Ghana S Gurung had to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/11-day-trek-is-now-a-day-s-drive-in-nepal">walk 11 days</a> from the tiny village of Dhee in Mustang to Pokhara to give his high school exam in 1983. He wanted fervently to be a medical doctor, and took biology in college in the hope of selection for a medical seat under the Mustang king’s quota. While in Amrit Science College in Kathmandu, he was offered a scholarship to study Parks, Recreation and Tourism in New Zealand. He did not even know the meaning of the English word ‘recreation’, and failed a mandatory English test.&nbsp; Ever resourceful, Gurung convinced Edmund Hillary, New Zealand’s ambassador to Nepal at the time, that he would take English lessons when he got to Victoria University Wellington. He graduated from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/remembering-pat-guru">Lincoln University</a> in Christchurch, and went on to do his PhD in natural science from University of Zürich, Switzerland.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240721050716_955ba8ed7169900be32bd9996d58f245b38fdc8f142c91571604fbc0d1db3636.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240721050716_955ba8ed7169900be32bd9996d58f245b38fdc8f142c91571604fbc0d1db3636" data-rendition-name="original" width="3498" height="2360" loading="lazy" alt="Ghana Gurung"> <figcaption>Young Ghana Gurung with Sir Edmund Hillary before he left for college in New Zealand.</figcaption> </figure>  “I was born for conservation,” says Gurung, who is now WWF Nepal Country Director and was recently honoured with the <a href="https://www.lincoln.ac.nz/">Lincoln University</a> Alumni International Medal by his New Zealand alma mater. He adds, “As a child I studied Buddhism which is all about doing good for people and nature. It taught me about sentient brings, about interconnectedness, interdependence between all living and non-living things.” As a boy in Dhee, Gurung herded sheep and yaks and recalls that snow leopards were the main threat to the family livestock. “Snow leopards were then my biggest enemy,” he says, “<a href="https://medium.com/wwftogetherpossible/fighting-for-the-survival-of-an-old-foe-b517c4f04034">now they are my best friends</a>.” Gurung has been hailed as a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-leads-in-snow-leopard-study">pioneer of snow leopard conservation</a> in Nepal and globally. In 2022, he was named one of <a href="https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/meet-12-incredible-conservation-heroes-saving-our-wildlife-from-extinction.html">12 most incredible conservation heroes</a> in the world by World Atlas for his work.&nbsp; Today, snow leopard numbers are on the rise across the Nepal Himalaya, although the elusive endangered cats are threatened by the impact of climate breakdown. In fact, Gurung’s home village of <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/05/world/asia/nepal-himalayas-glacier-climate.html">Dhee has been nearly abandoned</a> because springs in the area have gone dry due to chronic winter drought. Growing up in Dhee, Gurung says he had a strong urge to excel in studies to dispel the entrenched notion that people from the mountains were not very smart. One of his biggest inspirations was his school teacher Man Bahadur Biswokarma of Marpha, who urged him to aim high and get a PhD someday.&nbsp; “I think I have made Man Bahadur Sir proud,” he says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240721050716_e578bfa9bbdf3d6bad3e383971adffa46e099c26f024b1fb1eb1b4e6209fdafc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240721050716_e578bfa9bbdf3d6bad3e383971adffa46e099c26f024b1fb1eb1b4e6209fdafc" data-rendition-name="original" width="405" height="405" loading="lazy" alt="Ghana Gurung"> <figcaption>Gurung at age 16 in Mustang before going off to college.</figcaption> </figure>  At WWF, Gurung was closely involved in the creation and handover of the Kangchenjunga Conservation Area, a 2,030 sq km zone in eastern Nepal patterned after similar nature reserves in Annapurna and Manaslu.&nbsp; The Maoist conflict was at its peak, yet Gurung managed to do the groundwork with local officials and mother’s groups for the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/participating-to-save-kangchenjunga">Kangchenjunga Conservation Area</a> under the ladership of the government. Many of Nepal’s top conservationists arrived in Ghunsa for the official handover in September 2006, including his mentors <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18587">Harka Gurung, Chandra Gurung, Mingma Norbu Sherpa and Tirtha Man Maskey</a>. After the ceremony, Ghana was supposed to join them for the helicopter ride back to Kathmandu but had to stay behind in Taplejung to prepare a press statement. Soon after takeoff in pouring rain, the Mi17 helicopter hit a mountain at 4,000m, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12536">killing all 24 people on board</a>.&nbsp; Ghana Gurung was involved in the search and rescue, and was determined with others to turn the tragedy into a long term effort to nurture a new generation of conservation leaders. Since then, the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/remembering-nepal-s-conservation-heroes">Mingma Norbu Sherpa Memorial Scholarships</a> has been sending <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700">two Nepalis to Lincoln University</a> in New Zealand every year , and WWF Nepal provides five memorial scholarships every year. &nbsp; At <a href="https://www.wwfnepal.org/">WWF Nepal</a>, Gurung is a proponent of an integrated approach to development that involves local communities in conservation, not the fortress model of fencing off wilderness areas championed in the West.&nbsp; He says: “In Nepal, unless you protect people, they will not protect wildlife. All these years I thought we were working for nature. Now I realise we were working for people. Human beings are a part of the living world, and it has to be a symbiotic relationship.”&nbsp; Indeed, indigenous communities living near the conservation areas and in buffer zones have been crucial to Nepal’s successes in conservation including tripling the tiger population in 12 years, doubling forest cover in 30 years, recording 752 days of zero poaching of rhinos putting Nepal in the global conservation map.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240721050716_b912a449e02f873bf636aaf699c9c09b35838d027813fc6aa4f8cec5e1d418f8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_15" data-image-id="20240721050716_b912a449e02f873bf636aaf699c9c09b35838d027813fc6aa4f8cec5e1d418f8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1667" height="2500" loading="lazy" alt="Ghana Gurung"> <figcaption>Photo: LINCOLN UNIVERSITY</figcaption> </figure>  However, more tigers mean prey density is declining and the animals are entering human settlements in search of food and water, leading to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/human-animal-interface-in-nepal-wildlife-corridor">increased human-wildlife contact</a>. “We are trying to convince people in the buffer zone about precautions they have to take near the park,” says Gurung, who has got WWF to help local people manage homestays for ecotourism benefits. While <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkSpWxxNX10&amp;t=2s">Nepal’s success in tripling its tiger population</a> has increased attacks on people, the media magnifies tiger attacks even though many more people in Nepal are killed every year by snake bites. Gurung says, “Animal will not change their behaviour as they are wild, whereas we humans need to change our behaviour to live and thrive with wildlife which is one of biggest tourism assets and economic pillars of Nepal”. The increase in forest cover coupled with outmigration of local people has also meant that the undergrowth in buffer zones is now loaded with deadwood that is fuel for forest fires. Climate change-induced droughts have also meant that grasslands are tinder dry. Ghana Gurung says the answer to Nepal’s new conservation challenges lies in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/climate-breakdown-magnifies-western-nepal-s-woes">protecting water sources</a> in the catchment area, watersheds, wetlands, groundwater and controlling the river pollution. “Being climate-smart automatically means water resilience,” says Gurung, noting how natural springs across Nepal are going dry while in the Tarai, over-extraction of groundwater has led to ponds inside national parks drying up. Prolonged heat waves are making the water crisis worse. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/in-conservation-nepal-is-not-out-of-the-woods-yet">Unplanned infrastructure</a> is also adding to the challenge, Gurung says, and one of WWF’s focus areas is in ensuring that protected areas are not disturbed by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/protecting-protected-areas-from-infrastructure">highways, transmission lines and irrigation canals</a> bifurcating them. Climate smart and wildlife friendly infrastructure development is the way forward. The climate crisis has caused Gurung’s community to abandon Dhee and Samjong villages in Upper Mustang, the village where he was born. He says, “Climate breakdown is already happening, we have spent enough time talking about how bad it is. It is time to start doing something about it ourselves with nature-based solutions to protect our water sources.”

Sonia Awale

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Conversation with Mr Conservation

Patrick Devlin who taught a whole generation of Nepali environmentalists at Lincoln University in Christchurch died on 16 August at age 86.&nbsp; Many of us Nepali students in New Zealand knew him as <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-Kiwi,421" target="_blank">‘Pat Guru’</a>, a name that was a mark of our deep respect as well as the closeness we felt to him. For five decades, he was involved in training professionals in his home country as well as Nepal and other Asian countries. Pat’s students now shoulder the burden of continuing his legacy in training national park wardens and professionals managing nature reserves. When the history of the evolution of national park management is written, Pat will be remembered for his immense contribution to professionalising national park and reserve service in his home country as well as in Nepal and South East Asia.&nbsp; Among more than 50 of Pat Devlin’s Nepali students were Lhakpa Norbu Sherpa who helped establish the Qomolangma Nature Preserve in Tibet which shares its border with three national parks on the Nepal side, making it one of the largest protected areas in Asia.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023081906084_0a0a595107c5002f9fafe6c1e14419eb0f70b0ae86a7b1e4f32b220d61b0dbce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2023081906084_0a0a595107c5002f9fafe6c1e14419eb0f70b0ae86a7b1e4f32b220d61b0dbce" data-rendition-name="original" width="3648" height="2736" loading="lazy" alt="Patrick Devlin"> <figcaption>Patrick Devlin with Shailendra Thakali in Christchurch in 2010. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption> </figure>  Other students also hold important positions in international conservation organisations: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/11-day-trek-is-now-a-day-s-drive-in-nepal" target="_blank">Ghana Gurung</a> heads WWF Nepal, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-red-panda-house" target="_blank">Ang Phuri Sherpa</a> is Executive Director of Red Panda Network International, and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/the-man-from-sikles" target="_blank">Hum Gurung</a> is Asia Partnership Manager for BirdLife International. Other Nepali Lincoln alumni that Pat tutored include Shankar Koirala who had a long stint with the Ministry of Forests and Soil Conservation and other ministries. Gopal Upadhaya, Megh Pandey and Phanindra Raj Kharel went on to head the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation, and Mingma Norbu Sherpa was the head of WWF’s Asia Pacific Program. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12581" target="_blank">Mingma Sherpa</a> was among the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/remembering-nepal-s-conservation-heroes" target="_blank">dozen prominent Nepali and international conservationists</a>, officials and journalists who were killed in a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/out-of-the-ashes" target="_blank">helicopter crash at Ghunsa in 2006</a> during the inauguration of the 2,035 sq km Kanchenjunga Conservation Area. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18151" target="_blank">Prof David Simmons</a>, another of Pat’s distinguished students, played a central role in establishing Lincoln University's <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700" target="_blank">Mingma Norbu Sherpa Memorial Scholarship</a> with support from Pat Devlin, Mingma’s family, WWF Nepal, and New Zealand. Ten Nepali students who got the scholarship have so far <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/the-nomadic-nepali" target="_blank">graduated with master degrees</a> from Lincoln.&nbsp; All national parks and reserves in New Zealand, and almost 70% of protected areas in Nepal were once managed by graduates from Lincoln University, Pat’s base camp to educate and train conservation professionals. He was the main supervisor for the majority of Nepali graduate and undergraduate students from the 1970 onwards.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023081906084_800499bd49d7b7058fcaa861d5c422d26d5bfc16bb6a1dd31424b75cfb285029.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2023081906084_800499bd49d7b7058fcaa861d5c422d26d5bfc16bb6a1dd31424b75cfb285029" data-rendition-name="original" width="3303" height="2317" loading="lazy" alt="Patrick Devlin"> <figcaption>Pat Devlin felicitated in 2013 during a visit to Nepal by the Ministry of Forests and Soil Conservation and the Lincoln University Alumni Association for his immense contribution to protected area management in Nepal.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023081906084_8f43de5f4605c3f113d824e27f85cb31ff7d472773a9240a9af95bbfc3e4e3ee.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="2023081906084_8f43de5f4605c3f113d824e27f85cb31ff7d472773a9240a9af95bbfc3e4e3ee" data-rendition-name="original" width="1244" height="875" loading="lazy" alt="Patrick Devlin"> <figcaption>Pat Devlin with students he supervised at Lincoln University along with their families during a visit to Kathmandu.</figcaption> </figure>  &nbsp;As a supervisor, Pat was very supportive but non-compromising when it came to the quality of work. Pat inspired his students to produce the best. I had the honour to be the last student he supervised when I went back to Lincoln University to pursue a doctoral program in environmental management in 2008.&nbsp; Pat Guru was more than a supervisor to me. Besides constant encouragement and support, he and his wife, Maureen, were great hosts. They were kind to me and my family as they had been to a generation of Nepali students, made sure we had comfortable and enjoyed our time and experience in New Zealand. During the 1970s and 80s, the majority of rangers working for national parks and reserves in New Zealand had no formal degrees or training. They chose the career out of a love for nature and the great outdoors, and were happy to take remote postings. As national parks and reserves started to become popular, park management grew more challenging and complex.&nbsp; Pat was quick to realise this and devoted his entire life to developing and teaching parks and recreation courses at Lincoln University, and most importantly grooming and mentoring the next generation of managers. &nbsp; He was key to the design of ‘Parks and Recreation’ courses at Lincoln and also condensed the Parks and Recreation syllabus into six-week block courses for in-service park rangers that professionalised New Zealand’s national park and reserve services and management.&nbsp; Lincoln University under Pat also offered block courses to the Park and Forests service in Kuching in Malaysia. Pat also wanted to roll out his block courses in Nepal, but did not materialise. There is an urgent need in Nepal to include multidisciplinary teams to effectively manage emerging challenges related to tourism, buffer zone management, climate change, human-wildlife conflicts, and local aspirations. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023081906084_3f754bb3595b022546a6413497f192cd05b345b42d8bd4ca49cd151eb2fdb657.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="2023081906084_3f754bb3595b022546a6413497f192cd05b345b42d8bd4ca49cd151eb2fdb657" data-rendition-name="original" width="2592" height="1936" loading="lazy" alt="Patrick Devlin"> <figcaption>Pat Devlin (with umbrella) in Chitwan National Park in 2013 with his wife Maureen, David Simmons and a park official in 2013. Photo: HUM GURUNG</figcaption> </figure>  Pat was modest and generous to a fault. Despite his accomplishments, he was not one to brag about them or seek the limelight. Always calm and composed, he took all challenges in his stride.&nbsp; My last meeting with Pat was in April this year. Despite failing health, he stood up, shook hands, smiled, tossed a drink, and made us feel at ease. He took immense pride in the achievements of his students, and kept in touch with them as much as possible right till the end.&nbsp; Patrick Devlin’s life work lives on in New Zealand, Nepal, Sarawak and around the world. His funeral will be held in Christchurch on 23 August. Shailendra Thakali, PhD is a freelance consultant in environmental conservation, tourism and livelihoods.

Remembering Pat Guru

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221129121152/6385f2b79c7e80680e0cc95bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="960"/><figcaption>Bill Gavin in New Zealand last year, telling a good story of the “old days” from his eventful life. Photo: MICHAEL CLARK</figcaption></figure>“Oh dear, look what happened to my pants!” We pulled onto the beach and Bill clambered out of the big rubber raft having just emerged from one of the more impressive rapids on Nepal’s Trisuli River. The chilly curtain of cold water and adrenaline rush of surviving Upset without an upset had us all whooping with excitement. Bill’s stylish beige linen trousers had shrunk with the dousing and were clinging to his legs like an unseemly pair of tights.Bill Gavin was with us on one of the early three-day river runs, to be followed by a few days wildlife watching at Tiger Tops Chitwan. It was 1982 and the road from Mugling to Bharatpur was nearing completion. Villagers along the banks still found our overnight camps a curiosity, and no belching truck fumes polluted the evening beers around a driftwood blaze or disturbed the silent nights under a canopy of stars.The wild and wonderfully wicked Bill Gavin was a legend brimming with passion, vigour and colour who had exploded into my life as a friend of my louche and much-loved Uncle Terry. Together they haunted the glamorous Grand Prix circuit of the swinging 1960s. Bill writing about motor racing (he was European editor of Car &amp; Driver magazine and biographer of world champion Jim Clark) and Terry managing a Formula I driver who was killed in a crash, as happened all too often in those unsafety-conscious days.When I hooked up with them in London, Terry was in the music business (signing Dire Straits was his claim to fame) and Bill was big into movies after a spell managing pop groups. The third of this unlikely trio of best mates was Stanley Myers, composer of the haunting Deer Hunter theme.The story goes that Bill talked his way into movie production starting as the GTO boss’ chauffeur and ending up as the boss, but stories like that abound about Bill Gavin. He toured with chart-toppers The Sweet, New Seekers and Springfield Revival, and did gigs with Gary Glitter. He was almost recruited by the CIA, narrated the 1966 film Grand Prix, managed a Ferrari team, released the first Antipodean movie Picnic at Hanging Rock in UK, took Apocalypse Now to Australia, and helped finance New Zealand’s What Became of the Broken Hearted? and Whale Rider, that marvellous Maori classic.At the time we were camping riverside on the Trisuli in his terminally shrunken pants, Bill was riding high as the hard-driving distribution and sales wizard on the board of Goldcrest Films, on his way back to London from the Killing Fields’ shoot in Thailand. Goldcrest’s other best pictures included Chariots of Fire, Local Hero and Gandhi, and Bill had his own UK company, Gavin Films.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221129121152/6385f2ba9c7e80680e0cc95cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="523" height="823"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Bill loved to shock and push the envelope, long before the #metoo generation. He ricocheted between marriages and girlfriends, had three wonderful children, Tom, Panda and the eldest who was saddled with the name Gavin. Yes, Gavin Gavin, whose gorgeous mother Sarah Jane was Bill’s first wife and a Mary Quant model. At their parties you might meet Graham Hill and other racing drivers, Victor Hugo’s granddaughter, Polish film directors with unpronounceable names, or Barry Humphries aka Dame Edna slumped in their sitting room telling cannibal air-crash jokes: “We’re on the last leg of the flight.”At one of these eclectic gatherings, I had a Scottish neighbour in tow: “See you later, I’ll look after myself,” he called cheerfully as I disappeared into the smoky crowd. Finding himself next to a skinny, bespectacled chap on the sofa, attempts at polite conversation were not going well. “I’m a guitarist,” was all he could extract. “What sort of guitar - rock or pop or jazz - or classical guitar, like John Williams?” Andrew was struggling. “I am John Williams,” came the laconic reply.Bill was famous for behaving badly and being in love with him was a recipe for disaster. He had a mercurial temper and a reputation for bullying employees. I once saw him explode into unjustifiable road rage as he deftly wove his flash car through the London traffic -- speed was a religion. And our brief walk-out in the early 1980s ended dramatically and finally when he ran off with my brother’s girlfriend, on the Concorde to New York no less, thus delivering a memorable family double whammy. We consoled ourselves that they thoroughly deserved each other, and it didn’t last long.Bill’s plunge from these dizzying heights of fame and fashion followed a few too many divorces and the vagaries of the British film business. His expensive mews house in Notting Hill, silver Porsche, trendy Italian restaurants, and champagne Pimms parties under the yellow laburnum all evaporated in the 1990s when he beat a hasty retreat to his native New Zealand.Adapting with aplomb to life in a downtown Auckland high-rise council flat, Bill painted it rich dark colours, and filled it with books, pictures and an oversize leather casting couch shipped across the world from his West End office. At economical shepherd’s pie dinner parties renowned for bevies of loyal media and driving friends, over a glass or three of wine Bill would regale us with tales of the “old days”, his braying laugh filling the room. Despite his straitened circumstances he contrived to drive a smart Mercedes donated by a kind admirer who shared his petrol-head passion.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221129121152/6385f2bc9c7e80680e0cc95djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="664" height="524"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In a rare moment of quiet reflection, Bill confided that his ideal retirement was a cottage in the Bay of Islands, in New Zealand’s far north. It was the first time I had heard of the place, but it never happened. Aged 83, Bill Gavin died last month at home in Auckland, rescued by friends and family from grim isolation in a locked-down Covid-19 hospital, he peacefully departed a life packed with motors, music and movies.Some young devotees recently videoed Bill for a school project, deftly capturing his enthusiastic essence, even at the end: “Looking back on all my careers, motor racing was certainly the most exciting … I was attracted by the intellectual intensity of the sport … I knew everybody ...”In our last call arranged by Bill’s kind niece his laboured breathing penetrated the long-distance WhatsApp line, but he squeezed her hand and I could feel his smile as I told him that, despite everything, I still loved him and always would. Bill had that sort of effect on people.

Lisa Choegyal

The wild and wonderful Bill Gavin, 1936-2020

Under a gunmetal grey sky, the four of us stood for the Last Post on an expansive empty lawn as the crows wheeled overhead. The Nepal Army general and British Gurkha colonel saluted smartly in their uniforms, whilst the Ambassador and I bowed our heads. The red poppies in all our lapels symbolised remembrance and acknowledgment of the ultimate sacrifice by all men and women in the armed forces during times of conflict.It must have been the strangest Anzac Day commemoration ever. The grass, still soggy from yesterday’s rain, was dotted with crimson rose petals fallen from the luscious red wreathes. In turn we had laid them between the two flags, on the anniversary of the First World War Gallipoli landing by the ANZACs (Australia and New Zealand Army Corps), in remembrance of the dreadful battlefield losses that ensued on both sides and from so many nations. After the one minute silence in the deserted garden, the Reveille was trumpeted on an embassy iPhone.Since services began on 25 April 1916, this year 2020 was the first Anzac Day ever that Australians and New Zealanders were not able to gather nationwide to mark the anniversary, due to the social isolation battle against COVID-19. Instead, digitally shared messages urged individual calls to action -- messages of solidarity displayed in home windows, the laying of virtual poppies at the online cenotaph, and alone standing at dawn in driveways, gates and front doors to mark the moment #standatdawn.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d909c7e80680e06b355jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2699" height="2265"/><figcaption>Australian Ambassador Peter Budd, Lt-Gen Sarad Kumar Giri, Chief of General Staff, Nepal Army, Col Richard Goodman MBE, Commander, British Gurkhas Nepal and Lisa Choegyal Honorary Consul of New Zealand at the Anzac Day service on 25 April 2020 during the lockdown in Kathmandu. Photo: JAMES HAZELL</figcaption></figure>Every year the Australian Embassy hosts our Anzac Day service in Kathmandu, echoing solemn sunrise ceremonies all over Australia and New Zealand, with many young people as well as old brought together to mark this most important joint national occasion. Normally the garden is thronged with several hundred Australians, New Zealanders, Nepalis and the international community, enlivened by Nepali and Gurkha buglers and bagpipers, and followed by a slap-up Aussie breakfast that is part of the attraction.Last year as well as long term residents and tourists, several mountaineers joined us including Guy Cotter, Robert Mads Anderson and a couple of Sir Edmund Hillary’s grandchildren -- Russell Brice was absent, recovering from his fall from a rooftop restaurant. This year there are no expeditions and the mountains are closed to trekkers. Ambassador Pete and Emma boiled the kettle for coffee and offered us homemade Anzac biscuits in their empty house.I’m not sure when the Australian-hosted Anzac Day tradition began in Nepal, but is must have been around 1990 when the embassy moved to its current compound in Bansbari. Elizabeth Hawley regularly attended as New Zealand Honorary Consul before me. With no compunction she admitted to having delivered the exact same Anzac address every year, claiming no one ever noticed.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d949c7e80680e06b356jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3000" height="1500">Although diplomatic relations between Nepal and Australia have existed since 1960, it was ambassador Diane Johnstone, affectionately known as ‘Call-me-Di’, who set up in Kathmandu from a cosy rented house in Thapathali in 1986 with a guitar-playing husband. The succession of early incumbents in the representational role were marked by life-changing events during their tenure – separation, divorce, engagement and marriage – including one emotional liaison with a Bollywood superstar that ended in tears. Over the decades, the mission has achieved many milestones in humanitarian and development aid, technical assistance and trade support.The popularity of Australian wine in Kathmandu dates back to one inspired ambassador who offered to import cases for his diplomatic friends -- and before the days of wine being available in the open market, he had many friends. Eventually both governments noticed when the embassy wine order exceeded that of much larger missions in London and Paris, dryly pointing out that every official Australian in Nepal must have been consuming about three dozen bottles a day. Aussie producers had the last laugh however, with their brands still established today as Nepal’s wine of choice amongst the chatterati.We wanted to do something special to commemorate the 100-year anniversary of Gallipoli on 25 April 2015. Thousands were gathering in Turkey, including the Prince of Wales and a ministerial delegation from Nepal. The UK had observed the outbreak of World War I with a dramatic moat-ful of 888,246 ceramic poppies around the Tower of London, representing all British and Commonwealth fatalities.Hoping to achieve a similarly grand gesture, the Gurkha commander conspired with us to ship 120,000 poppies from the British Legion in London, the idea being to carpet the grounds of the Australian ambassador’s home with a sea of scarlet. Each paper poppy raises at least a pound each but, thanks to British Gurkha generosity and skilled negotiations, boxes of poppies were delivered to the Australians with the Kiwi consulate paying only a nominal amount. At the last minute, however, the ambassador’s wife vetoed the idea on the grounds that it would be hard to tidy up afterwards and make a mess of her garden.The surfeit of poppies, plenty for future events, was soon erased from minds on that unforgettable 25 April five years ago. I had just returned home to Budanilkantha, kicked off my shoes and settled on the terrace with my laptop and the dogs when at 11:56 am the earthquake struck. Terracotta tiles rained off the roof, my car careened violently beneath the magnolia tree, and in the distance far below a pall of dust rose eerily above the assaulted city.No doubt, we all remember exactly where we were and how we felt at that fateful moment on Anzac Day 2015, when our lives were rocked forever.

The strangest Anzac Day ever

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8c479c7e80680e06b2edjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1478" height="986"/><figcaption>Prime Minister Oli and NCP co-chair Pushpa Kamal Dahal maintain physical distance at a meeting on Wednesday of MPs from the Far-Western Province to discuss the Cabinet's two ordinances. Photo: PMO</figcaption></figure>K P Oli is now halfway through <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/olis-1st-year/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">his term as prime minister</a>  With almost a two-thirds majority, there was much hope that he would show the kind of statesmanship needed to fulfil his election promise of stabilising politics to focus on raising living standards.The people believed him, and gave his party an overwhelming mandate. But <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/two-thirds-empty/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">the NCP predictably fell into the same rut</a> as governments since 1990 -- tainted by cronyism, corruption, poor governance and an utter disregard for the poor and weak sections of Nepali society.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/pressure-mounts-on-pm-oli/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Pressure mounts on PM Oli</a>, Saindra RaiAlthough Nepal has so far, quite luckily and inexplicably, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-must-hope-for-the-best-prepare-for-the-worst/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">escaped the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic</a>  it has exposed the structural imbalance and inequality in Nepali society. Poor state management and political failure have been the hallmarks of previous governments, but this virus has brought it up to the surface like nothing before.It is not just Nepal, around the world the pandemic has exposed governance failure and poor leadership. Some analysts maintain that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/what-nepal-can-learn-from-china-about-covid-19/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">authoritarian states have been able to better control the spread of the disease</a>, while democracies have floundered.But for every China there is an India, and for every New Zealand there is an Iran. Just like the virus does not respect national boundaries, it does not seem to care about ideology either. In this war, what is important is the health strategy of the state, how strictly isolation is enforced and for how long. The virus does not care if it is a totalitarian government that does it or a democratic one.Governments are also faced with a stark choice: protect the health of citizens or <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-prepares-for-economic-fallout-of-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">save the economy</a>. The economy cannot be saved unless you make it safe for citizens first, but some governments have quite openly tried to keep businesses going. This is where politics gets tangled with the pandemic.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8c4a9c7e80680e06b2eejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1502" height="892"><figcaption>Prime Minister Oli heads back to his residence in Baluwatar after the Cabinet meeting on Monday that endorsed an ordinance to make it easier for political parties to split. Photo: PMO</figcaption></figure>Some democratic countries using the disease as an excuse to stifle dissent, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/pandemic-pangs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">squeeze the media</a>  and abuse emergency powers. Other elected governments which have failed to manage the epidemic effectively, or have shown a disregard for the vulnerable, resort to extra-constitutional measures to cover up their deficiencies.The Oli administration is guilty of both. The pre-coronavirus <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/censuring-censorship/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">legislations on media control hang</a> like a sword over the heads of journalists. The prime minister himself accused reporters this week of exaggerating the plight of tens of thousands <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-prepares-for-economic-fallout-of-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">trapped by the lockdown</a>  He has accused the media of having a political agenda in exposing his secretariat’s nexus with businesses profiteering in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-to-test-covid-19-test-kits-from-china/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">procurement contracts of medical equipment from China</a>.Even before the pandemic, disillusionment was running high. The Oli government was wracked by one scandal a week – the real estate heist in Baluwatar, the access given to Yeti Holdings over former royal property, the security printing press deal in which Oli’s trusted Information Minister was caught on tape negotiating a $6 million kickback. And now, the blanket coverage in the media of people left hungry, tired and cashless by the lockdown has exposed the communist government’s lack of sensitivity to the proletariat.Physically weakened by his second kidney transplant, the politically isolated within his own party, the beleaguered prime minister <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/pressure-mounts-on-pm-oli/" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/pressure-mounts-on-pm-oli/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1587551043543000&amp;usg=AFQjCNE0sCB_h089dkOeDNQwNtN7TiWe7Q">made a surprise move on Monday</a> by getting the Cabinet to pass two ordinances, one of which will make it easier to legally split a political party. This sent a shock wave through the NCP, brought howls of protest from coalition partners and the opposition, and a wave of outrage from commentators and social media.Indeed, the timing was all wrong. Why was Oli in such a tearing hurry to allow political parties to split, when the country, and the world, is going through one of its worst crises in recent times? This was the time to focus on figuring out a post-COVID-19 exit strategy, and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/unlocking-the-economy-post-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">getting the economy cranked up again</a>. For this, the country needs all political parties to row in the same direction.What the ordinance proves is that for the prime minister, his own political longevity is more important than the country’s ability to survive the pandemic and its economic fallout. His goal is still to prevent his arch-nemesis Pushpa Kamal Dahal from succeeding him as prime minister for which he is trying to thwart a possible no-confidence vote against him by holding up the threat of splitting the party.But what the move exposed is a wholesale disregard for democratic norms, constitutionalism, and an undermining of an elected parliament. This will force the country into prolonged instability. And instead of making him stronger, the move has weakened Prime Minister Oli.

Playing politics in a pandemic

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89e99c7e80680e06b211jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="960"/><figcaption>Australian officials arrive at a strangely deserted Tribhuvan International Airport</figcaption></figure>The plane flew in an elegant arc silhouetted against the sunset far above some lazily circling raptors, a victory lap around the purple hills of the Kathmandu Valley before heading southeast. Who would have thought a single Nepal Airlines wheels-up could be such a triumph, but in the empty skies over a locked down South Asia, this take-off was something truly exceptional.After days of frenetic work and delicate negotiations, the Australian Embassy team in Kathmandu had achieved a commercial charter to repatriate stranded tourists back home. The infinitely complex exercise involved the governments of Nepal, Australia and New Zealand at a time when travel restrictions were becoming ever more stringent in an effort to halt the coronavirus’ gallop around the globe. Considering there was so little air traffic anywhere, it was all excessively complicated.Summoned by government advisories, many Aussies and Kiwis returned home before the ban, but those remaining emerged from the mountains, meditation and yoga retreats, family visits, or simply had left it too late to leave. For the trapped tourists clinging to the Australian Embassy lifeline, hopes were raised then dashed.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-airlines-to-fly-stranded-australian-tourists-to-sydney/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal Airlines to fly stranded Australian tourists to Sydney</a>Since the surprise suspension of international flights, angst-ridden rumours ricocheted around ‘Stranded-in-Nepal’ online chats and Facebook chronicled the roller-coaster dynamics. Qatar Airways morphed into Nepal Airlines as the carrier, and Brisbane replaced Sydney as the destination when it was deemed that quarantine facilities were already full.Never before has Nepal Airlines flown to Australia, so this was in effect its inaugural flight down under. Permissions had to be sought to overfly eight countries between Kathmandu and Brisbane, exemptions were required even to transit Australian airports, and connections had to be guaranteed with the ever dwindling trans-Tasman flight options – Air New Zealand obligingly adjusted their departure time by several hours to suit us.Decisions, revisions, changes and adjustments became highly political under the escalating epidemic, allegedly needing sign off by cabinet members and prime ministers. Every passenger would be subject to 14 days isolation at their destination, to slow the spread and flatten the curve. Decision makers were jittery from failures in other cooperative evacuations: in Peru last week a bunch of aggressively disappointed New Zealanders had been off-loaded from an Australian flight.Such were the ever-evolving uncertainties and behind-the-scenes diplomacies, that it was not until Monday that all the pieces were in place for the New Zealand government to announce that the Wednesday flight was viable with permissions and connections to get Kiwis back home to Auckland from Nepal. Final landing permission was only granted from Canberra on the morning of departure, which was just as well as by then 250 excited passengers had confirmed and paid, 27 of them New Zealanders.Each person had a story. It had been a fraught week tracking tourists and trekkers, and reassuring frantic families, themselves in isolation at home. A crisis helpline in Wellington supported desperate travellers marooned around the world. I talked to one couple who even considered marriage to enable their evacuation, but border security solved their predicament by expediting the additional paperwork required by the COVID-19 crisis at exemplary speed.As the shuttle buses disgorged passengers loaded with backpacks and baggage, relief, stress and excitement reverberated around the deserted Kathmandu airport. Face masks were distributed, temperatures checked, and notices reminded us to remain one metre social distanced.Check-in was not without its drama. Some couples were not seated together who wanted to be, and some were seated together who did not want to be. A lost phone was found and a lost passport was not, resulting in some high-level fancy footwork resolved only at the very last minute. The one shop open in the terminal made a killing in overpriced chocolate and fizzy drinks. “Sorry, no cappuccinos only black coffee. The cows are on lockdown.”Photos and selfies were snapped, and the Nepali flight crew politely posed in their distinctive uniforms and Sherpa-striped aprons. The Australian Ambassador was ubiquitous in his dark suit and reassuring smile, chatting with families and fielding calls from the foreign minister. The rest of us workers rushed around, distinctive in lurid yellow official vests with high-vis silver strips, attempting to smooth the airport processing. Most were grateful and gracious, only a handful still grumpy and unsettled by such unprecedented events.For the last two days tickets had been issued and payments collected amidst the sunny flowerbeds, friendly dogs and shady trees of the embassy gardens in Bansbari. With a boarding pass in hand and the new RA airbus in sight on the tarmac, I watched the strain and confusion of the past week begin to evaporate, tensions to relax, anxiety levels to ease, and new friendships to coalesce.Once the 250 had made their laborious way through immigration, security and into the departure lounge, festooned with hand bags, day packs and children, I started to think that this flight might actually happen.Thanks to meticulous pre-planning by the Aussies and our New Zealand team based in Delhi, plus the coordinated efforts of Nepal Airlines, Bon Travel, Nepal Police, airport authorities, health, immigration, security and many others,  the assault course of bureaucratic hurdles had apparently been successfully navigated. The experienced New Zealand High Commissioner in Delhi was monitoring by WhatsApp: ‘I’ll only believe it when the plane is off the ground.’With the last of the check-ins complete, I was making my way upstairs when a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. “Hey Lisa, this is my first visit to Australia, what a thrill, please say something for my blog.” It took me some moments to recognise Captain Vijay Lama of Nepal Airlines obscured by a stylish black face mask under a braided cap, wielding his iPhone in record mode, and burdened with a collection of travel cases.His thick hair was greyer than when we served together as judges for Miss Nepal 2004, but Vijay’s energy and charm was undiminished. “The closest I came was acting in EVEREST, the Hollywood movie about New Zealand mountaineers! I’d love to meet the Australian Ambassador who has accomplished this historic maiden flight.”Basking in Vijay’s charismatic wake, we sped through security and strode into the departure lounge. A frisson of recognition swept through the cavernous hall as every local spotted the celebrity pilot, actor, singer and television presenter – a good proportion of the flight were Australians of Nepali origin and Nepalis with permanent residency.The Ambassador finished addressing his departing throng, emphasising the unique circumstances that surrounded the national flag carrier’s first ever flight to Australia. Cameras clicked as I introduced him to the superstar captain, his smile dazzling: “Now I know that today our passengers are homeward bound in the very best of hands.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89ec9c7e80680e06b212jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89ef9c7e80680e06b213jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89f29c7e80680e06b214jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89f59c7e80680e06b215jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4032" height="3024"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89f99c7e80680e06b216jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4032" height="3024"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89fc9c7e80680e06b217jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1598" height="900"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89ff9c7e80680e06b218jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1316" height="640"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b8a029c7e80680e06b219jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="695"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b8a069c7e80680e06b21ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480">Lisa Choegyal writes the So Far So Good fortnightly column for Nepali Times, and is the Honorary Consul for New Zealand in Nepal.

Aussies and Kiwis homeward bound from Nepal

Sunil’s eyes shine with excitement and his wispy beard blows in the southern hemisphere breeze. The churning ocean accounts for his queasy stomach, but he is thrilled by the squawking mass of seabirds and dense stench of penguins on the rocky island behind him.The names of New Zealand’s forgotten Subantarctic islands are unfamiliar to most of us - Campbell Island, Auckland Island, The Snares – and about as far from the hills of Sunil’s Langtang home as it is possible to imagine.This month Sunil Tamang returned home to Nepal after two years in New Zealand completing his Masters degree in environmental science at Lincoln University. His fellow <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700#.Xno1GIgzbIV">Mingma Norbu Sherpa Memorial (MNSMS)</a> scholar, Ngawang Thapke Sherpa, only just made it on the last flight from Singapore before Nepal closed. Already the days of pre-COVID carefree travel seem long gone.Sunil and Ngawang stayed in Christchurch long enough to settle in the two new scholarship recipients, Pasang Lamu and Tsewang Nuru, both Sherpas from the Khumbu who arrived fresh and keen last month. These distinguished four are the most recent of 14 young Nepalis selected from dozens of applicants for the scholarship that honours the conservation legacy of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12581#.Xno1xYgzbIV" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mingma Norbu</a>, who was lost in the Ghunsa helicopter crash 14 years ago.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/out-of-the-ashes/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Out of the ashes</a>, Lisa Choegyal<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79e39c7e80680e06472ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1500"/><figcaption>Honouring the conservation legacy of Mingma Norbu Sherpa, Sunil Tamang and Ngawang Thapke Sherpa returned to Nepal this month having completed their Masters in environmental science at Lincoln University New Zealand.</figcaption></figure>Specialising in disaster risk and resilience, Sunil came to our notice on the scholarship committee because of his outstanding response to the 2015 earthquakes when he single-handedly raised the funds and organised the rebuild of 22 houses in his home village of Old Syabru Besi. “Tired of waiting for slow moving and ineffective government assistance, I initiated the project to rebuild the village.”After helping <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-reincarnation-of-a-holy-valley/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Langtang</a>, he joined ICIMOD to continue post-disaster reconstruction and recovery work across the country. I first came across Sunil when in January 2011 as a 20-year-old he set out on foot from Kanchenjunga with Rs28,000 in his pocket and trekked the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16399#.Xno2SYgzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Great Himalaya Trail </a>all the way to Lake Rara. He was just the kind of village kid we thought would appreciate two years of life and study in New Zealand.Sunil’s focussed energy did not go unnoticed at Lincoln and he soon joined a summer project with his professors, assessing economic valuation of urban waterways of Christchurch. He has been spotted hiking in the hills, lounging by pristine lakes, messing about with bikes, and swimming off the coast with Dusky dolphins.When Mingma’s widow Phurba and I visited last year, he showed us the Lincoln campus and exhibition he had helped assemble to celebrate 100 years since Sir Edmund Hillary’s birth, his easy smile and Harry Potter glasses glittering with zeal.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79e69c7e80680e06472bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1410" height="928"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Prompted by the university staff, Sunil entered the Heritage Expedition’s True Young Explorer scholarship whose prize was a two week cruise on one of their purpose-built ships in the Southern Ocean. Heritage Expeditions is a family-owned New Zealand company committed to ‘conservation through experiential learning’ to create a league of ‘ambassadors’ inspired to protect the unique flora and fauna of these precious areas for future generations. And Sunil won.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700#.Xno2wogzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Re-generation</a>, Rubeena MahatoNormally costing close to $10,000, the privileged prize took Sunil with a few dozen clients to these remote rocky islands in search of birds, nature, botany and history, protected as World Heritage Sites for their vast array of wildlife including albatross, penguins, petrels, prions and marine mammals like sea lions, fur seals and elephant seals. I coveted this trip of a lifetime to distant dots on the map.Whilst Sunil was fighting sea-sickness in these tiny inhospitable havens for some of the most abundant and unique wildlife on the planet, I was taking the two hour flight back from a job in New Zealand’s most eastern territory and another biodiversity hotspot, the remote Chatham Islands. The rattling Corvair prop plane had an albatross bill painted onto its nose, parked in the furthest corner of the airstrip as if in shame.“I think I had better wash your hair three times!” The Wellington hairdresser was impressed. Dust from the gravel roads of the Chatham Islands was so thick I had scarcely been able to drag a brush through it for days. But I missed the wide-open windswept spaces – the tidy streets and dark suits of New Zealand’s capital seemed tame in comparison.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79e99c7e80680e06472cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1032"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Dave and I had been helping to sort out a failing tourist lodge in New Zealand’s most eastern territory, owned by the original Moriori inhabitants and located overlooking rolling green sheep pastures, trees that grow horizontal in the perpetual wind, and a peaceful lake full of black swans. “Introduced from Australia, and breeding something terrible,” we were told by a gnarled resident. “We shoot them regularly but they still proliferate, threatening to eclipse our local birds. Same as the weka.”Cherished as a protected native bird in New Zealand itself (never referred to as the mainland as you might expect), the squat brown wekas are so ubiquitous that we found weka pate and weka stew on regular island menus.Read also: <a style="font-family: -webkit-standard; letter-spacing: normal;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/more-trekkers-more-trees/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">More trekkers, more trees</a>, Adam Stern<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79ec9c7e80680e06472djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Along with plentiful seafood, glistening paua, kina shellfish and huge blue cod for which the Chatham Islands are renowned. Fanciful fishing stories abound, and Dave must be the only angler who never got a bite in an hour diligently spent trying on the Waitangi wharf, though a sinister shark-shaped shadow patrolling the harbour gave him a scare.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18587#.Xno3GIgzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Their souls march on,</a> Bhrikuti Rai and Stuti SharmaSwimming and beach activities are not encouraged as the Chatham’s feature as a favourite patrol of Great White sharks, as well as other less deadly species. One of the first islanders we met was a young chap missing an arm, the result of an accident diving for crayfish.The archipelago, ‘a land apart’, boasts an array of endemic birds and unique flora that have developed differently in the Chatham conditions, as well as New Zealand species that have been blown there 800 km offshore in the midst of the empty ocean.But although rare and rescued from extinction, I doubt the black robin, mollymawk and magenta petrel of the Chathams compare to the wonders of wildlife that Sunil saw on his Subantarctic expedition.So welcome back, the nomadic Nepalis flying the MNSMS flag. And keep up your exemplary energy and gusto now that you are home.

The Nomadic Nepali

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70129c7e80680e06005bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="998"/><figcaption>Photo : GOPAL GADTAULA</figcaption></figure>Manoj Rai was a 17-year-old student in a school in Tashigang, Bhutan in 1990, when soldiers arrived at his dorm and took away all the Nepali books. They piled them high in the courtyard, and set them alight.A few days later, the boy decided to escape the army’s dragnet and without even returning home he went down to the border, where the Indian security forces were packing other Bhutanese like him into trucks and dumping them in eastern Nepal.Thousands of refugees from Bhutan lived under plastic sheets by the side of the Kankai River in Jhapa. Many fainted from trauma, culture shock and homesickness. On a single day, Manoj Rai remembers cremating 28 children who had died of epidemics.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/who-stands-with-bhutanese-refugees-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Who stands with Bhutanese refugees in Nepal?,</a> Bhuwan Gautam and T P Mishra“We refugees know very well the meaning of life,” Rai said with a faraway look in his eyes, at his home in Charlotte, North Carolina. He is among the nearly 95,000 refugees from Bhutan who have been resettled in the United States. Others have gone to New Zealand, Norway, UK, Australia, the Netherlands and Canada.Rai opted for resettlement after seeing no possibility of returning to Bhutan, and tried to convince as many of his compatriots as possible to take up the offer. Some were resolutely refusing to move, but he tried to convince them that being a citizen of a foreign country, rather than a refugee, could help them return to Bhutan one day. Many third-generation Bhutanese are now studying in the world’s top universities.Rai has always been interested in music, often taking his small band house-to-house during Dasain and Tihar in Nepal, performing songs of longing for home in Bhutan. Villagers used to give them rice, gundruk and vegetables, which the refugees cooked in the camps by the dusty river banks.“We were always hungry, but we had to eat to live. And music was a way to feed ourselves,” Manoj recalls. “And now, on the other side of the world from home, we are trying to preserve our culture.”Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Bhutanese-refugees-resettlement-program-ending-in-2018,4121" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The end of the road for Bhutan's refugees</a>,Jenna Kunze Soon, relief organisations like World Lutheran Foundation, Save the Children, the UN High Commission for Refugees and others came to the rescue of the refugees, settling them in seven camps<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70159c7e80680e06005cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1050" height="738">in Jhapa and Morang, where 120,000 Bhutanese lived for more than 20 years, until resettlement.“We were floating like kites. We missed home, and slept in jute sacks on the sand,” remembers Manoj, who could not even go back to Bhutan when his mother died there. “That is my biggest regret -- that I was not there for my mother. There are many Bhutanese like me.”Manoj came to the US 8 years ago and recorded over 70 songs since then. He has also founded the charity Love and Sports, which supports Nepali art, culture and music with an annual gathering in which the best are honoured with awards.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/family-separation-bhutan-style/">Family separation, Bhutan-style</a>, Jamie PiotrowskiMany of Manoj’s Nepali songs are about Bhutan. The translated lyrics of one of them:‘In the lap of the Himalaya is our dear BhutanWe blossom as we live together as oneDon’t cry, mother, we will make you smileWe will decorate our motherland with flowers.’

Ex-refugee takes refuge in music

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a54479c7e80680e05239fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="936" height="578"/><figcaption>The celebrated New Zealand's All Blacks will be defending their Rugby World Cup title in Japan next month, here shown triumphant in 2015</figcaption></figure>I was hemmed in on all sides by a resonating wall of damp dark jackets, the wide bodies of my enthusiastic neighbours. The crowd was on its feet roaring and whooping, the joyous chants as intense as any South Asian festival throng.Fuelled with drink and devotion, unadulterated passionate approval greeted the latest score. Sheets of winter rain fell steadily on the green grass field, droplets glistening in the glare of the arc lights above us, but nothing could dampen the mass ecstasy.I was in the midst of the unlikely temple precinct of Eden Park, Auckland’s sports stadium and the shrine dedicated to New Zealand Rugby Union. The worship of New Zealand’s All Black team is well known to inspire national religious fervour, the adoration accorded to the elite players up there with divine beings and Himalayan gods. Team selection is headline news, coaches are considered heroes, deaths of past players are marked with respectful silence, and any match lost, god forbid, is mourned as a national disaster.The collective veneration, power of the pack and crush of bodies adulating a selfless common cause had all the hallmarks of a spiritual jamboree — the festive throng of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/my-sweet-lord/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Krishna Jayanti</a>, the orange host of Pashupati’s Shivaratri sadhus, the glittering red sea of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-folk-songs-move-beyond-love-and-loss/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tij</a>, acres of cross-legged Kalachakra Buddhists, and the multitude of pilgrims at India’s Kumbh Mela, the huge gathering held every 12 years in northern India.Granted, the Kumbh crowd is counted in tens of millions rather than mere tens of thousands in Auckland and, instead of black jerseys and protective headgear, most devotees are naked except for a loin cloth, matted hair, sacred threads or vibrant saris.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a544a9c7e80680e0523a0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="788"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Although from a country of less than five million people, the All Blacks are respected throughout the world as the side to beat, the champions hardly ever knocked off their rugby number one slot. Masters of the oval ball, their intimidating Maori haka is performed before each match, calculated to inspire awe in the opposition with beefy knees bent, eyes wide, tongues protruding. The squad of massive, muscled, tattooed athletes are household names in New Zealand, nurtured, trained and toned as the global Kiwi sports symbol — the silver fern logo was recently proposed to replace the national flag.‘Great win last night!’ The country rejoices, quiet satisfaction unites the hordes of black-clad supporters filing out after the game. Kiwi reserve and natural politeness keep the mob from overt gloating, but the yellow sweaters of the defeated Australians are treated with quiet disdain.My excitement at these great international clashes is recently acquired, and my grasp of the finer rules of the game is slender. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/a-working-mothers-guilt/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Both sons</a> played at school, but I had been a neglectful ‘soccer Mum’ seldom on the sidelines. Sangjay captained the school First XV and even made the under-18 Victoria side for a precious few minutes before a knee injury had him carried off the field.With a twice broken nose and dislocated shoulder between them, the boys decided discretion was the better part of valour and retired before the terrors of college league games, lined up against the big guys from the Pacific Islands. That’s a relief for a mother, as the injuries get worse as the stakes rise.My early interest in international rugby centred on the post-match revelry in the busy bars of Edinburgh’s Rose Street that followed the Scottish internationals played at Murrayfield. Not that we actually ever got to watch the game, just shortcut straight to the pub parties afterwards, either celebrating a win or drowning a defeat. In the final year of my stifling Scottish school, dusty classrooms and echoing corridors behind the grim grey façade of George Square, I left with disappointing marks and a general impatience with what I perceived as an oppressive establishment.My dishevelled school friend Kate and I would rock up after weekend work at her family cafe, a groovy spot serving vegan delights and fresh chopped vegetables  from their farm along the Moray Firth. It still exists as a favourite Edinburgh eatery, upgraded to Henderson’s Salad Table and now run by the next generation or two. Kate and I were no doubt wearing miniskirts, deeply inappropriate for the chilly climate, or weird flared trousers fashionable in the 1960s, and unsuitable heels, lethal on the wet cobbles of Scotland’s gloomy capital city on a late Saturday night. We were relieved to be out of the constraints of navy school uniforms, crumpled white shirts and hideous burgundy striped ties.Kate’s counter-culture Mum was my first conscious contact with the Himalaya that became my home. She had returned from a Karma Cola spiritual quest to India with amoebic dysentery — wonderfully exotic and evocative in contrast to the predictable cold and flu afflictions of the dreary British north. It was not long afterwards that I finished school, graduated from the rugby pubs, found a way to break the oppressive bonds, and set off on my restless journey. It was a long circuitous quest that would eventually lead me to Nepal.Next month the 2019 Rugby World Cup kicks off in Japan, a six-week bonanza in which 20 nations battle for the coveted championship. New Zealand’s All Blacks are defending their reigning title, and supporters worldwide are preparing for the ultimate clash of the giants. Held every four years, this is the first time the tournament is being played in Asia, outside the traditional heartlands of rugby union. You can guess who I am supporting.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a544d9c7e80680e0523a1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200">

The religion of rugby

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53049c7e80680e05232ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="534"/><figcaption>Bardia National Park 1994</figcaption></figure>“Mum, Mum, Sangjay’s been playing with a python.” Rinchen was hoping to get one up on his elder sibling, but he knew he had to come up with something pretty spectacular to get my attention.“That’s nice, darling.”<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/So-far-so-good/fire-in-the-afternoon-tiger-tops,846" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tiger Tops</a>’ rustic ‘office’ had a thatched roof, wood rafters and mesh windows, and I was distracted by a guest relations manual update and tomorrow’s rooming list. I trusted my teenage boys to read jungle lore, and to know the difference between <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/hisss/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">harmless and dangerous snakes</a>.On a shelf above me, dusty glass jars of formaldehyde contained some of the more lethal varieties preserved for science: sinister yellow banded kraits and a lurid green pit viper. A deer barked in the distance and the cooks clattered in the adjacent kitchen.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/chitlang-chitwan-and-children/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chitlan, Chitwan and children</a>, Lisa ChoegyalHe tried again: “And it wasn’t a very small one. Tim and Jack dared him to pick it up.” The four boys were just back from one of their elephant-back expeditions through the Chitwan grasslands, this time up the Surung Khola valley – an unruly quartet close in age and fast friends since infancy. Disturbed from its winter torpor, the python did not appear bothered by its rude manhandling and was soon safely restored back into its <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/So-far-so-good/back-to-Chitwan,1075" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chitwan</a> freedom.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53079c7e80680e05232bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="528" height="747">My two sons were dragged up in the wake of my own enthusiasms Bardia National Park 1994<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53099c7e80680e05232cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="491" height="695">Tenzin and I trekking with the boys 1993I like to consider myself an exemplary parent, but probably all mothers think that. The truth is that my two sons were dragged into the wake of my own enthusiasms. Lucky their father seldom left home, as my selfish priorities may not have always featured family first. Our photo books support me in providing a peripatetic and sometimes idyllic childhood, but always to suit my travels, my schedule and my work in wildlife, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/in-conservation-nepal-is-not-out-of-the-woods-yet/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">conservation</a> and adventure.Two little boys posing in checked shirts on a Khumbu chorten, peering out of a tent on a remote terraced hillside with early morning peaks behind, bundled in life jackets hanging on through the white water, and embracing an <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-humans-can-live-with-wild-elephants/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">elephant</a> deep in the jungle grasslands. There were many years of birthday cakes for Tim Jack Sangjay or Rinchen, moulded out of elephant dung, elaborately iced and delivered by a decorated hati, a perennial delight with everyone valiantly keeping up the well-worn joke to please the grown-ups.Brought up in Kathmandu, our boys attended the British School until their early teens, both speak Nepali like natives, and both consider this Valley their home. As children they were forced to follow me on various missions – the picture albums show coconut throwing competitions in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/recreating-tiger-tops-in-the-tropics/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sabah</a>, canoeing in the back blocks of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/hanging-out-with-the-headhunters/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sarawak</a>, volcano trekking in Indonesia, horse-riding in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/wintering-in-mongolia/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mongolia</a>, cycling in Vietnam, rock climbing in Kenya and abseiling in Wyoming. After a particularly arduous trek recce wading rivers and lost in the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/a-walk-back-in-time-chandragiri-hatiban/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chandragiri hills</a>, Rinchen declared: “Never again, Mum.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a530b9c7e80680e05232djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1024" height="768"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>One result of their upbringing was an early affinity with animals. Sangjay’s first spoken word was “hati”. Stopping for a break at the riverside village of Malekhu, its fish delicacies hung skewered ready for the barbecue at the shop front. “Doesn’t it hurt the fish?” asked Sangjay, aged three. I was stuck for a glib answer.He showed the same concern for a pig on the solid iron spit roasting over a pit of burning coals in front of the Lodge – a favourite for special celebrations that could take 24 hours to cook, laboriously turned by relays of men through the night.Rinchen’s self-possession served him well as a pageboy, aged two, at my brother’s wedding in Chelsea Old Church. Both boys made it down the aisle behind the beautiful bride in their purple silk Khampa chubas, white tights and ballet shoes (promising they’d look “just like Ninja Turtles”, when Sangjay aged four refused to put his on). But during the service Rinchen was last to remain standing alone in attendance behind the happy couple, all the other older bridesmaids and pageboys having fled back to their parents in the pews.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-eyes-of-truth/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Eyes of Truth</a>, Lisa ChoegyalThere were the usual close shaves as toddlers. Sangjay tumbling down a flight of stairs, almost being swept into a flooded stream, crashing from the top steps of a slide, and falling backwards off a sofa through our sitting room window; the ensuing wound’s 12 stitches still show as a white scarred patch when his thick dark hair is cut short.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a530e9c7e80680e05232ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="958" height="728"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Rinchen must have been less reckless as I recall few childhood mishaps, but instead a healthy curiosity and keen observation. Driving to school one morning a small voice from the back seat asked: “What are those dogs doing Mummy.”“Mating, darling,” I replied, with an attempt at insouciance. There was a long pause. “Looks like awfully hard work to me!”I can hardly bear to recollect the time they went missing at my mother’s home on that same British visit. (‘They’ll be absolutely safe playing out in the garden,’ she had said, never dreaming they would venture beyond the hawthorn hedges.) After an agonising half hour, they were found wandering near the main Oxford London railway line a couple of fields away. I was never sure I believed their story about a passing train driver who stopped for a friendly chat, as all the locomotives I saw hurtled past at horrifying speed.Probably the depth of my attempts at responsible motherhood was when I misplaced them in Christchurch Airport. Stopping to change planes after a trip exploring New Zealand’s West Coast, I was absorbed chatting with mountaineering friends when we noticed they were gone.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53119c7e80680e05232fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2816" height="2112"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>After a frantic search with thudding heart, we heard the humiliating announcement: “Would the mother of two small boys please collect them from lost property.” A kindly old Kiwi couple had found them on the sidewalk outside and handed them in.Rinchen had his own python encounter during a gap year job at a river running camp near Rishikesh, but it did not end so happily. Finding a python being burned by villagers mistakenly to protect their livestock, they reported this violation of an endangered species to the Indian wildlife authorities. Three of the team were arrested for their pains, and the poor snake died anyway.

A working mother’s guilt

One smoggy winter morning in February 2019, Ekta regretted coming to her sculpture class. It was the first day of her period, and the 19-year-old wished she was home, curled up in bed with a hot water bag to soothe her cramps.
Her class was at Kalapremi Ceramic Studio, a dark room on the ground floor of a house in Maharajganj, and Ekta’s teacher was the artist Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’, a noted sculptor.
Two other students were already there, using all their muscle strength to knead the sculpting clay. Ekta, now 24, recalls how Kalapremi asked her if she was feeling all right. She avoided him, as she did not want everyone to know she was menstruating.
Kalapremi repeatedly asked Ekta what was wrong. She finally muttered that she was having her period, after which he grabbed her hand and led her to a partitioned corner of the studio and sat her on a chair. Before she could stop him, he slid his hand under her dress, and started massaging her abdomen.
“I was horrified,” Ekta recalls. “I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen, asking me not to be shy, saying he knew how to relieve my pain. He stopped only after I protested furiously.”&nbsp;
The art tutor then said, “You’re like my daughter. I’m doing it out of love to make you feel better, but you’re so stubborn.”&nbsp;
“Instead of saying sorry he acted like I was the one having crazy thoughts,” remembers Ekta, adding that from April 2016 to August 2020 beginning the time she was 16, the artist sexually abused and harassed her on several occasions. &nbsp;
Now, Ekta and the artist’s other former students are finally sharing their experiences and some are pressing legal charges against him, hoping that others do not have to endure what they did.&nbsp;
Award-winning artist and teacher Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’ (the name means ‘Art Lover’) is known for his ceramic art, sculpture, and contemporary pottery. He was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-house-of-kalapremi">profiled in Nepali Times after a collaborative exhibition</a>, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ at the Siddhartha Art Gallery three years ago.&nbsp;
His pieces, titled Gaalis, featured sculpted female figures with the heads of dogs, sheep, and donkeys (pictured) to depict derogatory terms for women. Some critics said the collection was a satire on feminists.
Kalapremi started his artistic and teaching career in 1983 and over the years taught at Bhanubhakta School, Kathmandu University School of Arts, Lalitkala Campus and at his private Kalapremi Ceramic Studio. He has also lectured at Jeonju University in South Korea and recently at Tabor Academy in the United States.
Seven of Kalapremi’s former students were interviewed for this story. Five female students said he touched them inappropriately in his studio or at Kathmandu University. Two male students said they witnessed him abuse and harass the women. In all cases, the students struggled to recognise the abuse when it occurred, and the lack of reporting systems left them to cope on their own for years.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, students shared a social media post hinting at Kalapremi’s history of abusive behaviour following which more students of the artist reached out sharing similar experiences. Some students spoke of abuse that happened as long as 20 years ago.
Kalapremi, 60, has denied the allegations. He told Nepali Times: “Some years ago, there was a movement encouraging people to hug and kiss. I used to do it purely out of friendship and love. But after seeing posts on social media last year calling out my behaviour, I realised my actions may have hurt some people. I understand now that I should have been more mindful.”
He added: “I am also an auxiliary health worker, so I know the exact points to massage to relieve menstrual pain. It’s not just menstruation, I take anyone who is ill to the hospital.”
Sexual abuse is much more rampant than reported given how difficult it is to prove it in court. The law defines sexual abuse as occuring when someone touches another’s private parts, coerces them into touching theirs, uses vulgar language, shows degrading images, or behaves indecently towards them without consent.&nbsp;
Ekta and her fellow students are consulting lawyer Suneeta Regmi Pokhrel, who says they know that even if the court decides in their favour, it is difficult to survive after speaking up, and influential men defend themselves saying they are being framed.&nbsp;
“They are in a lot of pain and weep when recalling how he abused them,” Regmi Pokhrel told us. “They are angry and have filed a case against him, but they are also terrified. They know he is a powerful man and they have seen how our society treats women who speak up against abusers. Unless people speak up, perpetrators will be emboldened.”
Art and academia in Nepal simply reflect the power imbalances in society where people with intersecting identities experience worse forms of abuse. Theatre actors Raj Kumar Pudasaini, Rajan Khatiwada, and Sunil Pokhrel were called out during the #MeToo movement in the Nepali theatre scene in 2019. Even after the allegations Pokhrel went on to receive national awards, while others continued to work without repercussions.
“If you speak up against abusers, you gradually get sidelined from projects,” explained a theatre artist who wished anonymity fearing professional setbacks. “The theatre scene in Nepal is quite small, you just have to make peace with the perpetrators and work with them if you want to sustain yourself.”&nbsp;
In academia there is a history of faculty members sexually harassing students and getting away with it. After Tribhuvan University (TU) lecturer Krishna Bhattachan was accused of harassing women students, the university said it would follow Nepal’s sexual harassment law and set up a reporting mechanism. But nothing happened to the professor, who had already retired. Instead, he counter-accused the students of 'attacking the indigenous people’s movement with baseless allegations' as <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/letters/2019/01/29/bhattachan-responds">he told the Kathmandu Post in 2019</a>. He continues to be featured as a prominent speaker including at TU.
Other faculty members previously accused of sexual harassment include Jagadish Murti Koirala from TU, Bishnu Prasad Acharya from Ratna Rajya Campus, and Bodha Raj Tripathee from Lalitpur Madhyamik Vidhyalaya. A woman staff member from TU also filed a sexual abuse complaint against Dambar Chemjong from TU.
Prominent figures like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">mountaineer Nims Purja</a> have been <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/sports/mountaineering-sexual-harassment-abuse-nims-purja.html">accused of sexual assault</a>, and cricketer Sandeep Lamichhane, actor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/celebrity-rape-case-spotlights-nepal-laws">Paul Shah</a>, and former speaker of Parliament <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mahara-arrested">Krishna Bahadur Mahara</a> have been accused of rape, but society-at-large has let off the alleged perpetrators amdist a larger debate about justice for survivors and punishment of perpetrators.&nbsp;
‘Gaushala-26’ is the court name given to the 18-year-old who accused Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of Nepal’s national cricket team and skipper of Biratnagar Kings in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/here-comes-the-nepal-premier-league">ongoing Nepal Premier League</a>, of rape. She left the country citing society questioning her character affecting her mental health while Lamichhane got an outpouring of support. In May, the Patan High Court overturned a prior verdict that found Lamichhane guilty of rape and had sentenced him to eight years in prison. During the 23-month legal battle to pursue justice, Gaushala-26 faced threats of gang rape and acid attacks.&nbsp;
Exhausted by the struggle, Gaushala-26 sought to “move to a new world” where she could live free without hiding her identity.
Actress Samragyee Rajya Laxmi Shah in an Instagram video now deleted detailed the harassment she faced from a filmmaker during a movie shoot. She did not name any name but veteran actor Bhuwan KC filed a defamation case against Rana, but the court ruled that the charge lacked sufficient evidence.&nbsp;
Former Kathmandu mayor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo">Keshav Sthapit also mocked the #MeToo movement</a>, calling accusations against him by journalists Rashmila Prajapati and Ujjwala Maharjan “a rape of men’s rights”.
Serial Abuse
Back at the Kalapremi Ceramics studio, another former student, 24-year-old Rajiv, says he felt the need to speak out after seeing his female classmates being abused.&nbsp;
“He frequently kissed them on their cheeks,” he told Nepali Times. “Whenever they walked into the studio he flailed his arms like a child asking for a hug. They awkwardly hugged him from the side, but he pulled them closer, held their chin, and kissed their cheeks.”&nbsp;
Rajiv says he also saw Kalapremi pull the women’s bra straps, touch their breasts, and slap their buttocks. The young students would freeze, not knowing how to react, and if they protested, he would say it was “normal in art”. Rajiv, 19 at the time like his classmates, remembers thinking perhaps the well-respected artist was right after all.
Another student, Luna, who took lessons at Kalapremi’s studio from 2020 to 2022 did try to confront the tutor after he made an obscene proposal to her. She recalls: “One day when the other students had left the studio and it was just the two of us, he told me that God had given him special artistic talent and he could transfer those powers to me. But to do that both of us will have to be naked, inside a dark room, and have sex.”
Luna, who was 18 then, was livid and told him she did not want any of his powers, but she says he laughed at her as if he was joking. She did not tell her family about the incident because she thought no one would believe her.&nbsp;
“They were all in awe of this famous artist and felt I should be grateful that to be learning sculpting from him,” she says. “I was scared to be alone with him in case he talked about sex again. My coping mechanism was to be rude so he wouldn’t try to come close to me.”
Seeing how some classmates were standing up to Kalapremi, Ekta too tried to push back against his advances, but she said he found ways to coerce her. Since Ekta, Rajiv, and Luna could not afford Kalapremi’s Rs30,000 monthly fee for lessons, he had offered them all a stipend to assist him in the studio.
“He had spondylosis and took me to his therapy sessions to learn massage techniques, then he often made me and other students massage him,” says Ekta. Whenever she refused, he would feign pain to make her feel sorry for him. “He would insist that I put my hands under his shirt so that I could massage him better,” she adds.
The art tutor often tried to “seduce sympathy” from Ekta by sharing how he had never been loved as a child and was “sexually frustrated” as an adult.&nbsp;
“At 7PM, he would pour himself Signature whiskey and immediately go off again about how he was sex-starved. I didn’t know how to respond. It took me time to realise alcohol was just an excuse to talk about sex,” Ekta says.
If convicted, Kalapremi could face financial penalty and/or a prison sentence of up to three years according to Section 224 of National Penal (Code) Act 2017.&nbsp;
Data suggests that victims of child sexual abuse on average take nearly 24 years to tell someone about their trauma, and some may never disclose it at all.&nbsp;
“In our culture, children are rarely taught about boundaries. They often react, show anger when adults pinch their cheeks. But adults insist they did it out of love, and force the children to accept it,” says Sita Lama, a psychotherapist at Manka Kura. “And even when someone touches them inappropriately they struggle to identify and verbalise it.”
When perpetrators claim to be “acting out of love”, Lama says survivors are likely to perceive it as something safe, rather than recognising it as abuse.&nbsp;
“It may take years for them to realise they were abused,” she explains. "And even when they become aware, the power imbalance with the abuser and the associated shame often prevents survivors from speaking up."
Other former students from the School of Art at Kathmandu University have also come forward years later, saying Kalapremi sexually abused them. As young adults, they felt his behaviour was off but were uncertain if it was inappropriate, illegal, or they did not know how to respond. After having understood that it was indeed abuse, they say they are speaking out now to protect others.&nbsp;
Amina Singh, a visiting faculty member at Kathmandu University, says there is no clause against sexual abuse in contracts of teachers, and there is no formal grievance handling mechanism for the students.&nbsp;
“So the only way students can to deal with sexual abuse is approach someone they trust,” she says.
Eight other former art students of Lalit Kala Campus and Srijana College of Fine Arts of Tribhuvan University and other private art studios in Kathmandu say they were also sexually abused by their art teachers. Three faculty members interviewed from these institutions said they saw the abuse, but felt it was futile to report it given how powerful the teachers were.
In the absence of a formal system, some longtime women artists warned each other about “problematic” artists. They shared &nbsp;a “heads-up” to be more cautious when collaborating with them, and avoided responding to their calls and texts after work hours.
To ensure art institutions are safe for all, galleries, museums, artist studios, and smaller art spaces need to develop policies on sexual harassment. This would include a code of conduct or studio policies that hold the leadership accountable and outline the principles of professional ethics.&nbsp;
Students and employees should inquire about accountability mechanisms for raising concerns, both formally and informally, advocates say.
Three years after Ekta left the ceramics studio, she learnt that Kalapremi had harassed many other women. Still trying to get a footing in the art industry, she attended a workshop in Kathmandu where women artists discussed ways to stay safe in the art sector.&nbsp;
Since it was a close-knit group Ekta opened up about how she felt violated and realised she was not alone, he had been abusing underprivileged students for years, and this was common knowledge among artists in Nepal.
Ekta says that even after she quit, Kalapremi continued sending her text messages like ‘I am thinking of you’, ‘Why have you stopped speaking with me’, or ‘I am waiting for your call’.&nbsp;
But what really forced her to act was when Ekta found out that he was sending similar texts to her younger sister.&nbsp;
“I’ve had enough,” she told us. “He abused me all these years but I won’t let him abuse my sister.” &nbsp;
Ekta, Rajiv and Luna are not the real names of the students.&nbsp;

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

It was 8:15 in the evening of 25 March 1968 when everyone in the village of Batulechaur near Pokhara heard a deafening sound like thunder as a bright flashing object hurtled down to land in a field.&nbsp; That field belonged to Kul Timilsina, and the next morning he retrieved a sheet of metal about 2m by 1m and carried it home with the help of a few others, thinking it would be useful for his buffalo shed.&nbsp; Before he died at age 83 three years ago, Timilsina had told photo archivist Sunil Ulak that the black metal sheet was not rectangular and had rounded corners. There are a few witnesses still alive who have a clear recollection of the object that fell from the sky that night.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="601" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>The field in Batulechaur belonging to Kul Timilsina where fragments of a flying object fell from the sky in 1968.</figcaption> </figure>  One of them is Timilsina’s wife Gyanu, who was 22 at the time. She had been at home, and remembers hearing the big bang and the sky becoming very bright. “We saw the thing in the field in the morning,” she told us. “It looked like a lid, a covering of some sort. The way it was stuck in the ground, it must have fallen from the sky. We thought we could use it to dry clothes on, and took it home.”&nbsp; Another witness is Kul Narayan Paudel. “I was only eight then. We ran to the field to see what had fallen. It was a four-sided metal sheet. The elders took it away, and I don't know what happened to it.” &nbsp; Ram Bahadur Baniya, a teacher at the local school, says he had heard the sheet had been brought to the school, and later handed over to the Zonal Commissioner at the time, Nanda Prasad Malla. “But that is all hearsay,” he says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="610" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Gyanu Timilsina, wife of Kul Timilsina.</figcaption> </figure>  There are two versions of what happened to Kul Timilsina’s metal sheet. One is that an American Peace Corp Volunteer teaching at the nearby Bindyabasini School took it, and another is that it was handed over to the government. Recently declassified Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and US State Department documents from the time say that the US Embassy in Kathmandu tracked down the object two years later and had it shipped back to the US. A telegram from the Department of State and Department of Defense tagged as ‘MOON DUST / Space Fragments’ dated 1 March 1972 stated: ‘1. Restored space fragment will be on board Embassy support flight 115 arriving Kathmandu on or about March 10. Fragment is packed in shipping crate (cargo no. 72-33365) marked in care of DAO.&nbsp; 2. State and Defense representatives examined fragments prior to shipment finding restoration acceptable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df" data-rendition-name="original" width="856" height="568" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Declassified CIA documents about the investigation into the object sighted in Pokhara. </figcaption> </figure>  The documents show that the US government, military and intelligence agencies investigated this incident thoroughly when it occurred, and have continued to revisit it ever since, as recently as five years ago. What is even more intriguing is that the object that fell in Pokhara was not the only unidentified space object that fell to earth that year. There were similar sightings of objects falling from the sky in Ladakh, Sikkim and Bhutan between 19 February and 25 March 1968.&nbsp; These mysteries were the subject of a CIA investigation in 1968 titled ‘<a href="https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP81R00560R000100070007-8.pdf">Sighting of Unidentified Flying Objects in Ladakh, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan</a>’, and the report is part of the recent online declassification of 800,000 top-secret documents from the period.&nbsp; &nbsp;Although unidentified flying objects (UFOs) have a connotation now of being alien craft, it could be pieces of satellite, missile, rocket or even aircraft. The CIA report documents six sightings in 1968 and quotes local sources as describing all of them having similar characteristics: bright blue or red streaks in the sky accompanied by loud sounds like lightning and thunder and objects falling to the ground. Aside from the metallic object that was found in Batlechaur, there were other items also found nearby in Tallakot, Tureypasal, Armalakot and Maidan. Whatever the object was, it seems to have disintegrated even before it hit the ground.&nbsp; The CIA report records the first sighting on 19 February 1968 in various parts of Sikkim and Olangchung Gola and Ghunsa in eastern Nepal. The light was said to be ‘long and thin’ and giving out ‘green and red light’. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb" data-rendition-name="original" width="892" height="596" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara "> </figure>  Two days later on 21 February, a soundless blue object was seen traveling fast across the sky above Thimphu in Bhutan. Then on 4 March there were multiple daytime sightings or white streaks in the sky at Chang La Pass, Fukche and Koyul in Ladakh. There were more sightings in Ladakh on the very day fragments fell near Pokhara on 25 March 1968.&nbsp; After the sightings in Pokhara, rumours started flying in Kathmandu that these were aliens trying to land on Earth, it could be Russian or Chinese spy planes or satellites, and some even say it as a sign from heaven that the end of the world was near. This was at the height of the Cold War. The Russians and Americans were testing their thermonuclear devices as well as intercontinental ballistic missile delivery systems. The Washington-Beijing rapprochement had not yet happened, and China was making quick progress testing atomic bombs. Within two years after its first atomic test, in 1966 China exploded its first hydrogen bomb at the Lop Nur site in Xinjiang, 3,000km to the north from Nepal. After neary six decades, what is still intriguing is that all the sightings within a few months of each other in 1968 were along the Himalayan arc bordering Tibet: from Bhutan, Sikkim Nepal, to Ladakh. The US military intelligence seems to have concluded that this was not a coincidence and there were frequent research trips to the site in Pokhara by American officials in the months after the incident. With the help of the Royal Nepal Army, the region north of Pokhara was thoroughly searched.&nbsp; A confidential memo dated 25 June 1968 by Jerry C Trippy to a ‘Mr Farley’ mentions that the US Air Force’s Foreign Technology Division had decided that the debris could be important because it may be related to a Chinese missile test or a Soviet ‘Vehicle Venik’ rocket.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  On 28 August 1968 the US Embassy in Kathmandu sent a letter to Washington DC saying that the object could be of Soviet origin, possibly from when the rocket carrying the ‘Kosmos 208’ satellite re-entered the atmosphere. But why were the fragments falling to earth several weeks apart, and in the same region? No one knows where the metal sheet that Kul Timilsina recovered is now. It was definitely packed in a crate and taken to the US, and although it is rumoured that it was returned that is not very likely. Archivist Sunil Ulak heard from the Timilsina family that CIA officials had returned to the site five years ago. &nbsp; Interest in UFOs peaked in the US in the 1950s, with the Cold War space race and tests of atomic weapons and delivery rockets. CIA and scientists were being sent to investigate sightings, both publicly and privately. Could the Pokhara fragments as well as the sightings in Ladakh and Bhutan actually be alien craft falling to earth? The renewal in interest in space travel in large part due to Elon Musk’s SpaceX, UFOs and sightings are again subjects of public interest.&nbsp; Even 57 years later, even if there was definitive proof about whether the Batlechaur fragment was from a Chinese missile or a soviet rocket, it has not been made public in documents declassified so far. We may never know.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598" data-rendition-name="original" width="642" height="320" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  Sunil Ulak speculates if the debris actually came from an American aircraft, perhaps on an intel mission upon China. “Which could explain why they were so thorough in collecting the fragments in Pokhara,” he says. But that still does not explain the multiple sightings weeks apart in 1968.&nbsp; Indeed, US military aircraft were at that time flying frequent night-time missions from air force bases in India to supply weapons to Khampa guerrilla camps in Nepal located north of Pokhara in Mustang. It could very well be that the Chinese shot down one such aircraft. The other sightings could have been contrails of US spy planes, or Chinese anti-aircraft missiles.&nbsp; There were quite a few developments regarding UFOs in 2024. In a US congressional hearing in July, former intelligence officer David Grusch claimed that the government had long been involved in a program to investigate and retrieve non-human craft crashes, and then try to reverse engineer them. However Grusch did not show any evidence.&nbsp; The UAP Disclosure Act of 2024 was signed into law by Joe Biden in December 2023. It plans to oversee the public disclosure of UFO information. However, there is a clause in it that prevents disclosure if it would cause threats to military defense, intelligence operations or foreign relations.&nbsp; It is unlikely that the declassified documents about sightings in the Himalayan will cause any real surprise about definite evidence of alien life even if it was found. It seems humanity will continue, at least for now, to wonder about curious lights in the sky and whether there is anybody out there.&nbsp;

UFO over Pokhara

When Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) president Rabi Lamichhane was arrested in October on charges of defrauding depositors of cooperatives, the party’s vice president Swarnim Wagle gifted him Fareed Zakaria’s book, Age of Revolutions.
Since then, Lamichhane has been shunted around from Kathmandu to Pokhara to Chitwan and back to Pokhara to attend police investigations and court proceedings. He was being flown to Birganj via Kathmandu on Buddha Air on Monday. There is another pending case in Janakpur.
Human rights groups and civil society have criticised the government for hounding Lamichhane with inhumane treatment that borders on physical torture. The two parties in the coalition, Nepali Congress (NC) and the UML, see Lamichhane’s RSP as a potentially formidable challenge to their power.
Even if the fraud charges against Lamichhane are true, the Nepali public is increasingly looking at the government’s actions through the police and courts as political vendetta.
Despite all the travelling, sometimes by plane and often by road at night, Lamichhane appears to be in high spirits, waving to supporters who often gather if they know he is going to be driven around. A social media video shows him giving high fives to fellow passengers on a recent flight to Pokhara.&nbsp;
In the past weeks, streets in Pokhara have erupted with parallel protests by Lamichhane’s supporters as well as depositors of cooperatives who lost their savings to the scam.&nbsp;
Although family visits are allowed, prison officials in Pokhara told Nepali Times that not many people visit Lamichhane these days. He added, “When he does get visitors, he asks them to bring him books.”
Lamichhane is currently Nepal’s most high-profile public figure in custody, and highlights the stark difference between how influential prisoners are treated compared to ordinary inmates.
There are six prison cells at Kaski District Police Office’s two-story detention centre, three on each floor. And while authorities pack prisoners into already overcrowded cells, Lamichhane has an entire room on the second floor to himself.&nbsp;
He has also been allowed to call his family every few days. Other prisoners are not permitted phone calls except for emergencies.
Meanwhile, Lamichhane’s former business partner Chhabilal Joshi, an ex-Deputy Inspector General of Police with whom he established his Gorkha Media Network, is in custody under the same charges in the prison cell next to him.
Lamichhane is accused of siphoning off depositors' money to the tv network in which he was part-owner and anchor. &nbsp;
Both Lamichhane and Joshi are able to buy food from the police canteen instead of being served the regular meal like other prisoners. Joshi has also given his statement to authorities in Rupandehi and Kathmandu for his alleged role in the scam. Lamichhane is yet to be presented in Kathmandu for questioning.
While he was in custody at the Kathmandu District Police Complex, Joshi expressed his desire to sleep in a police officer’s office, reportedly assuring authorities that he would not run away and he was entitled to certain facilities as a former officer of the law.
“He seemed to be under the impression that he is still a police officer,” says a source at the Kathmandu District Police. “We made it clear to him that as someone accused of a crime, he was not entitled to special treatment.”
Former ministers Balkrishna Khand and Top Bahadur Rayamajhi, and ex-home secretary Tek Narayan Pandey, who were arrested in connection with the fake refugee scam last year, were similarly housed in the offices of law enforcement officials instead of prison cells. Khand has since been released after six months in jail.
While there is no legal provision to keep high-ranking officials in separate detention centres when they are arrested, authorities granting them special facilities is not uncommon. Law enforcement officials say VIP detainees expect preferential treatment while in police custody.
Among those is former Kosi Province minister Lila Ballav Adhikari, who was arrested from Biratnagar on 10 November over his alleged involvement in human trafficking and brought to Kathmandu. Adhikari had flown to Japan without government approval with three individuals on 29 October to attend a cultural conference, but had been sent back to Nepal from Narita.&nbsp;
His three companions were arrested at Kathmandu airport upon their arrival, but Adhikari was able to exit unscathed from the VIP lounge. Adhikari had resigned as the Kosi Province Minister for Internal Affairs and Law when it became public that his companions had been taken into custody, and was himself arrested shortly after. He has since been cleared by the courts.
Throughout his detention, Adhikari was kept separately from other inmates. Senior Superintendent of Police (SSP) Basant Rajouri, head of the Bhadrakali complex, says that while there is no separate detention area for VIPs, some detainees are kept separately depending on the nature of their crime.
However, sources say that arrangements were made for retired judges and others to visit Adhikari frequently worked at the office of a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) during his time in custody.&nbsp;
“He used to constantly pester the authorities to let him sit outside in the sun, and to be able to use the police officer’s shower area,” added an officer.
Adhikari was released on 25 November after the government prosecutor’s office decided not to charge him in a move that was seen to expose the government’s double standards.
Over at Kathmandu’s Dilli Bazar Prison, former Kist Bank CEO Kamal Gyawali emerges from his prison cell into the courtyard of the prison’s ‘Ka (क)’ block every morning with a thick book in his hands, ready to give his daily sermon.
With his long beard, Gyawali, who is serving a prison sentence for banking fraud, looks the part of a religious guru as he implores his rapt listeners to “walk the right path, abandon bad thoughts and turn to scripture and spirituality”.&nbsp;
Afterward, the attendees gather to discuss politics and current affairs. Inmates at his daily sermons at the prison include other high-profile detainees, including former MP Ichchha Raj Tamang, who is in jail for money laundering and cooperatives fraud, former joint secretary Chudamani Sharma, who was convicted of corruption, as well as NC leader Chandra Bahadur Lama and Krishna Bahadur Upreti of the UML both of whom are on trial for embezzling billions of rupees.
Victims of the cooperatives scam that former lawmaker Tamang was involved in have made trips to the prison and requested visits, but he has refused to meet with any of them.
“Tamang often complains that the state has prevented him from returning the money to the victims by locking him up,” says a police officer at the Dili Bazar jail.
“All you hear every day from the VIP prisoners is that they have been framed,” adds the officer. “No one admits that they were involved in misdeeds.”
But while most high-profile prisoners complain about prison conditions, one exception is former provincial lawmaker Deepak Manange, who is serving a sentence at Dilli Bazar Jail for attempted murder.
“He is the happiest prisoner here,” says a warden. “Unlike the others, he doesn’t claim to have been framed, in fact he doesn’t seem to care that he is in prison.”
Manange is detained in the ‘Kha (ख)’ block of the prison complex, which he renovated at his own expense. The block previously housed female prisoners, but Manange used his influence to transfer them elsewhere. He faces no shortage of visitors, who range from political leaders to people from the underworld.
Along with Manange, other well-known prisoners in this block include Nepal Telecom Managing Director Sunil Poudel, and former executive director of the Surakshan Printing Centre Bikal Poudel, who are serving time for corruption.
Former prisoners at Dilli Bazar prison include ex-ministers Khum Bahadur Khadka and Shyam Sundar Gupta, NC leader Ganesh Lama, Maoist MP Balkrishna Dhungel, Nagarik Unmukti Party leader Resham Chaudhary, as well as former IGs Ramesh Chand Thakuri, Om Bikram Rana, and Hem Bahadur Gurung.
Section 54 of Nepal’s Prison Act assigns each prison’s internal administration the
responsibility of governing its prisoners, which means the more favourable the jail management is, the more comfortable it is for prisoners.
Dilli Bazar prison has been the prison of choice for many high-ranking prisoners, especially those convicted of white collar crimes, due to its more accommodating administrators. The prison, which has the capacity to house 700 inmates, is also less crowded than other jails.
Anuj Bhattarai, spokesperson of the Department of Prison Management, says that there is no legal classification in Nepal for felons to be assigned prisons based on the nature of their crimes.
“That Dilli Bazar Jail has a higher number of prisoners convicted of crimes like corruption is most likely a coincidence,” says Bhattarai. “There is no provision for influential people to be able to choose where they will be incarcerated.”&nbsp;
Translated by Shristi Karki from the Nepali original published in himalkhabar.com

What Nepal’s VIP prisoners do in jail

If you were raised in Nepal, you must have picked up its unique set of vocabulary: आन्दोलन, चक्का जाम, बन्द, राँके जुलुस, आफ्नो मान्छे, हाम्रो दल, कर्फु and many more words connoting political protest.
We became familiar with the acrid smell of burning tyres, and eyes smarting from tear gas. And yet, everyone speaks of another revolution in the making. Not by desire, but by suffocation.
We heard speeches about नयाँ नेपाल, but the New Nepal never arrived. The governance system changed, but it did not reflect on people’s lives — except for those close to centres of power. The state is still unreachable and is not bothered about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/matter-of-life-and-debt">victims of loan sharks</a>, cooperative scams and other injustices.
Politicians continue to speak in sound bites, but fail to deliver. They have mastered the game of pointing fingers towards an external enemy and convincing people that they are never at fault. The political narrative is so disconnected from the actual analysis of the problem that suffocation doesn’t go away after every revolution.
No genuine effort has been made to deliver at all, which is why there is a palpable sense of disillusionment in the air forcing us to seek another revolution, even if Nepal may not be able to afford it.
How has the current system successfully held power, even if the public is deeply frustrated? How is it that for three decades we continue to be led by the same faces, who have time and again, proved to us that they may be great politicians but not national leaders?
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/improving-internet-governance-in-nepal">My experience at the epicentre of politics</a> has led me to identify three cultures that have enabled political parties to keep a tight hold on power: acceptance, silence and dependency.
We accept things the way they are. We use fatalistic phrases like “नेपालमा यस्तै हो” or “नेपालको कानुन दैब जानुन”. While this resilience enables us to rise back up from devastating calamities, it is also a reason for our compliance with the status quo.
Despite so many ‘revolutions’ that have led to significant reforms, these phrases keep getting reinforced, to the point that the upcoming generations have made it their lingo.&nbsp;
This acceptance is not a symbol of law-abiding citizens, but citizens living in fear of those in power, unable to ask the whys and why-nots.
Innovation suffocates in this culture of acceptance of the status quo. This is manifested in remarks like “but we don’t have any laws for this,” or “we don’t have the capacity to implement this”. An innovator or entrepreneur therefore has to spend that energy to become a political lobbyist, often educating and convincing the bureaucracy.&nbsp;
Remember when locally assembled <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/designed-and-made-in-nepal">Yatri motorbikes</a>, despite having willing customers, had to suffer to secure license numbers because of a lack of regulations? Instead of creating new laws, the government kept chanting the “We will promote Nepal-made goods” mantra, leaving entrepreneurs in a labyrinth of bureaucracy. The weight of acceptance of the law lies heavily on innovators. Fatalism is a tactic used by those in power to generate mass fear in society.
When we accept, we become silent. This is a pervasive phenomenon. We are trained to keep quiet, lest we ruffle feathers, burn bridges, or not get the help we need in future. We know, yet we don’t speak.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/bureaucratic-hurdles-in-researching-nepals-bureaucracy">Bureaucratic hurdles in researching Nepal's bureaucracy</a>, Daniel W Edwards
Here is one example: the 2021 census shows that the number of baby boys born for every 100 baby girls is 112. This is a clear indication of female foeticide because of boy preference in society.
Despite such horrifying realities, there is finger-pointing within the government between the Ministry of Health and Population with the Ministry of Home Affairs. At the citizen level, we know those who are involved in killing girls. Yet, we don’t speak up. The Nepal Medical Council reports state that despite this gender imbalance at birth, there is no indication of any action.
But why would anyone speak against one's own fraternity, no matter how vile the act is?
When we accept and keep quiet, we become dependent on those who yield power. From getting our government procedure completed on time to getting transfers, to accessing any of our legally protected rights as well, we are forced to depend on our networks of चिनेको मान्छे people we know by blood, village, relations, political affiliation.
The culture of dependency has been the established way in Nepal. If you drive a two-wheeler or four-wheeler, and you get into a small accident, you will be asked to sort it yourself, dialing up the most powerful person you know. It becomes a competition of who knows who.
Recently I was told that there were calls from the Ministry of Health and Population and another from the Prime Minister's Office for just one medical position in a private hospital. Each was pushing its own candidate. Guess which candidate got the position.&nbsp;
The dependency of people is not on the laws or the state, it is with people in power, a reliance on the network of somebody who knows somebody, including those not officially in power.
These cultures are deeply ingrained in our heads, and in society. Collectively they form a vicious circle that helps those in power to retain power. This is not the society we want to live in.
Then, what do we do as a collective to break away from this? How do we break away from the cultures of acceptance and silence that have created this dependency? What can we do to ensure that our children do not have to learn the jargon of आन्दोलन before they learn about the state?
These are the cultures political parties need to shed rather than use them to perpetuate their power. This is what <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/an-alternative-to-alternative-politics-in-nepal">alternative politics</a> needs to be about.
Sumana Shrestha is a member of Parliament’s Education, Health and Information Technology parliamentary committee and represents the Rastriya Swatantara Party.

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