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

original

674x448

610x380

500x500

400x266

400x240

400x203

301x200

1250x600

1084x550

thumbnail

viewImage

The world of a working artist

Increasing numbers of Nepalis have been flocking to Europe as students and workers, or paying traffickers to sneak in through the back door. And no other country in Europe seems to be as popular a destination as Portugal for them to seek a better life. According to Gabinete de Estratégia e Estudos (GEE) in Lisbon, the number of Nepalis in Portugal had crossed 21,000 even by 2022, and it is expected to be much higher now. This year, Nepal established a resident embassy in Lisbon. Portugal was the most appealing destination for Nepalis and other immigrants because of its immigration-friendly policy that allowed them to ultimately obtain European permanent residence or passport.&nbsp; Even Nepalis from other parts of Europe, like Malta, Cyprus, and the UK used to flock to Portugal. When Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022 and foreigners were allowed to pass into Poland, many of the 7,000 Nepalis in Ukraine ended up in Portugal.&nbsp; Non-Europeans could directly move to Portugal without a job contract and later request residency after paying social security for a year. But everything changed in June 2024 after Portugal repealed a key migration policy, requiring migrants including those from Nepal to have an employee contract before arriving. Most Nepalis here work in hospitality, agriculture, or manufacturing. But at their salary levels, they can barely afford soaring house rentals. Nepalis interviewed for this article and pictured here said they hardly had any savings to send home after paying for immigration lawyers or middlemen. Thousands of immigrants are applying for residency permits but it takes years to get them, and without legal documents they cannot even go back to Nepal without jeopardising their chance of finally getting Portuguese citizenship. Back home they have family, friends and hefty loans. Vision Gurung, 29, from Pokhara came to Portugal in 2023 from Croatia after working there in construction. He started as a farm worker, but soon quit because it was too physically taxing.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250404150412_43274129da8532006b9a575f0639a2afeffe52a6269ab200d483c59973535c0a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250404150412_43274129da8532006b9a575f0639a2afeffe52a6269ab200d483c59973535c0a" data-rendition-name="original" width="4403" height="3145" loading="lazy" alt="Vision Gurung"> <figcaption>Vision Gurung</figcaption> </figure>  Now he works at a sushi restaurant and earns €1,100 a month and gets free food and accommodation. Gurung’s temporary residence permit is on its way, and he wants to go home after his it is issued. Amos Tamang, 30, is worried that he has not yet found a Portuguese person to go with him as a witness to the local government office, a requirement to process his temporary residence permit. He came to Portugal last year from Romania just after the new immigration policy was announced and remembers sleeping hungry in the streets.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250404150416_8b444a7f02d0e6093da83dd01c643d2f4dec33e62f98f1af037f8b7524586e57.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250404150416_8b444a7f02d0e6093da83dd01c643d2f4dec33e62f98f1af037f8b7524586e57" data-rendition-name="original" width="5369" height="3835" loading="lazy" alt="Amos Tamang"> <figcaption>Amos Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  Tamang has two children and a wife back home, and has now found a restaurant job earning €1,000 a month. At Namaste Porto restaurant he looks pensive as he tells a visiting Nepali: “There’s still a long way to go, If I can’t make it here I will go to Spain, I may have better luck there.” Bikas Saud, 31, shares a rented room with six others in Porto, on the Atlantic coast north of Lisbon. Three are from Nepal and the other three are from Indian Punjab. Saud came to Portugal last year from Cyprus and struggled for months before finally finding a job at a Chinese company. But he was fired without notice after 15 days.&nbsp; Now he works at a restaurant and says: “I want to go to Nepal and get married, that is the first thing I will do after getting a residence permit.” Rajani Garbuja, 28, came from Nepal just three months ago and started working at Namaste Porto. She arrived on a dependent visa through her husband, who lives near the Spanish border and works on a farm.&nbsp; “I am finally together with my husband after two years, but it looks like the paperwork will take time,” says Garbuja, whose husband comes to visit once a month. She only earns €500 a month working 12 hours a day for six days a week at the restaurant.&nbsp; As immigration becomes an election issue in Portugal (left), Nepalis here fear that the policies will become stricter and they may never get their residence permits. The conservative populist Chega party saw a surge of support in last year’s elections, and hopes to win bigger next time.

In limbo in Lisbon

<figure><img width="2250" height="3149" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114091156/637203509c7e80680e0b2800jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Illustration: SWORUP NHASIJU</figcaption></figure>On 26 January, Nepal will elect 20 members to the National Assembly to replace those  retiring from the Upper House following the end of their four-year terms, marking the beginning of the second series of elections under the federal system. Leaders of the governing five-party coalition have already divided up the 19 electable seats amongst themselves, and appointed their nominees – making it certain they will win. The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/tis-the-season-of-conventions-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">general conventions </a>of three of Nepal’s biggest and most influential parties in the last months, which were mini elections unto themselves, marked the beginning of campaigning for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/all-eyes-on-2023/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">local and federal elections</a> in the coming year. All major parties including the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepali-congress-party-time/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali Congress</a> (MC), <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/post-convention-uml-eyes-set-on-elections/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">UML</a> and the Maoist Centre (MC) retained their gerontocracies.Preparations are now underway for local elections, which the Election Commission has recommended should be held on 27 April across the country. Nepal conducted its first legislative assembly elections as a multiparty system in 1959. Since then, there have been 10 elections for the National Legislature, with the 2017 general elections being the first of its kind after the country ushered in federalism. The year also marked the first time sub-national elections were held in 20 years.There were 14.2 million ballots cast during local elections in May 2017. However, the number jumped to 15.4 million in provincial and parliamentary elections in November the same year. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/all-eyes-on-2023/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">All eyes on 2023</a>, Mukesh PokharelIn March 2021, the Election Commission stopped voter registration and published an updated list of 16.2 million voters after former Prime Minister <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/oli-sweeps-uml-party-polls/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">K P Oli</a> dissolved Parliament and announced early elections. The registration process resumed after the Supreme Court reinstated the house in July.And right after the Election Commission announced the National Assembly polls in November, it also announced the beginning of a month-long special voter registration program during which an additional 600,000 Nepalis registered.  As elections approach, Nepal’s political discourse is already dominated by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/volatile-mix-of-politics-and-religion/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">parties stoking nationalistic and religious fervour</a>.  This has made for surprising political partnerships, with the Hindu-right and leadership from self-proclaimed ‘alternative’ parties uniting in their rejection of federalism, secularism and even republicanism.And if their <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/unconventional-party-conventions/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">general conventions </a> were any indication, the parties will use this rhetoric to vilify opponents and gain voters at the expense of issues most pertinent to the people, such as education, migration, healthcare, the economy and the pandemic. <img width="960" height="640" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114091156/637203539c7e80680e0b2801jpeg.jpg" alt="">In an ideal democracy, elections force public officials to be accountable. Candidates are elected based on promise of performance. But in Nepal, the polling system itself lacks transparency -- right from election funding. But electoral reform measures like re-demarcation of constituencies based on population, polling systems and voting rights of diaspora Nepalis who cannot cast votes in person, remain neglected.There has been much back and forth about the demarcation of election constituencies. While Article 286 (5) of Nepal’s Constitution states that the delineation should be done on the basis of population and geography, Madhes-based activists have pressed for constituencies to be divided on the basis of the population only.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/battle-lines-drawn-for-nepal-elections/">Battle lines drawn for Nepal elections</a>, EditorialThe government formed a five-member Constituency Delimitation Commission to look into possible rearrangement of constituencies for the federal and provincial elections in July 2017. The commission demarcated constituencies by giving 90% weightage to population size and 10% to geography.Govind Subedi, a professor of population studies at Tribhuvan University, has argued that recent practices have gone in the ‘wrong direction’. He writes in his book Political Demography of Nepal: 'The uneven distribution of representatives … is likely to increase if we adopt a population-size only-method [of delineation] … it can have a far-reaching implication in the geo-polity of Nepal.'Subedi, who was an adviser to the Commission, continues: ‘It is more likely that the sparsely populated districts in provinces which lie in the western mountains and the far western region will feel regional imbalances in sharing of political power in the national polity, which in turn may lead to provincial conflicts in the years to come.’Furthermore, Nepal’s election laws are lax enough that the wealthiest in the country who previously bankrolled parties in exchange for personal, professional and policy favours have<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/purchasing-power/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> entered politics themselves</a>. The number of businessmen and contractors elected into leadership in 2017 proves that money, not political competency, decides who is ultimately elected to lead. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/is-democracy-too-expensive-for-nepal/">Is democracy too expensive for Nepal?</a>, Laxmi BasnetIndeed, the First Past the Post (FPTP) system has become a hotbed for corruption by businessmen, thus undermining democracy, say election experts. Prominent leaders from across the political aisle, particularly women elected into office like Minister for Women, Children and Senior Citizens Uma Regmi, have spoken in support of an overhaul of Nepal’s current election system into a fully proportional electoral system after having experienced firsthand how the current system <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-business-of-politics/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">benefits the rich, powerful and the establishment</a>, while they are burdened with election debt long after they have left office.Former Acting Chief Commissioner of the Election Commission Dolakh Bahadur Gurung says that the reform should be such that MPs are not allowed to become ministers, and term limits must be set so that the same people do not hold on to their seats until they are 90 years old. ‘Our Constitution has been amended a fair number of times,’ wrote Gurung in October, ‘it is not impossible to reform our electoral system.’Meanwhile, the debate about mailed ballots and absentee voting has gained much traction among the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-year-of-migrant-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali diaspora</a> in recent years. An estimated 4 million Nepalis work, study and live in India, the Gulf, Malaysia, Japan, Korea, Europe and North America.The Supreme Court issued a directive to facilitate voting for Nepali diaspora across the world in March 2018. However, successive governments have shown no interest in ensuring voting rights for millions of eligible voters living overseas.And even as the government has begun to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/its-in-the-mail/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">expand the reach of its archaic postal service</a> by delivering items like passports to people’s homes, it has not considered postal voting to keep the service relevant. The political establishment seems to fear that Nepalis in the Gulf and Malaysia are fed up with the government back home, and allowing them to vote by mail will be predominantly anti-incumbent.  The Sweden-based International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (IDEA) says 151 of 216 countries around the world allow voters living abroad to cast ballots in some capacity. According to the Election Integrity Project, 40 countries used postal ballots in their most recent national election before the Covid outbreak.Nilkantha Uprety, the former Chief Election Commissioner, believes there are two options to eliminate election irregularities. Firstly, there must be an improvement from within parties and candidates such that undemocratic practices are turned into fair competition during elections.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-business-of-politics-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The business of politics in Nepal</a>, Shekhar Kharel‘But since it is not easy to achieve that, the second option is to radically change our current electoral system, and it would be unwise to delay in choosing which of the two options is more convenient and effective,’ he warned in a<a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/127010" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> recent op-ed</a> in Himal magazine.Uprety also noted that in the end, the electoral system does not matter as much as the people involved in the elections.‘Elections can be free and fair regardless of the electoral system if political parties are democratic, candidates are committed, and there is a guarantee of good governance,’ he wrote. ‘Ultimately, elections can only be successful if the majority of voters make informed choices about the parties and candidates instead of only being interested in when and where to show up to vote.’ Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-rudderless-political-leadership/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s rudderless political leadership</a>, Santa Gaha Magar

Shristi Karki

Clean up elections to clean up politics

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

We often see ourselves reflected in the other. For someone who grew up in Kathmandu Valley in the eighties and nineties, this maxim comes alive with an even greater force. Nepal’s media ecosystem was dismal, the school curriculum was narrow and did not provide opportunities for creative expression. Perhaps that is why I became obsessed with MTV videos and Bollywood films. I saw my developing self reflected in these story-lines and razzmatazz. When the media and education system do not engage the public and reflect myriad interests, aspirations and lifestyles of the population, citizens get detached and disconnected from their roots. I left for America for further studies, and was somewhat determined to never return to Nepal. It was a country full of potholes and black-outs. But foreigners have been fascinated with our country for decades. In the early 19th century, Francis Buchanan-Hamilton led a pioneering expedition and documented more than a thousand species of plants native to the region. Almost a century later, in 1905, Frenchman Sylvan Levi published ‘the first attempt to produce a comprehensive study of Nepal’, drawing on not just indigenous but available Chinese and European sources as well. After Nepal opened up in the 1950s, different kinds of foreigners have traveled here -- most notably, cold-war era spies disguised as diplomats, and later came the hippies. I returned to Nepal in 2013 and was primarily struck by two major demographics - the artists and the expats. Energised by the recent revolution, the creatives were making vibrant, powerful works. The expats, on the other hand, demonstrated a different way to navigate life in Kathmandu Valley. These two groups of people re-introduced Nepal to me and I began seeing my country and my hometown with a renewed perspective. Which is why one particular image from Giovanna Caruso’s ongoing show at the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank">Kalā</a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank"> Salon</a> curated by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/facades-and-flowers-from-nepal-to-italy" target="_blank">Sophia L Pandé</a> instantly caught my attention -- rather, it called out to me, as if it was composed for me, framing a key moment from my own life. Its title is, coincidentally, 2013. Like most of her other works, the pen-and-ink drawing is punctuated by an explosion of watercolour: a woman standing confidently in front of a Newa-style house, a leg arched up, as if she is fixing a strap around an ankle before stepping out on an adventure. The watercolour depicts a rainbow streaming out of a pot through a second-floor window. The rest of the details are rendered in realism – clusters of garlic and onion hanging to dry from the rafters, and further down a stack of corn. There are towels drying, even an old water pump.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="art review Kala Salon"> </figure>  When I walked over to this artwork with Caruso, she chuckled, “Ah, this work is a celebration of my 30 years in Nepal.” It was while trying to calm a restless group of students during her teaching days in Italy that Caruso first came across an iconic image of Kathmandu Darbar Square. She had found an old box of slides and while projecting images from the Himalaya to engage her students, the artist was determined to travel to Nepal. The first flat she rented was close to the square and the view from her rooftop was the same as the one she had encountered inside her classroom. She has been traveling to Nepal every year since. Some of her favourite drawings depict Khokana in morning fog. From 1993-2006, she drew murals at Ram Mandir and Pashupatinath, asking sadhus to guide her and correct her depictions. Caruso received a classical education, which means she was trained to focus on perspective and geometry while capturing mainly portraits and still lives. She is influenced by M C Escher and his explorations of mathematics and symmetry. No wonder she finds the Darbar Square architecture so compelling. She also names as inspiration Gustave Dore, whose style is different from Escher’s and I can see how she has fused these influences in her body of work: Escher’s austerity complimented and slightly dislodged by Dore’s comics and caricatures. “Before starting, the painting needs to be complete in my mind,” she explains as we pass a series of portraits titled Saraswati, Lakshmi, Kali Dancing, and Durga dominated by a roaring tiger. “These are all real people, I ask my friends and family members to sit for me.” The Kali in the drawing has the artist’s fiery copper red hair and she is dancing, surrounded by various men with flowing hair. The artist seems to have experimented here, drawing the revelers from above, and indulging in playful abandon. Depictions of Nepal are often in danger of being exoticised. But Caruso is familiar with her subjects, knows our alleys and temples intimately. Her colours and compositions are passionate and dense. In an essay, Anirudh S Chari writes the artist’s work is splashed with rapturous energy and most drawings have a carnivalesque element. ‘Kali Dancing’ illustrates this idea perfectly in that she has turned Kali’s usual fearsome portrayal on its head by depicting and embracing another feminine principle - the capacity to celebrate and create joy. Apart from drawing inspiration from Hindu goddesses and Nepal’s multi-colored rituals, Caruso has also drawn the Sumerian Ianna and Lillith and the Egyptian Nut. She enjoys drawing Nataraja, and says it is because “Shiva is a good husband”. We stand another painting titled 100 Days a Lion. “There is a saying in Italian, Better one day as a lion than a hundred days as a sheep, but I thought why not 100 Days a Lion?” This sentiment captures this nomadic artist’s spirit spanning four decades, in which she has captured urban energy as well as the sacred imagery of ‘life diaries on canvas’. From Venezia to Kathmandu and Journeys In Between Giovanna Caruso The Kalā Salon Chhaya Centre Mall, Thamel Till 12 December 10am- 8pm

Looking at Nepal from Venice

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