Last month Nepal was officially released on Google Street View, making it possible to virtually explore the streets of more than 60 cities and scenic highways, hopefully boosting <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/greening-nepal-s-tourism">business and tourism</a>. Just open up <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/@27.6598523,85.3377024,14z?entry=ttu&amp;g_ep=EgoyMDI1MDkwMy4wIKXMDSoASAFQAw%3D%3D">maps.google.com</a>, click on the little yellow Peg Man, and drag him to an area on the map. In future, Street View Nepal may serve as an important archive of what Nepal used to look like.&nbsp; Nepal is the 107th country to get comprehensive Street View coverage, and the fourth in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/south-asia-2040-qxr16oup">South Asia</a> after Bhutan, India, Sri Lanka, and Bangladesh.&nbsp; “We used two cars, a smaller one for narrower alleys and a bigger car for wider roads,” explains Nishant Nair, who leads a team that oversees outsourced Street View operations. Last year, a dark grey Hyundai Santro was spotted in Kathmandu with an NCTech iSTAR Pulsar, a 360-degree camera used to capture and stitch together Street View images.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250906140956_902bedfcd7eee077e522c04b5a9582e5811a26caa43f7e1edfd69fd12a7cdd7c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250906140956_902bedfcd7eee077e522c04b5a9582e5811a26caa43f7e1edfd69fd12a7cdd7c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1444" height="821" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> </figure>  In July, the process ran into problems in Bharatpur, where locals thought the car was surveying the alignment of the East-West Railway. So they torched the car and detained the surveyors. Bharatpur today has zero coverage on Google Street View.&nbsp; &nbsp;The maps have satellite images with photos from Street View Cars or contributors. The data is from official street maps. Says Nair: “Our <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/can-democracy-survive-ai">AI algorithms </a>can then analyse photos for street names, turn restrictions, and number of lanes to build a comprehensive map of the country.”&nbsp; From the pictures, Google’s AI can also extract information about ‘places of interest’, helping small businesses be visible on the internet.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250906140956_c22db31f11b88901af634aad930a5167d5c8ffb8de5ebb0beb65c2b359710068.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250906140956_c22db31f11b88901af634aad930a5167d5c8ffb8de5ebb0beb65c2b359710068" data-rendition-name="original" width="3022" height="2056" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>2. A dirt road amidst the far-western hills.</figcaption> </figure>  Dipesh Lamsal, CEO of Mahalaxmi Bikas Bank, says that hotels, restaurants, and tour operators benefit from the maps because it brings global visibility: “For us banks the technology can support Know Your Customer (KYC) verification, helping us confirm locations, assess businesses, and strengthen due diligence.” The network of coverage of Street View is denoted by a road glowing blue, with roads in cities and towns mostly featured. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-tarai-s-shrinking-forests">The Tarai</a> has a denser road network, the foothills have a few highways connecting main cities, and the mountains do not have blue at all except for some highways and popular trekking routes. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025090616090_199a0054207b5a9fa2f640c09ca3432e18d7fc8bb58d453bddc4e3d176f73ce7.png" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2025090616090_199a0054207b5a9fa2f640c09ca3432e18d7fc8bb58d453bddc4e3d176f73ce7" data-rendition-name="original" width="509" height="327" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>3. Near the Bardia National Park in Western Tarai.</figcaption> </figure>  One of the biggest users of this feature will be Nepalis themselves, as<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/visit-nepal-in-the-monsoon"> domestic travel gets more popular</a> than ever this holiday season. Trekking trails are now also on Google maps with embedded views of scenic areas. What is striking is how similar cities look across Nepal — the same cement ads painted to the sides of buildings, the same shutter pasal, and haphazard overhead wires. Towns on the other side of the border look fundamentally the same except for billboards for Indian companies like Jio Mobile.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025090615090_fa41d728dd7114052de9a21310908436853fce3d0487d271687ad8e2ae4f1911.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2025090615090_fa41d728dd7114052de9a21310908436853fce3d0487d271687ad8e2ae4f1911" data-rendition-name="original" width="3420" height="2224" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>4. Near Jhiwakhola Devisthan in Baglung, Gandaki.</figcaption> </figure>  Connectivity As ride-sharing and e-commerce expands, tech-based companies need accurate data about locations, and directions to them. Rather than develop their own databases and maps from scratch, it makes sense to use existing Google Maps.&nbsp; Mapping services get paid a small amount every time another app asks to search for a location, or to calculate the optimal route between two specific places. They may also allow auto-completing searches or calculating just the distance between two locations instead of the best route.&nbsp; There is one problem: Nepali companies cannot afford to pay for this data from Google Maps — especially with 1 USD hitting Rs142 this week. And that is where <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/finding-your-way-in-nepal?fbclid=IwAR3Ls8S90Qcjv8CYsuZb2QjaFaMKnOar0L2jDiT3D1o7hx8ipoJRrTUbXDI%2F">Nepali mapping companies </a>like Baato and Galli Maps come in.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025090615094_796a828a97ae656832fe1540df13dc6eb79c43cf83d01d37f387548146071b06.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2025090615094_796a828a97ae656832fe1540df13dc6eb79c43cf83d01d37f387548146071b06" data-rendition-name="original" width="3412" height="2068" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>5. The Kali Gandaki river in Kagbeni.</figcaption> </figure>  “We built Baato because we wanted to empower business, but over time we realised that bad maps isn’t only a business concern, it’s annoying for regular individuals too,” says Prithvi Khakda, Baato’s investor and business developer.&nbsp; One problem Khadka faces is the lack of trained technicians to take existing data about a customer and predict their preferences. Skilled people are rare, and once hired and trained in data manipulation, they will likely emigrate. Khadka’s solution is to use an agency to do the work, but that raises privacy issues. Khadka recently pitched Baato Maps on Shark Tank Nepal, successfully snaring a Rs24 million investment from Hem Raj Dhakal of IME for 40% of the company. Details of the deal will be finalised after Dasain, and Khadka says being on the show has given Baato better visibility: “The dynamic has flipped. Companies are now coming to us, instead of us going to them.” One of the new clients is all-electric ride-hailing service eDrive Nepal.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025090615098_11c95467cdecdadc8d1683a80f533e7839395f37180910d04a7add888e168b18.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="2025090615098_11c95467cdecdadc8d1683a80f533e7839395f37180910d04a7add888e168b18" data-rendition-name="original" width="3086" height="2122" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>6. A central Nepal sunset at Tanahunsar in Gandaki.</figcaption> </figure>  Baato Maps’ main selling point is accuracy: it updates the changing nature of streets and locales with verification tools so users do not waste time chasing dead ends. “Building a map is challenging because it reflects all the changes that happen in real life,” says Khadka. &nbsp; Baato also makes it quick to find areas that would be of immediate locale interest, such as ATMs, bus stops, and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/people-power/nepal-turns-on-the-electric-switch?%20waitfor%20delay%20%270%3A0%3A15%27%20--%20=">EV Charging stations</a>. In future it will recommend local restaurants and businesses to customers based on location, and perhaps tie-up with IME Pay’s inDrive.&nbsp; Galli maps serves companies like Hamrobazar, WorldLink, eSewa, Foodmandu, Sajilo Rides, and others. Founder Raj Bikram Maharjan says the company got a start from the government’s attempt to solve the addressing problem by numbering houses in 1998.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250906150912_6c4f8b729a9532a6e152bc8f37dd66f14e9be1aec11e459fed8fd72a90f386d6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_14" data-image-id="20250906150912_6c4f8b729a9532a6e152bc8f37dd66f14e9be1aec11e459fed8fd72a90f386d6" data-rendition-name="original" width="3420" height="2224" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>7. A busy Thamel Street in Kathmandu.</figcaption> </figure>  Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/navigating-nepal-with-new-digital-maps">Navigating Nepal with new digital maps</a>, Shristi Karki “That was a revolutionary concept, but there was actually no way to see the numbers and use them to locate, and Lalitpur then numbered houses in 2019, but had the same problem,” recalls Maharjan who faced the issue firsthand when he tried to order an oximeter for his sick mother during Covid and was stuck giving directions on the phone for half an hour. Galli Maps also has a 360 degree street view feature, covering Kathmandu, Pokhara, Everest Base Camp, and Annapurna Base Camp, although it is not something it spends a lot of resources to maintain. Maharjan is excited about Google Street View now being a thing, and used to contribute to the service in 2014. Google was quite stealthy about carrying out mapping, but they need not have been because when Galli went to the Ministry of Communication and Technology, it said it did not need permission because it was not filming, just pictures.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250906150912_7bb3ca1250da082fbf76134db866498a35d6dd3b3655cf7a7d344d269882f21e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="20250906150912_7bb3ca1250da082fbf76134db866498a35d6dd3b3655cf7a7d344d269882f21e" data-rendition-name="original" width="3018" height="2122" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>8. The Pushpal Highway in Lamidanda in Kosi.</figcaption> </figure>  Galli does work with the government in other ways: re-mapping locations every year to update data, and also recent information from the Department of Roads. It has also tried a reporting feature so users could report <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/don-t-go-quietly-into-the-night">accidents, potholes</a>, trash buildups, and fires. This feature was scrapped after government departments did nothing about the complaints.&nbsp; Galli is planning for more use cases for its map application in future, including live tracking of festivals like<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-legend-behind-the-myth-of-indra-jatra"> Indra Jatra</a>, which this year starts on 6 September with chariot pulling.&nbsp; “I love to attend these jatra, but the problem is nobody knows exactly where the rath or lakhey are at any given time. Locals give directions, but the processions have moved by then,” says Bikram.&nbsp; Besides Baato and Galli, there are companies like Thegana which look to solve the addressing problem by digitising locations by assigning unique Thegana Codes to them. Another is Trackon Nepal, which offers vehicle tracking and fleet management solutions using small GPS devices and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/privacy-is-power?%2F=">mobile data</a>. &nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025090616090_da5aeb44d1adf0a475320759b44bc17bba5c00af173977ddb8441592ba11f42c.png" data-media-id="editor_20" data-image-id="2025090616090_da5aeb44d1adf0a475320759b44bc17bba5c00af173977ddb8441592ba11f42c" data-rendition-name="original" width="508" height="315" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>9. Dadhauli in the central Tarai.</figcaption> </figure>  <h2>Trekking Views</h2> Google Street View covers roads, but what about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/himalayan-highs">Nepal’s trekking trails</a>? Now that the two main mobile telephone providers have built towers along the main trekking routes, it is possible to geolocate on online maps that show hiking paths. Better coverage would give trekkers an idea of the facilities they can expect en route, views that await them, and even weather alerts to warn of impending blizzards, landslides or avalanches.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250906150916_07b41580d22e3fa091da078cabba1bba35b28f2d2b0e30fe7acce329982370de.png" data-media-id="editor_22" data-image-id="20250906150916_07b41580d22e3fa091da078cabba1bba35b28f2d2b0e30fe7acce329982370de" data-rendition-name="original" width="586" height="778" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> </figure>  As more Nepalis travel within the country, they are uploading photos along the way. Two areas in the mountains that are partially covered on Google Street View are <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/glory-and-risk-on-himalayan-peaks">the Annapurnas and the Everest Trail</a>. In Annapurna, the coverage is along the Beni-Tatopani-Jomson-Kagbeni route, including of the Kali Gandaki River. Most contributors are individuals.&nbsp; In the Khumbu area, there was a concerted effort in 2014 by a Google Maps team to create videos and an interactive website with places to explore in Lukla, Namche Bazaar, Thame, Khumjung and Phortse. Explorable views of the German Bakery at Lukla Airport, a Yak Parking Lot, and the Sir Edmund Hillary School reveal what life is like in the area.&nbsp; This is a project that could be undertaken quite easily by the government working perhaps with tour operators and individual <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/trekkers-welcome-in-nepal-but-conditions-apply">trekkers</a> with 360 degree cameras that cost about $200. Documenting routes in the Far-West hills, perhaps showing that facilities do exist, could be vital to increasing tourism and the economy in the region.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025090616094_468fea34380f2f81a04f67044e3d93bdddd4610b2bd543b1ff5199f85b41e4a6.png" data-media-id="editor_25" data-image-id="2025090616094_468fea34380f2f81a04f67044e3d93bdddd4610b2bd543b1ff5199f85b41e4a6" data-rendition-name="original" width="555" height="316" loading="lazy" alt="Navigating Nepal online"> <figcaption>10. The Himalaya in the north-eastern corner of Nepal.</figcaption> </figure>

Vishad Raj Onta

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Navigating Nepal online

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

Looking at Nepal from Venice

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

A new normal

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

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

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

online-mapping-systems

Navigating Nepal online

Looking at Nepal from Venice

A new normal

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

Things eventually work out