<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111152/636b86709c7e80680e067854jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1308" height="870"/><figcaption>Photos: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>The Covid-19 pandemic has already claimed the lives of 3.5 million people, worldwide, according to the World Health Organisation (WHO), although <a href="https://covid19.healthdata.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation</a> (IHME) puts the figure at an horrific 7.5 million -- projecting 9 million global deaths by September 2021.Waves of Covid-19 infections across the world have severely challenged health systems in the richest countries, but have been catastrophic for nations with more <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/protecting-those-who-protect-us-from-covid/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">limited health infrastructure</a>. It is predominantly older adults and those with other health conditions who are most seriously affected by the virus, but the impact on health services indirectly affects those seeking help for other health problems, and the pandemic has further affected economic resilience of nations and families. Quite simply, <a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.facebook.com/the.university.of.oxford/posts/10165377035860107" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">we are all affected by the pandemic.</a>Against this backdrop, the wave of infections across South Asia this month is a cause for huge concern, with the reality of the pandemic being felt today so <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/its-an-emergency/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">acutely by the people of Nepal</a>. It is a pain I have shared, having worked very closely for the past 16 years with a talented team of doctors and researchers at Patan Hospital, Lalitpur, (led by Dr Shrijana Shrestha and Dr Buddha Basnyat) researching infectious diseases and vaccines in children.Today, I feel so far away, more than 4,500 miles from Kathmandu, and rather helpless as the media vividly brings the news of Nepali political debates, lockdowns, individual suffering, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/why-is-there-still-an-oxygen-shortage/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">oxygen shortages</a> and the selfless dedication of the hospital staff into my living room.In early 2020, I started work with other academics in Oxford on the development of the Oxford-AstraZeneca/Covishield vaccine. My role was leading clinical trials of the vaccine, starting on 23 April 2020, and eventually enrolling 24,000 volunteers in the UK, Brazil and South Africa during the course of the year.In the trials, half of the volunteers were given <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/despite-doubts-nepal-sticks-with-astrazeneca-jabs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the Oxford vaccine</a> and the other half received a ‘control’ vaccination which wasn’t designed to protect against coronavirus. We then compared the number of people who developed infection in the two groups and found that disease was reduced by around 70% in those who received the vaccine.Importantly, the vaccine prevented all hospitalisations and deaths. These amazing findings were recently confirmed in a trial of the vaccine in the United States. Our vaccine is remarkably effective. The trials also taught us that the vaccine had the potential to reduce the risk of transmission of the coronavirus by blocking infection and reducing the amount of virus in the throat of those who did catch it.Since 4 January 2021, the Oxford vaccine has been used in the UK, and the national rollout has shown how powerfully effective vaccines are in ‘real world’ use, with a recent analysis by Public Health England indicating that around 12,000 deaths, and 33,000 hospital admissions from Covid-19 have been averted by the vaccines in just a few months here in the UK.Our aim at Oxford University was to develop a vaccine that could be <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/unicef-urges-g7-to-dispatch-vaccines/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">distributed equitably</a>, and we hoped to achieve that through our partnership with AstraZeneca, who stepped up to help and have supported more than 20 vaccine manufacturing sites around the world (including Serum Institute of India, who make Covishield).They are working flat out to scale up manufacturing even more, and it is through their efforts that over 450 million doses have already been produced this year, and how the vaccine is being distributed to over 160 countries. This incredible progress in such a short period of time will save hundreds of thousands of lives. But making vaccines is hard, takes time, and there are still not enough doses for the world, even with many other developers producing vaccines too.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111152/636b86739c7e80680e067855jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1628" height="1062"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Covishield, made at the Serum Institute of India, was the version of the Oxford vaccine destined for Nepal, but the urgent need in India has delayed supply. The supply shortage has resulted in major concerns for countries with limited numbers of doses to decide what to do.Starting vaccinations programmes will have the greatest impact, with the first priority being getting a second dose to those left out, and the first dose to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/spared-at-first-elderly-hit-hard-by-covid-19/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">older adults</a>, those with other health conditions that make them more at risk of severe Covid-19, and health workers, as soon as possible.The WHO have issued guidance about each of the vaccines which have been reviewed by them, to help with policy decisions, and for the Oxford-AstraZeneca/Covishield vaccine we know that there is <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DHSCgovuk/posts/971145230300967" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">good protection for at least three months</a> after the first dose, with no sign of protection fading over that period.The immune system ‘remembers’ the first dose so that protection is boosted when the second dose is given. Where there are shortages of vaccine, longer delays will not compromise the booster response to the second dose. The main reason for giving a second dose is to increase the immune response, which might improve protection against variants, and will also extend the duration of protection.At this moment we do not have much information about mixed schedules where different vaccines are used for the first and second dose, although this is something that my colleagues here in Oxford are investigating. However, since all of the available vaccines use the coronavirus spike protein to stimulate the immune system, it is expected that there will be a response to a different vaccine for the second dose. Whilst we do need more data to confirm the best combinations, in the meantime, getting a first dose to those most at-risk people should be the absolute priority.While the vaccine roll out in high income countries is a remarkable success story measured in doses given, cases prevented, lives saved, and the green shoots of economic recovery, giving us hope for the future, it also reveals <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-needs-urgent-american-vaccine-support/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">a serious concern</a> when looked at in the context of global equity.Some countries have vaccinated a high proportion of their citizens, while the pandemic continues to rage elsewhere. Many Nepalis have written to me asking why this situation is allowed to continue and asking what I am doing about it. Like you, I feel powerless.Since supply remains constrained, to save lives in the next few months, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/aid-pours-into-nepal-but-where-be-vaccines/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">vaccine doses</a> have to be redistributed to those at greatest risk, wherever they live. This can only be achieved if governments work together to prioritise their supplies in a global objective to protect lives, taking an international view rather than a domestic perspective.This year is the 30th anniversary of my first visit to Nepal, on that occasion as a mountaineer. With such a long connection to the country I felt so proud when I saw the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-begins-covid-19-vaccination-drive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">first doses of the Oxford vaccine being administered in Kathmandu</a>, and the hope that it brought to Nepalis, but I am now saddened to hear that further supply is delayed.Whilst the pandemic has brought us closer together in a shared suffering, it has also shown how far apart we are when it comes to sharing health.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.facebook.com/bbcnews/posts/10158299353147217" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Professor Andrew J Pollard</a> is Director of the Oxford Vaccine Group, University of Oxford, UK.Read also: <a href="https://www.who.int/publications/i/item/WHO-2019-nCoV-Sci-Brief-ChAdOx1-S-recombinant-vaccine-Second-dose">WHO Technical Note on delayed shipments for vaccines: What are the implications for the administration of second doses? </a>

original

674x448

610x380

500x500

400x266

400x240

400x203

301x200

1250x600

1084x550

“I’m sad vaccines are delayed in Nepal”

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111156/636cd8cf9c7e80680e092e62jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4096" height="2731"/><figcaption>A health worker in Jumla administers Covidshield AstraZeneca vaccine to an elderly this week. Photo: LAXMI NGAKHUSI/UNICEF NEPAL</figcaption></figure>Over 1.6 million Nepalis have so far been inoculated against the coronavirus, all of them with the AstraZeneca vaccine that several <a href="http://‘The damage is done’: Europe’s caution over AstraZeneca vaccine could have far-reaching consequences" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">European countries have suspended</a> because of fears of blood clots.With a turnout of 65% of frontline workers, vulnerable groups and people over the age of 65, Nepal has completed the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-fights-infodemic-to-push-vaccine/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">second phase of its Covid-19 vaccination</a> rollout with the Covishield vaccine either donated or bought from the Serum Insitute of India.“We have managed to protect the groups most vulnerable to Covid-19 from the possible second wave,” Shyam Raj Upreti, head of the Government Covid Vaccine Strategy told Nepali Times. “The fact that there have been no serious side effects has increased the acceptance level of the vaccine among the masses and health practitioners themselves.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/its-not-over-yet/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">It's not over yet</a>, EditorialHowever, reports of some EU nations, Thailand and other countries suspending the use of the AstraZeneca Oxford vaccine because of serious blood clots among some recipients may result in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/why-is-there-vaccine-hesitancy-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">vaccine hesitancy</a> among the remaining population. Covishield is the brand name of the Indian-made version of AstraZeneca.Germany, France, Italy and Spain suspended the vaccine program , following in the footsteps of by Ireland, the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Latvia discontinuing the vaccine earlier this week. Austria has temporarily paused the use of certain batches. Thailand is the first country in Asian nation to halt AstraZeneca shots.The <a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2021/03/16/europe/who-astrazeneca-europe-coronavirus-tuesday-intl/index.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">suspensions have baffled public health experts</a> who warn that there is neither enough data to justify the decision, nor evidence to blame the blood clots on the vaccine. It is especially worrisome because some European countries suffering their third wave of Covid-19 desperately need the vaccines.“To date, the vaccine has been safe in this part of the world, so its benefits far outweigh the risk,” said epidemiologist Lhamo Yangchen Sherpa, while cautioning that serious side effects should be monitored and their underlying causes studied.The suspensions in Europe, however, may be a blessing in disguise for countries like Nepal which have faced delays in shipments of AstraZeneca from India because of the rise in global demand. The price of the 2.2 million doses that Nepal had ordered from the Serum Institute also went up to $5 because of the shortage. It bought the first lot for $4 per dose.Nepal has approved two coronavirus vaccines for emergency use, Covishield AstraZeneca and China’s Sinopharm. So far, the government has only administered Covidshield and Nepali experts see no reason to discontinue the vaccine without a real causal link between AstraZeneca and the blood clots.With only about 600,000 doses in stock, Nepal needs to procure another 1.5 million shots if it wants to provide second doses starting from 20 April for those who inoculated in the first and second phases. Vaccine availability will also determine when the third phase aimed at people in the age group 55-64 age group will begin.“There is every likelihood that politics is involved in this decision to suspend AstraZeneca in the EU. We know that this vaccine is very safe, but it protects us from Covid and its more serious symptoms,” says Buddha Basnyat of the Patan Academy of Medical Sciences.Nepal has yet to receive another 1 million doses of Covidshield it ordered last month. Serum Institute of India was unable to deliver it on 15 March as expected. Similarly, Nepal received only 348,000 doses of Covishield vaccine under the COVAX initiative on 7 March of the promised 2.2 million doses. The next batch was not expected before May, but it could now be shipped earlier because of the suspensions.China, on the other hand, has increased its gift of Sinopharm vaccines to Nepal from 500,000 to 800,000 but there is a delay in procurement with Beijing insisting that Nepal send a plane to collect it .The shortfall in supply and procurement challenges have forced the Health Ministry to allow private companies to import other vaccines, including the Covaxin manufactured by Bharat Biotech in India.The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-braces-for-new-wave-with-vaccine-drive/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">vaccination drive</a> and fewer daily positive cases have given Nepalis a false sense of security. Youth are out and about, shopping malls, cinema halls and dance bars are crowded, schools and offices have stopped maintaining physical distance.At a time when neighbouring <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/its-not-over-yet/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">India is experiencing a possible second wave</a>, public health experts say the public has to be even more vigilant and follow safety precautions. Even those who have been vaccinated must remember that they can still be a carrier.Lhamo Yangchen Sherpa’s advice is: “The pandemic is not over, we can’t let our guard down. Vaccinate if possible, increase testing and continue to mask up, wash hands and maintain distance.”

Despite doubts, Nepal sticks with AstraZeneca jabs

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.

oxford-university

“I’m sad vaccines are delayed in Nepal”

Despite doubts, Nepal sticks with AstraZeneca jabs

Looking at Nepal from Venice

A new normal

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

Things eventually work out