encouraged in construction of rural architectural structures. The demand for boutique hotels has increased world over, with &nbsp;more and more tourists favouring aesthetics, experience and comfort over price. While creativity is an important part of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/architecture-for-mountains">construction and architecture</a>, incentives to build and use <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Building,370">rural construction materials</a> still remain minimal, and Moneo emphasises the significance of design and execution.&nbsp; Esteva helped design the Vana Retreat in Dehradun that kept the natural environment in focus, with the structure giving an elaborate aesthetic experience to visitors. Another example is Hotel Las Mercedes in the Dominican Republic which was designed and constructed by Moneo and the company she co-founded Moneo Brock, respecting and revaluing the traditional architecture of the area. Hotels providing such experience could attract tourists and revenue. The Spanish ambassador to Nepal Juan Antonio March Pujol said, “The role of architecture and architects in developing tourism is crucial, not only in urban areas but rural settings as well.”&nbsp; The concept of rural boutique hotels gained traction in Spain during the 1990s, particularly in regions like Majorca with economic and environmental sustainability as the main focus. In Nepal <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/12-full-opinion/guiding-nepal-s-tourism-industry">the tourism industry</a> directly employs about 1 million people, and makes up about 8% of the country’s GDP. In Nepal, the stone homes of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/reviving-himalayan-vulture-and-culture">Mustang and Manang</a>, bamboo and mud structures of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-tarai-s-shrinking-forests">the Tarai</a>, and the Kathmandu Valley’s terra cotta tile skylines, graceful temples, and tranquil bahal courtyards are all examples of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-traditional-seismic-resistant-designs">Nepal’s traditional architecture</a>.&nbsp; Nepali architect Sarosh Pradhan has been working for the past eight years on the Brakka Village project in Manang Valley north of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/municipalities-want-to-manage-annapurna">the Annapurnas</a>. Other examples of this kind of rural architecture for high-end tourism are the Shinta Mani Hotel in Mustang and Khumbu Lodge below <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mt-everest-pvt-ltd">Mt Everest</a>. Says Pradhan, “There are places in Nepal that radiate purity and embrace simplicity. Creating projects in such settings require deep reflection and thoughtful planning.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250421030444_a07a23f6b60fa89c0f35b9dc1aaf19937da4881e6bfb2e1858f3c27dff91729f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_19" data-image-id="20250421030444_a07a23f6b60fa89c0f35b9dc1aaf19937da4881e6bfb2e1858f3c27dff91729f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4608" height="2184" loading="lazy" alt="A new architecture for Nepal's tourism"> </figure>  Rural architecture is not easy, and sometimes more expensive. Inflation, energy efficiency, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/those-who-stay">the climate crisis</a>, and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/cost-of-living-in-a-big-city">increased costs of living</a> pose obstacles to sustainable rural architecture. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/forgotten-international-starchitects-in-nepal">Forgotten international starchitects in Nepal</a>, Anne Feenstra and Varun S Bapu Esteva says faith and trust between client and architect is necessary for any project to be successful. He adds that architects must practice being humble, the process of designing always involves learning and not imposing their ideas on clients. Nepal is uniquely positioned for the growth of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/hiking-up-the-benefits-of-tourism">rural tourism</a> because of its stunning countryside as well as its internationally renowned traditions in holistic wellness. Creating infrastructure that is small, thoughtfully planned and that respects both tradition and contemporary hospitality standards is crucial. “Projects in Nepal can be made cost effective by using materials from houses that have been brought down,” says Esteva. “Pilot projects involving <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/local-government-by-the-people-for-the-people-of-the-people">local people </a>and simple designing also helps the process.” <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/vacant-homes-become-homestays-in-nepal">The growth of homestays in Nepal</a> is a step in the right direction, but they are still a bit too rustic for the international traveller who also wants comfort and is willing to pay extra for it. Upgrading the facilities in homestays and ensuring that the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/an-archive-of-nepali-heritage">architectural heritage</a> of the locality is preserved using locally sourced building material could allow owners to charge more. Says Sangita Shrestha of Dwarika’s Hotel, “Our effort is to build upon rural architecture by empowering local communities and using what is available locally. We can fine tune and encourage indigenous design and training.” The vision goes beyond just boosting the economy, it is about building a future where tourism helps villages grow in a healthy and lasting way. Instead of using up resources, it gives back to the land and the people. It supports local communities by<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/staying-in-nepal-to-create-jobs"> creating jobs</a>, improving infrastructure, and protecting natural beauty. When done right, tourism can be a tool for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/progress-and-or-preservation">preserving culture and nature</a>, not harming them. Architects must therefore see their work as more than just designing buildings, they also need to care deeply about people and places, especially in rural areas that can benefit the most.&nbsp; With global interest in sustainable and off-the-beaten-path travel increasing, Nepal stands at the cusp of a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/missing-out-on-nepal-s-tourism-potential">tourism transformation</a> that values community-driven, eco-conscious hospitality. A mix of modern ideas and traditional knowledge could transform rural tourism in Nepal. Says Shrestha, “Young architects should spend time with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/the-unsung-heroes-of-conservation">local and indigenous communities</a>, listen to their stories, and learn from their <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/life-and-livelihood-in-remote-nepal">ways of living</a>. These communities have deep knowledge about the land, materials, and climate. If this wisdom is used in new designs, it can help create tourism spaces that truly benefit everyone.” &nbsp;

A new architecture for Nepal's tourism

Extract from an addendum to Nepal's Two Wars, Chapter 2 in the updated edition of Essays on Nepal: Past and Present by Sam Cowan, a retired British Army general with a long association with the Gurkhas. The book was first published in 2018, and republished earlier this month by FinePrint exclusively on Amazon. The addendum details a one-to-one conversation the author had in the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=8884">Royal Palace </a>with the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=8371">King Gyanendra</a> in November 2002 just after he had taken his initial steps on the road that ultimately led to <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14681">the abolition of the monarchy</a> in Nepal in 2008. In the early evening of September 16, 2002, in my role as Colonel Commandant of the Brigade of Gurkhas, I had my second and last official audience with King Gyanendra to give him an update on the Brigade’s activities over the previous 12 months. I had some 6 or 7 such audiences with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/preserving-king-birendra-s-family-home">King Birendra</a>.&nbsp; These were official affairs with the British ambassador of the day present, along with key <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12233">palace officials</a> and a representative from Nepal's Foreign Ministry. The two monarchs were very different in character and temperament, but both treated me with the utmost civility and made the audiences as relaxed and easy for me as possible.&nbsp; It is, however, worth recording that when the official business had been covered, King Birendra, with a twinkle in his eye, often ended by asking, “Now General, what’s the gossip in London?” The second audience with <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=8026">King Gyanendra </a>was my last official act in uniform. We came back to Kathmandu in the first week of November (after treks) to stay for a few nights with our Defence Attaché before heading back to the UK. Waiting for me was a message from the Palace saying that King Gyanendra would like to meet me informally: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6933">no uniform</a> and no ambassador.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250421080420_f9046f9882d4481781d14f2b64f18c7fbbea62562e1d74e3465de6d01fb43750.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20250421080420_f9046f9882d4481781d14f2b64f18c7fbbea62562e1d74e3465de6d01fb43750" data-rendition-name="original" width="1750" height="2406" loading="lazy" alt="Gyanendra crowned page 1"> <figcaption>Nepali Times Special Edition of 6-14 June 2001 with enthronement of Gyanendra. </figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250421080424_21333d6ae21828eb47fe3f849438d215fe2804460d47bb2896ef4aee4e895ad2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250421080424_21333d6ae21828eb47fe3f849438d215fe2804460d47bb2896ef4aee4e895ad2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1857" loading="lazy" alt="Royal massacre"> <figcaption>Nepali Times 22-29 June 2001 covering the royal massacre after which Gyanendra became king. </figcaption> </figure>  Although I had no idea what the purpose of the meeting might be, events in Kathmandu since I last saw the king put me on edge. On October 4, 2002, Gyanendra had dismissed Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba, allegedly for failing to hold <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/what-goes-on-in-nepal-s-elections">elections</a>. He had put in place a new prime minister and a cabinet personally selected by him. When I heard the news on my travels, the people I met were generally supportive of the king’s actions. There was a general view that something had to be done, the country was going nowhere, and the king deserved his chance, not least to solve<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/latest/14-years-after-conflict-no-closure-in-nepal"> the Maoist </a>problem. Back in Kathmandu, views were not so sanguine. The chosen prime minister, Lokendra Bahadur Chand, was a relic from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/mob-movement-and-mayhem">the Panchayat period</a> whose party had failed to win a single seat in the last elections held in 1999. Some of the chosen cabinet ministers had, to put it mildly, dubious reputations, and others had no record of proven competence in any field. There was a fear that the king’s real motive in dismissing <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/deubas-denouement">Deuba</a> was to start to reverse the democratic gains made since 1990. I informed <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-britain-mark-centenary-of-1923-treaty">the British ambassador</a> about the invitation. He was strongly against accepting it, which was probably the clinching reason for my decision to do the polite thing and accept it. On the evening of November 7, 2002, I presented myself at the royal palace, alone and in civilian attire.&nbsp; As in the past, the Military Secretary, Major General Vivek Shah, met and escorted me into the presence of the monarch. This time, however, he was politely asked to leave the room and shut the door behind him. King Gyanendra greeted me warmly and invited me to sit down.&nbsp; Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-ghost-of-monarchy-returns-to-haunt-nepal"> The ghost of monarchy returns to haunt Nepal</a>, Shristi Karki  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250421080424_e382af945d0ad2a04ae41fabe5393f793dd10f54cb1220f111c7c9e7423eb558.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20250421080424_e382af945d0ad2a04ae41fabe5393f793dd10f54cb1220f111c7c9e7423eb558" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="993" loading="lazy" alt="Gyanendra coup"> <figcaption>Nepali Times 4-10 February 2005 after king Gyanendra's coup imposed media censorship. anendra became king. </figcaption> </figure>  I had wondered, and to be truthful, had worried, not just about the purpose of the meeting, but about how the conversation might start and develop. I reduced my resolve to two points: be polite but speak candidly. The latter resolve was quickly put to the test with the king’s opening words: “Sam, [in previous meetings it had been ‘General’, you walk the highways and byways of this land more than most, tell me what the common man is thinking?” &nbsp;“Your Majesty, I have no idea what they are thinking, but they are waiting.” “Waiting?” “Yes, Your Majesty, they are waiting to see whether what you did some weeks ago in appointing your own prime minister and cabinet ministers is going to make any difference to their lives or whether it is just going to be more Kathmandu hot air.” “Everything is going to be difficult and is going to take time, a lot of time.” “Your Majesty, time is the one thing you don’t have. You must act quickly and decisively to take advantage of the opportunity you have created. Everyone knows that you have appointed these new ministers. Why don’t you get them in here one by one and tell them that they have three months to deliver a programme in their area of responsibility that is going to make a difference to people’s lives? Most will fail to do so. Sack them! It will be a powerful signal of your strong intent to deliver real change.” I can express the opening of our conversation in this way because just about every word is still etched in my mind. The king’s response to my last quoted words was to challenge me to give an example of something that could be delivered quickly. I can give a verbatim record of what I said in response to this unexpected challenge: “Health posts, Your Majesty, there is no shortage of them throughout the country as building them has been one of the sources of local corruption, but very few have any medicine to issue at present or have skilled people to assess and meet medical needs. Your Majesty, children are dying for lack of a few pills. Given the right priority, over a period, say of six months, every health post could be fully stocked with medicine and manned with trained people. This is something I could help to lead for you as I know it would have strong international backing. At last, people would know that you mean business.” As I warmed to the theme, I could see no sign of the king having any enthusiasm for the idea, and I quickly disengaged as it dawned on me, as it had clearly dawned on the king, that the reason for the deficiencies in health posts was to prevent any Maoist combatant from gaining access to any <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/tech-away/nepal-s-health-tech-industry-is-here-to-stay">medical support</a>, and if this meant people suffering, so be it. The subject of the Maoist insurgency inevitably came up, and I took the opportunity to elaborate on what is written in the final four paragraphs of the article above. I advised King Gyanendra that, self-evidently, since there were three parties in the conflict—him, the Maoists, and the political parties—it was imperative that he form an alliance with one of them, preferably the political parties; otherwise, he would find himself isolated, as the other two parties would inevitably, at some stage, form their own alliance. However, it quickly became apparent that the king’s mind was on a totally different track. On the Maoists, he told me that he had channels open to them, but he was scathing about the political party leaders. He made it clear that they would be waiting for a very long time before he gave any power back to them, and that is a polite way of expressing the actual words he used, but “crawling through the door” is a phrase which has stuck in my mind.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250421080424_5403455ff6168f0d202a96cb53edea69136d74d59b989cfcc7cc4a1d57672cb5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_17" data-image-id="20250421080424_5403455ff6168f0d202a96cb53edea69136d74d59b989cfcc7cc4a1d57672cb5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1317" loading="lazy" alt="fall of monarchy"> <figcaption>Nepali Times 28 April-3 May 2005 with cover image by Ajay Joshi of jubilant protesters after street demonstrations sidelined king Gyanendra, paving the way for a ceasfire and restoration of democracy. </figcaption> </figure>  As the conversation developed, it became ever clearer that King Gyanendra had decided to go in alone, relying on the misleading assurances he was constantly receiving from <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14954">the army</a>, and no doubt his close advisers, that the Maoists could and would be quickly defeated militarily, and taken out of the equation. This would obviate the need for him to do any deal with the political parties.&nbsp; Thus, the way would be clear for him to establish a version of his father’s Panchayat system, under a constitution that would be granted to the people by him, their sovereign, as his father and brother had done in 1962 and 1990. As in those constitutions, ultimate power would have remained in the sovereign’s hands. This proposed direction of travel was very clear from what the king said to me. In sum, King Gyanendra was motivated by a desire to emulate his immediate predecessors by granting his people a constitution that would restore his father’s Panchayat system in a modern form and give him a central role in decision-making. What was particularly dispiriting was that beyond this single objective he had no plan worthy of the name, nor demonstrably did he have the people with the skills to implement an appropriate plan even if one had existed. Crucially and depressingly, there was little or no indication from the king that he realised that such a course of action could put Nepal’s monarchy into serious jeopardy, as indeed proved to be the case. <h2>King Twice</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250420110436_315d519fe3d68d2406ebe1480fed54720fbf21b8907a4da5cde751fdc623d445.jpg" data-media-id="editor_19" data-image-id="20250420110436_315d519fe3d68d2406ebe1480fed54720fbf21b8907a4da5cde751fdc623d445" data-rendition-name="original" width="1302" height="632" loading="lazy" alt="“Tell me what the common man is thinking!”"> </figure>  <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=8371">Gyanendra Bir Bikram Shah has been king twice</a>. In 1950 he was enthroned briefly as a child king (left, above) by the Rana Prime Minister Mohan Shumsher when his grandfather, King Tribhuvan, fled to exile in India. In 2001 he was crowned king again after the massacre in the royal palace in which his brother King Birendra and nine other members of his family were killed by Crown Prince Dipendra.&nbsp; During his second reign, Gyanendra gradually asserted power by sacking Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba in 2002, and then taking full control after the 1 February 2005 coup. He was sidelined after the ceasefire in April 2006, and became a commoner after the Constituent Assembly finally <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Ftnp-abolishing,624">abolished the monarchy in 2008</a>. In the past year, Gyanendra has tried to exploit public dissatisfaction with the political parties to restore the monarchy.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250421080432_26ef4a4b0e3cee9fdc6794446702efe16550d293904b4f6dd46fe35d4d10c788.jpg" data-media-id="editor_22" data-image-id="20250421080432_26ef4a4b0e3cee9fdc6794446702efe16550d293904b4f6dd46fe35d4d10c788" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Essays on Nepal by Sam Cowen"> </figure>

“Tell me what the common man is thinking!”

He had just sat down for lunch after tending the garden at his house in Lagan Tole on 25 April 2015 when the ground began to shake violently. &nbsp; Gautam Nepal, 56 at the time, realised it was an earthquake. He panicked at the thought of his neighbours' multi-storied buildings toppling on top of his modest one-storey house. He rushed out as the high-rises swayed and groaned. “We were used to earthquakes, moderate ones are a regular occurrence in Kathmandu, but I had never felt fear like I felt on that day,” recalls Gautam. “My house proved strong, it did not collapse.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_82a74881218223df70e30eb1759cd3a7c9edbb7728acef83c3f8b397d6e6dfe9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250419040440_82a74881218223df70e30eb1759cd3a7c9edbb7728acef83c3f8b397d6e6dfe9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1737" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>LAGAN TOLE'S TOLL: Lagan Tole photographed by tour guide Neil S Rawlins during his travel to Kathmandu in February 1970.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040448_90914720a75b7d31a12bc27f0c0af9484a5e5efc7dd797dc6bcd190fc28ecdcb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250419040448_90914720a75b7d31a12bc27f0c0af9484a5e5efc7dd797dc6bcd190fc28ecdcb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1004" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>Lagan Tole photographed by Neils Gutschow in 1992.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_9a4dd35b070949949bfe275eff8216dd29f88f74a30b063dc614845226f68f03.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250419040440_9a4dd35b070949949bfe275eff8216dd29f88f74a30b063dc614845226f68f03" data-rendition-name="original" width="1501" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>Lagan Tole in 2025.</figcaption> </figure>  Other residents of Lagan who also live in traditional low rise houses had the same fear. Tara Nepali, then 48, was doing the washing that Saturday.&nbsp; She recalls, “When my house began to shake, I could only think about the bigger buildings falling on top of me. I was sure my house would collapse, but to my surprise, it survived, and so did we.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_2b4b1ec427d9aec5980021b97b25ca3164d5f79337f113ba02b1d802f71b7cad.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250419040440_2b4b1ec427d9aec5980021b97b25ca3164d5f79337f113ba02b1d802f71b7cad" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>Gautam Nepali in front of his one-storey Lagan home, where he had been having lunch just before the earthquake struck 10 years ago.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040436_6f8a7057bbd269214712076e13117b665165e03a0351db0e3666aee05e91f63c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250419040436_6f8a7057bbd269214712076e13117b665165e03a0351db0e3666aee05e91f63c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>Tara Nepali in front of her house in Lagan. She was doing the washing during the earthquake in 2015.</figcaption> </figure>  But Buddha Khadgi, 68, was not so lucky. His was one of the few houses in the neighbourhood to be reduced to rubble. His lifelong collection of photographic prints were buried, and so were the traditional Newari musical instruments passed down through generations of his family that he used to give music lessons.&nbsp; “I lost the things that connected me to my roots and my heritage. That was infinitely more heartbreaking than the fact that my house was gone,” says Khadgi, now living in a new cement structure.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040436_58f4a8ee4eb740536c69096a4d8c0cd2007fdbcc4ef56551ff460d2ef0ef6f2b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250419040436_58f4a8ee4eb740536c69096a4d8c0cd2007fdbcc4ef56551ff460d2ef0ef6f2b" data-rendition-name="original" width="2496" height="1671" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>Lagan's Maka Galli some decades ago. Photo: SHREE RAM NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_6b2bacaf0a1e93b441aff8093b343836d6de0b44d7b29f9b758209845f675bff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250419040440_6b2bacaf0a1e93b441aff8093b343836d6de0b44d7b29f9b758209845f675bff" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>Lagan's Maka Galli in 2025. The neighbourhood's old Newari houses have been replaced by concrete structures, although the falcha has been rebuilt in traditional style.</figcaption> </figure>  Lagan Tole in Kathmandu's historic heart emerged relatively unscathed from the earthquake in large part because, like in nearby Asan, the buildings are densely packed and lean on each other. But in the years after the earthquake, urban pressure and fear of future quakes have made families tear down their traditional houses with sloping tile roofs and replace them with concrete structures.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_25983e79dc88388cb370b16f7f631e4c276cfc997ffa1f9ce3701e40c876b355.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20250419040440_25983e79dc88388cb370b16f7f631e4c276cfc997ffa1f9ce3701e40c876b355" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>Glimpses of present-day Lagan.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_9a6a88df8815352a452895c43840a898d4b6c080b79562383306c0cfe8bcd952.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250419040440_9a6a88df8815352a452895c43840a898d4b6c080b79562383306c0cfe8bcd952" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_a348b974bd3a5e76d0bf9b309f98813556d43dd6c361856c67e79c03d4283e69.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250419040440_a348b974bd3a5e76d0bf9b309f98813556d43dd6c361856c67e79c03d4283e69" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> </figure>  Lagan’s longtime residents, especially the elderly whose families have lived here for generations, say that the neighbourhood with its characterless new tall cement boxes is no longer familiar to them. “We used to say that our houses are not supposed to be taller than temples, the houses of our gods,” says Gautam. “Now, the houses here dwarf the temples and even the chariot of Seto Machindranath.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_88d18ce580abaf9e62fd807403f2e3c9a5bd8972d3b32bdacb97d8991c7fec35.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20250419040440_88d18ce580abaf9e62fd807403f2e3c9a5bd8972d3b32bdacb97d8991c7fec35" data-rendition-name="original" width="1041" height="1441" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>The Seto Machindranath procession at Lagan on 10 April 1998, during which the chariot caught fire. Photo: SOCIAL MEDIA</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250419040440_c403f91f9a48c14eaaeed2d38a2cb97714416765730b6d12f29487f9b0f47e83.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20250419040440_c403f91f9a48c14eaaeed2d38a2cb97714416765730b6d12f29487f9b0f47e83" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Loss of soul and soil NT"> <figcaption>The Seto Machindranath procession at Lagan earlier this month.</figcaption> </figure>  &nbsp;The old baha courtyards, falcha resting places, and open spaces where Lagan’s residents used to grow vegetables and gather as a community are nearly all gone. And the taller the houses get, residents say they feel less anchored to the soil. Lagan has also lost its soul -- the community spirit is eroding as elderly neighbours rarely venture down to meet each other in the evenings. &nbsp; “This no longer feels like the tole I grew up in,” says a resident. “We are beginning to lose the relationships we had with each other as a community, and with it, the spirit of Lagan.”&nbsp;

Loss of soul and soil

Dealer Cimex has extended warranties on BYD EVs sold in Nepal for 10yrs/200,000km, up from 8yrs/160,000km. Lights, tyre pressure monitors, suspension and ball joints now have 5yr/125,000km warranties, and all other parts now have 7.5yr/187,500km warranties.&nbsp;