<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110101156/636ccac39c7e80680e08bb87jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3000" height="2000"/>There was a time when smartphone shoppers looked for phones packed with every feature they could possibly need. Everybody wanted a phone that is a radio, torch, camera, Internet portal, gaming console, alarm clock, calculator, map, calendar, personal assistant, notepad and more – all rolled into one block of various metals, wrapped in plastic (or glass).These days, phone users are just looking for a great camera to capture moments to share. Yes, battery life and physical features are still important when making a purchase, but with most premium phones averaging at a battery capacity of 3500-5000mAH, the power bank is hardly a matter of contention.Regarding the physical appearance, snazzy phone covers and pop sockets are still trending, making it easy for people to regularly reinvent the way their phone looks. Turns out that choosing a smartphone is like choosing a romantic partner -- it helps to have good looks, of course, but quality and performance are what will determine whether the relationship is a lasting one.So, the camera is queen. The key point to keep in mind is whether the smartphone you have your heart set on has the camera quality you want or need.In most cameras, the image sensor plays an important role. The bigger the pixel size, the better the camera performance. For example, a 48 MP camera with a 1/2-inch sized sensor is considered pretty good. You want your pixels to be large, as a larger pixel can capture more light than a smaller pixel.The ability to capture more light means better performance when you’re taking pictures with friends at a dimly lit bar, when light is at a premium. A lot of phone makers tie up with well-known brands to bump up their camera setup, which allows Nokia to offer a Carl Zeiss lens and Huawei to partner with Leica.However, bigger, better sensors and a larger pixel size is not always possible. Enter a technique called pixel binning, a powerful process that sees data from four pixels combined into one.So, a camera sensor with tiny 0.9 micron pixels will produce results equivalent to 1.8 micron pixels when taking a pixel-binned shot. Smartphone manufacturers use this to keep customers happy with camera quality, especially in the budget phone segment.Ultra high resolution cameras may take time to come to the Nepal mobile market, but the current crop of 40MP and 48MP sensors are already showing impressive results when using pixel binning. With ever-improving capabilities like night modes, better zoom, and AI smarts, there is plenty of potential for better smartphone photos right now.The tiny hole that you can see inside your phone camera lens concerns the opening of the lens, or the aperture. Let’s pretend there are doors sliding in front of your camera lens: you may call these doors Aperture. How much these doors open and close, and how much light they let in, determines the quality of picture.The lower the number next to the ‘F’ (signifying Focal Length), the brighter and more visible your photo will be. Unlike DSLR cameras, most smartphones come with a fixed aperture, but luckily, nowadays the ‘Pro’ mode on your phone camera offers customisation of the aperture.Google Pixel is a great example of a phone that excels with a single lens, but multi lens is an added bonus. Instead of counting the visible camera lenses on your phone (triple cam, anyone?), you are better off judging the phone’s image processing skills.This is a software that processes the data that is captured by the camera. Unlike a sensor or a lens, which cannot be changed or replaced after you get your phone, image processing is an AI system based on algorithms that can actually be altered or improved post-purchase.Tip: To test the power of image processing, try installing G Cam (the Google Camera app) on your Android phone and check out the different it makes to your picture quality.Basic features to look out for:HDR Mode: High Dynamic Range mode allows the camera to click over-exposed, under-exposed and normal images which it combines to produce a well-balanced high-definition photograph with great clarity, excellent detailing and accurate colouring.Portrait Mode: This premium feature blurs the background, and keeps the object in the foreground sharp and clear. Portrait Mode plays with the depth of field to give a unique, dreamy effect that will garner heavy Likes.Optical Zoom vs. Digital Zoom: Optical Zoom uses the actual lens of the camera to zoom into a frame before clicking. Digital Zoom uses digital software to zoom into the frame and crop it to produce the picture, but this compromises the quality of image.EIS and OIS: Often photographs and videos come out blurry or shaky because of manual handling of the phone without a stabilising accessory like a tripod or gimble (popular with professionals). This is when EIS and OIS come to the rescue. EIS (Electronic Image Stabilisation) helps make the video recording smoother by cropping some of the bad frames automatically. OIS (Optical Image Stabilisation) is hardware-related and not a digital shortcut to perfection. This means that phones that offer camera setups with OIS support tend to cost more, usually because high-end flagship models offer it.Panorama Mode: Labelled ‘Pano’ on many phones, this feature was once a novelty, but now an expected ‘essential’ that allows the phone to capture more of a scene by combining images to create a horizontally wide panoramic photo. This is a great addition for people in Nepal who regularly capture mountain views on treks.Time Lapse: A filmmaker’s favourite this feature lets you take a sequence of frames at set intervals to record changes that take place slowly over time. When the frames are shown at normal speed, the action seems much faster, as you may have seen the sun setting bit by bit really quick, or flowers blooming in movies.

Saniaa Shah

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<figure><img width="1623" height="741" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba65c9c7e80680e073717jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption></figcaption></figure>+ When <a href="1)%09https:/www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-kathmandu-airlift-begins/">Kalim Miya in the UAE and Bhumika in Kuwait</a> found themselves stranded abroad after the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic, they took to social media via Facebook Live videos to seek help. Both of them are back in their villages in Nepal now, and attribute the early repatriation to their online outreach that drew them widespread attention.+ The Nepal Embassy in Malaysia holds <a href="2)%09https:/www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/preparing-for-nepals-returnees/">weekly Facebook sessions</a> with updates and answers to questions which are viewed by hundreds of thousands of Nepali migrants in the country.+When a video of a <a href="3)%09https:/www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepali-guard-beaten-in-malaysia-goes-viral/">Nepali security guard getting beaten up mercilessly</a> by his supervisor in Malaysia went viral earlier this month, it drew attention of the Malaysian authorities, even though similar cases happen on a daily basis and go unnoticed.+ Soon <a href="4)%09https:/www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepalis-caught-up-in-beirut-blast-recount-horror/">after the explosion in Beirut, Nepalis based in Lebanon</a> were quick to inform their families and each other about their safety via social media.These are just a few of recent examples where social media has played a key role in spotlighting stories of Nepali migrant communities and their families cope with this unprecedented global crisis. On the one hand, the pandemic demands isolation but on the other the Internet offers connectedness across borders.“It barely feels like we are abroad these days because we are in such close contact with frequent real-time updates,” says Yubraj, who is working in Qatar and the son of Kuma Bahadur, a 60-year-old returnee who had himself worked in Saudi Arabia in the 1990s.Yubaraj recalls growing up and writing letters to his father in longhand and mailing it by post. It would sometimes take months to get a reply.  <figure><img width="200" height="269" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba6609c7e80680e073718jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img width="606" height="870" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba6619c7e80680e073719jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“My father tried to write at least once a month. I remember he used to be very curious about tiny  details about the condition of our farm and the livestock,” Yubaraj says. “He did not share much about his life in Saudi Arabia.”Perhaps Yubaraj’s father had nothing to say about Saudi Arabia because he never got to see much of the country. He was brought straight from the airport to the majara farm where he worked, and after a few years he was taken right back to the airport to fly back to Nepal.Yubaraj’s letters to his father were mainly messages from his younger siblings, trivia from the neighbourhood, whose water buffalo gave birth, the harvest, and updates about his studies.“There wasn’t anything new or exciting to share about our lives, and the letters were more to keep him connected to home, and to let him know we missed him,” adds Yubaraj, who went to the local post office every two weeks to see if there was a letter from his father. He used to get anxious if there was no letter for over a month.Three years after Kum Bahadur left for Saudi Arabia in the 1990s, the village got its first landline phone. One day the didi from the shop rushed to Yubaraj’s house to say there was a call. My grand-aunt spoke to my father first and broke down when she heard his voice for the first time in years.“It was an emotional moment,” Yubraj says, adding that the calls were expensive. “Phone calls were short and rare, it was just to hear each others’ voices. The details were in our letters.”Years later, in 2007, it was Yubraj’s turn to seek his fortune in Qatar. By this time, there was already a landline in his house, but calls were still expensive. So, he still wrote letters to his father, but this time their roles were reversed – his father was in Nepal and he was abroad.“I still remember the first letter I wrote to my family from Qatar,” remembers Yubraj. “I told them about my struggles in the desert heat and the stark contrast with the cool air of Lamjung. I also described to them showers did not help cool off because the water was warm no matter which knob I used.”He tried to sound positive in his letters, just like his father, so his family would not worry too much. But he also wrote to them that he could have achieved more in Nepal itself, had he been willing to work as hard as he did in Qatar. One day, Yubaraj saw his manager get a new Nokia 6300, but it took him two years to be able to save enough to afford one so he could stay in touch with his family.   <figure><img width="640" height="480" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba6639c7e80680e07371ajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Kum Bahadur used to farm in a majara in Saudi Arabia, growing watermelon and camel fodder. He had never understood what a majara was until he visited Nepalis toiling in a farm in the desert.He says: “It brought tears to my eyes, thinking about how hard my father had to struggle in Saudi Arabia. We have it much easier now. At least we are in close touch.”***In his 24 years in Qatar, Kareem Bakhsh Miya has seen how advances in communication technology have changed the way migrant workers communicate with families back home.“We used to send letters or cassettes with 60 minute voice recordings to our family members,” he recalls. “I even had pen-friends all over Nepal to whom I wrote frequently. I spent a lot on postage because my letters were so heavy. As a loyal customer, the post office rewarded my family so they were able to send six months of letters for free.” <figure><img width="640" height="492" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba6659c7e80680e07371bjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Phone calls were not that frequent, and the closest shop with a landline was 22km from his house in Tanahun. Miya’s family had to be notified by the shopkeeper via messengers, including drivers of mini-buses or shoppers, about the day and time when they had to come to the shop for the next call.“The calls were very expensive, and I had to make chit-chat with the shopkeeper to return the favour,” says Miya, adding that a call usually meant there was some kind of emergency. Finally, Miya was able to send home a mobile phone in 2007, after which they could call more often.“Look how times have changed,” he says, “it is more expensive to send letters now than to make video calls.”*** <figure><img width="640" height="480" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba6689c7e80680e07371cjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Tilu Sharma, who also spent 16 years in Qatar used to send detailed instructions to his family about how to call someone from his labour camp who had a mobile.“We dreaded calls. For me and other Nepalis in the camp, we knew that if there was a call from home, it usually meant bad news.” <figure><img width="610" height="368" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba66a9c7e80680e07371djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Tilu did not write too many letters home, but when he did, he made sure he sent regards and remembrances to  everyone in the community, without leaving anyone out. He also knew that the letter would be read and re-read aloud many times, so it was a public document and had to be simple and legible.“You didn’t just write to your parents and siblings, the letter had to include your neighbors and extended family out of respect,” recalls Tilu, who used to send letters with other Nepalis going home.*** <img width="593" height="1024" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba66c9c7e80680e07371ejpeg.jpg" alt="">Om Thapa was in the UAE from 2001-2005 and Saudi Arabia from 2007-2016 and received the first photos of his newborn daughter by mail in the UAE. “I only got to see her for the first time when she was three. I missed a lot of her early years growing up,” says Om.Om still remembers the rush of excitement when a colleague used to walk in with a pile of envelopes, and call out the names of recipients. “There is nothing like the depth of words and emotion exchanged via letters with my wife in those days, they felt like actual conversations,” he remembers.When his second child was born, Om was working in Saudi Arabia. But by this time there was social media, so he felt more connected because of Facebook.Pictured left, Om Thapa in the UAE in 2001.*** <figure><img width="2212" height="1638" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914118/636ba66f9c7e80680e07371fjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Bishnu, a seasoned migrant has worked in Malaysia for the past 20 years, and seen the Nepali migrant population grow rapidly since then. He remembers how the Kuala Lumpur neighbourhood of Kotaraya evolved to be ‘Little Nepal’ because Nepalis hung out there on their days off to meet in Nepali restaurants.  “Before Facebook and phones, this is where we came hoping to meet friends and exchange news from home. We received or sent letters home through acquaintances. It was also a spot to find out if there are newcomers from our villages which was always very exciting,” Bishnu remembers. “Now we have all the news from home and information about Nepal through social media.”But Bishnu misses the old days: “There was beauty in the simplicity and longing in receiving hand-written letters, meeting someone unexpectedly from your village, or the monthly phone calls that we eagerly waited for.”

Upasana Khadka

From letters to landlines, phones to Facebook

<img width="1400" height="875" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101132/636a22fa9c7e80680e0417bfjpeg.jpg" alt=""/>The aptly titled movie <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7668870/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Searching </a>is a film for our times. In an era where youngsters haven’t touched a physical newspaper for the past five years, when they spend more time on the mobile monitor than looking at the real world. Searching plays out almost entirely on-screen with a nearly all-Asian cast, and most of the script is not voiced dialogue but through apps like Facetime and Skype, Google searches, Instagram and Facebook posts. When David Kim (<a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0158626/?ref_=tt_ov_st_sm" target="_blank" rel="noopener">John Cho</a>) realises his quiet, studious teenage daughter Margot <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm8045046/?ref_=nmbio_bio_nm" target="_blank" rel="noopener">(Michelle La</a>) is missing, he starts a search for her. He files a police report, but starts a search of his own, going through her contact records and chats on their shared computer. Telling you whether or not David finds the culprit and saves his daughter would be a spoiler, but suffice to say that the ending is unexpected and dramatic, as every good mystery should be. The movie has also received praise for its Asian-American cast, the first time they have headlined a Hollywood thriller. But much more than all these factors, it is the contemporary storytelling style that makes Searching stand out. The movie goes virtual right from the start: the opening scene is of a computer logging in. Calendar entries and reminders tell us how Margot is doing at school, and also how her mother’s health is progressing. When Margot creates, postpones, and finally deletes the entry ‘Mom comes home’, we realise the tragedy, but without an accompanying melodrama. If this sounds a little impersonal, that is what the world has become as the lines between online and offline get blurred.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ro9ebQxEOYDavid does not recognise the daughter he knows in her online persona with her intimacies and random people she chats with. This and other paradoxes ring true to our experiences of how social media exaggerates and distorts our perceptions. As the search progresses, sensational lists appear on gossip websites, including ‘21 reasons why David could have killed his daughter’, and an unflattering photo of David soon makes the rounds, labeled ‘Father of the Year’ – indicating the trolling phenomenon. Teens who were never particularly close to Margot post teary videos claiming to be her best friend, to thunderous (virtual) applause.Directed by one-time Google filmmaker <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm3792134/?ref_=nv_sr_1" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Aneesh Chaganty</a>, the movie gets all its technology tones right, from the ubiquitous sounds of computers opening and ring tones of various communication apps, to David not knowing the new age social media like tumblr (he googles ‘tumbler’). Technology-based movies are not new in Hollywood, nor is the sci-fi genre. But Searching is part of a new generation of movies where the technology showcased is real, but its content is virtual. Sci-fi is not about aliens or futuristic worlds any more. In 2013, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1798709/?ref_=nv_sr_1" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Her </a>featured Scarlett Johansson’s voice as an alluring artificial intelligence assistant that the protagonist falls in love with. In 2016, we saw <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3713166/?ref_=nv_sr_2" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Unfriended</a>, where a ghost haunts online chats. Since 2011, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2085059/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Black Mirror</a> has been projecting how the technologies we know could grow to control our lives, in an eerily familiar manner. Searching is part of this genre, where sci-fi is not about unrealistic fantasies but about how the technology we live with is changing the way we live and process information. And it is all the more scary because it is true.Searching is not just for youngsters and techno buffs. And if it does not make it to Nepali screens, readers of this review can always search and find it online!

Searching

Recent outrage in Sikkim over an Indian Army expedition climbing <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-kangchenjunga">Kangchenjunga</a>, the world’s third-highest peak, has spiked attention to the need to balance mountaineering jobs with indigenous reverence for sacred landmarks. Kangchenjunga (8,586m) is not a peak as much as it is a mountain range with 16 peaks above 7,000m on the border between India and Nepal -- the word itself means ‘five treasures of the snows’ in Tibetan. Some of the highest prominences like Kangchenjunga West and Kangbachen are in Nepal, while the Main, Central and South Peaks are on the border. Climbing the peak from the Indian side has been banned since 2001 because the indigenous Lepcha community there regard the mountain as the abode of Dzoe-nga, the patron deity of Sikkim, which was an independent Himalayan Kingdom until it was annexed by India in 1975.&nbsp; Buddhists in Sikkim say their saint, Padmasambhava, recognised the mountain as a protective spirit. The state has declared the base of the mountain Kangchenjunga National Park, which covers an area one-third of Sikkim. ‘The act of scaling this sacred peak is not only a matter of serious concern but also a violation of both the prevailing legal provisions and the deeply held religious beliefs of the people of Sikkim,’ read a letter from Chief Minister Prem Singh Tamang (Golay) to Amit Shah, India’s Minister of Home Affairs and Cooperation.&nbsp; Tamang continued: ‘We further request Your Honour to take up the issue with the Government of Nepal to ensure that no future expeditions are permitted on the sacred mountain, in deference to the deeply held beliefs and cultural values of the people of Sikkim.’ Kangchenjunga was climbed for the first time exactly 70 years ago by a British team who told King Tashi Namgyal, the Choegyal of Sikkim, that they would not set foot on the summit. Since then, there have been about 532 successful climbs of the peaks and 52 have died while trying.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628060616_5c268e08cf49f36b79ef9b31933fc2d9bf9a6f65414e7ca06dd028bf04e7ccc1.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250628060616_5c268e08cf49f36b79ef9b31933fc2d9bf9a6f65414e7ca06dd028bf04e7ccc1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1782" height="1178" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb NT"> <figcaption>Indigenous communities in Sikkim held purification ceremonies following the Indian expedition to Kangchenjunga. Photo: THE VOICE OF SIKKIM / FACEBOOK</figcaption> </figure>  <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/peak-climbing-season-2025-s4abrxny">This spring climbing season</a> alone, there were 70 climbing permits for foreigners issued for Kangchenjunga by the Nepal government, and made it to the top while one French climber died.&nbsp; One of the expeditions this year was an Indian Army team led by Col Ranveer Jamwal, who has summited the highest peaks on all seven continents, and Mt Everest thrice. Jamwal’s team was on the final leg of a ‘<a href="https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/india/nimas-summits-mt-kangchenjunga-concludes-historic-har-shikhar-tiranga-mission-successfully/articleshow/121341315.cms?from=mdr">Har Shikhar Tiranga</a>’ (The Tricolour on Every Peak) mission to plant the Indian flag at the highest points of each of India’s 28 states. Kanchenjunga was the last peak they had left, and the hardest, but the expedition put five climbers on the summit. What seems to have incensed the Sikkimese is that while it has banned climbing the mountain from its side, it was an Indian military expedition that went to Nepal to climb the mountain. After news broke of the climb in May, the Sikkim Indigenous Lepcha Tribal Association asked people to observe purification ceremonies in temples across the state. Mayalmit Lepcha of the association acknowledged that the Sikkim government was also partly at fault: “I don’t think such an expedition could have gone forward without the state government being informed, so it could have done something to intervene. It shows weakness. What’s done is done, all we can do is carry out these sanctification ceremonies.”&nbsp; In 2000, one year before Sikkim’s ban, the state allowed an Austrian team to attempt Kanchenjunga’s northeast face for a fee of $20,000, on agreement that they would stop 10m before the summit. Despite this, there was outrage over the expedition on the grounds that it violated Indian laws regarding the defiling of religious sites and Sikkim’s rights to maintain its culture after merging with India. The Indian Army expedition was also seen to have circumvented Sikkim’s law and violated religious sensibilities by going through Nepal. While the team may have thought they were respecting Sikkim’s beliefs by finding a way to complete the mission, the people of Sikkim saw it as defilement.&nbsp; The somber mood of the Sikkim people at the ritual contrasts sharply with Jamwal’s sense of accomplishment. “Without a doubt, the most difficult summit of my life,” he told reporters after the climb. “It tested every ounce of our will.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628060616_ccfe079c78dab788d19fe2080ee8a5d5dcb11de4157316f6d94e5964da097157.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250628060616_ccfe079c78dab788d19fe2080ee8a5d5dcb11de4157316f6d94e5964da097157" data-rendition-name="original" width="787" height="377" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb NT"> <figcaption>Prayer flags along the Sikkim-Kangchenjunga trekking route. Photo: TREKKINGININDIA.COM</figcaption> </figure>  The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">controversial Nepali-British mountaineer Nirmal Purja</a> was also on Kangchenjunga this spring the mountain, on a mission to summit all 14 8,000m peaks for a third time. He echoed Jamwal about the tough conditions: “The conditions above camp were extremely tough, with deep snow and challenging terrain—more crevasses than usual.” Nepal’s government has not said anything publicly, but it is unlikely that it will ban climbing on Kangchenjunga, since it is becoming popular with expeditions because of its technical challenges, and overcrowding on Mt Everest. Nepal does have bans in place for some of its mountains out of respect for local beliefs. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/to-open-machapuchre-for-mountaineering-or-not">Mt Machapuchre</a> (6,990m) the imposing pyramid that looms over Pokhara, for example, is seen as an icon of purity by the Gurung people and a symbol of Vishnu by the Hindu communities who live at its base. A strict climbing ban has been in place since 1957, when a British expedition led by Col Jimmy Roberts stopped 45m short of the summit – either because the last bit was too difficult or out of deference to local sentiments.&nbsp; Khumbila that stands above Namche Bazar is only 5,761m high, but like Kanchenjunga is considered the protector deity of the Sherpa people. Gauri Shankar on the Nepal-China border, called Chomo Tseringma by the local community, was off-limits between 1965 and 1979 due to its association with Lord Shiva and Gauri, his consort. Although expeditions are now allowed, there are not too many takers. In Tibet, climbing Mount Kailash is prohibited by the Chinese government because it revered by the Hindus, Buddhists and followers of the Bon faith. Even Mt Everest is regarded as sacred, and its Sherpa name is Chomolungma, Goddess Mother of the Earth.&nbsp; Economically, climbs on Kanchenjunga bring in decent revenue. This climbing season, the 41 permits, at $1,800 each, brought in $73,800. This is somewhat comparable to Makalu, Lhotse, and Annapurna I, but these numbers are dwarfed by the $4 million in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-everest-industry">Everest permits</a>. Revenue from Kanchenjunga climbing permits is something Nepal could potentially forgo if necessary, but the expeditions also provide jobs to hundreds of high altitude guides, porters, base camp support staff and other logistical costs.&nbsp; As the third highest mountain in the world and the tallest in India, there will always be significant motivation to climb it from the Nepal side, especially as climbers are drawn by the technical climbing at high altitude.

Kangchenjunga: too sacred to climb?

The monsoon this year arrived on time, and brought life-giving rain — irrigating paddy terraces, recharging groundwater, reviving springs, and increasing electricity generation.
But Nepal has to deal with either too much water or too little. On a clear April day before the monsoon, the hills of Sindhuli district were parched, and there were wildfires burning out of control. There had been no rain for the past six months.
And that has been the perennial crisis for Nepal’s farmers: that 85% of the rainfall occurs during just four months of the monsoon with little rain for the other eight months.&nbsp;
The water crisis is related to the powerful changes sweeping the mid-hill region of Nepal. With better roads, higher incomes and more exposure, many residents now aspire to have the kind of water supply seen in urban homes. They want hot or cold water at the turn of a tap, showers and flush tank toilets.&nbsp;
To meet this rising demand, many local and provincial governments are investing in large water supply projects often by lifting water from rivers hundreds of metres down the mountain. But these new systems may not be sustainable in the long run.
Many villages in Sindhuli are switching from local springs to piped systems, and even in rural homes, overhead tanks are becoming common.
But this new convenience comes with big challenges. Lifting water from rivers far below requires long pipes, electric pumps, and constant maintenance. These systems are costly, and the streams themselves often shrink to a trickle in the dry months. Big water-lifting schemes look impressive, but there is doubt if they can meet growing water demand.
A much more sustainable solution would be what some communities are doing: restoring old ponds or build new recharge systems. But those villages are exceptions, in most places traditional ponds and wallows are being filled up to be turned into sports fields, or make way for buildings.
Where there are new ponds, they are sometimes in the wrong places or without proper design. Roads and drains are not engineered properly and have increased landslides and erosion. Water management in hilly areas is not just about building things, it is about building in the right way, in the right place.
Traditional water systems were based on nature. They were not perfect, but they used the land wisely. Ponds used to hold rainwater and slowly refill springs which supported families, farms, and forests.&nbsp;
Not everything worked well in the past, but we can learn from traditional water management practices. Across Nepal, some rural municipalities have launched campaigns to store monsoon runoff — either in tanks, ponds or by recharging the aquifers.
But not all efforts have been successful. Some ponds are built without any hydrological study. Some are rushed to meet deadlines rather than real needs.&nbsp;
Now, the Muhan initiative hopes to revive springs to make households more resilient and help farmings. With the financial support of the Australian Centre for International Agricultural Research, research is being done to understand how springs work and how they are affected by changes in rainfall, land use, and development.&nbsp;
Instead of just building pipes and tanks, the project maps the entire springshed so we can understand the root cause of water shortage. In Sindhuli, the problem is not the amount of rain, but the loss of natural systems that store it and the social systems that manage water.&nbsp;
Nepal’s towns and villages now face a major challenge: how to manage water all year round as demand rises with people’s living standards. Depending only on river-lift systems is not a sustainable solution.&nbsp;
We need a mix of approaches that help store water from the rainy season to make it available for the rest of the year, whether by directly harvesting rainwater, restoring ponds, managing springsheds, or smart management of demand.
Rural Nepal is also seeing dramatic depopulation. Much of the outmigration can be stemmed if there is easier water supply for agriculture and household use. Across the mid hills, villages are emptying because springs are going dry. Government policy needs to catch up with the reality on the ground, and support solutions that work for people and nature. Every water supply plan should include recharge structures. Every road or building project should consider water flow and erosion. Local governments need more than budgets: they need training, tools, and data.
Ngamindra Dahal is with the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu. Hemant Ojha collaborated in this piece and is associated with the Australian National University.

Water for Life

<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-last-of-the-kusunda">The Kusunda</a> are among the last remaining hunter-gatherer communities left in Nepal, and it has only one fluent speaker left of a language that is not related to any other language group in South Asia.&nbsp; The Kusunda call themselves the King of the Forests ((गेम्येहाक़ in Kusunda,वन राजा in Nepali) and used to have a nomadic lifestyle till recently. But decades of exclusion from mainstream society and modernity have forced the Kusunda to assimilate. &nbsp; Today, most Kusunda live across Nepal’s mid-hills and western plains, choosing to identify themselves as Thakuri and adopting names like Sen, Shahi, and Khan to avoid ostracisation. Over time, inter-ethnic marriages between the Kusunda and other communities became increasingly common.&nbsp; However, the assimilation with other communities also meant that almost no one from the Kusunda community can speak their mother tongue – considered by linguists to be a ‘language isolate’ not related to any other language group in the world, and lacking set rules of grammar that are foundational to other languages. There are no words for ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ in Kusunda, nor are there words to signify direction. There are 23 languages with less than 1,000 speakers listed in Nepal's 2021 census, with Kusunda being the language with the least number of speakers. The number of people who identified as Kusunda has decreased with each subsequent census. Only 253 individuals identified themselves as Kusunda in the last National Census of 2021, down from 273 in 2011.&nbsp; <div class="embed-block"><iframe src="https://creators.spotify.com/pod/show/raithane-bhakha/embed/episodes/Kusundas---the-last-of-the-forest-kings-e23ge6p/a-a9peei1" height="102px" width="400px" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe></div> The government’s decision to provide a social security stipend to the community for the past few years has prompted many from the Kusunda community to reclaim their identity and in the process, explore their culture and language. Kamala Sen Kusunda, who lives in Dang, is the only fluent native Kusunda speaker alive, although there are now other Kusunda and non-Kusunda people learning how to speak the language. By the time Kamala Sen Kusunda was born in 1975, her family had settled in a village in Rolpa. Although she did not experience the nomadic life of her forebears, she still roamed the forests freely as a child and many of the values and socio-cultural practices of her community were instilled in her and her siblings.&nbsp; This meant that Kamala grew up speaking Kusunda with her family. But by then, the Kusunda had increasingly begun to interact with people beyond their community, and inter-ethnic marriages had become a norm.&nbsp; Kamala herself married at 18 to a 52-year-old man from the Chhetri community. She would go on to have four children, but they were brought up with her husband’s culture and community rather than her own, and teaching them her mother tongue seemed impractical.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250628030648_afaa298bf8ea3b7086e2ed086b11eab463ef2b20a82a4aad74df3dd2e922a4c3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250628030648_afaa298bf8ea3b7086e2ed086b11eab463ef2b20a82a4aad74df3dd2e922a4c3" data-rendition-name="original" width="855" height="641" loading="lazy" alt="Kusunda NT"> <figcaption>Gyani Maiya Kusunda with Kusunda youth in 2015.</figcaption> </figure>  “If I had spoken my language to them when they were children, they would have learned,” she tells us ruefully. “But they were growing up in a different community, so I never pushed, and they never expressed interest.” At the time, she had other things to worry about, such as earning a livelihood and sustaining her family. To find work, Kamala and her family moved to Shimla in India, where she worked at an apple orchard for six years.&nbsp; Over the next years, Kamala and her family moved back and forth between India and Nepal for work, and Kamala was not actively conversing in the language of her people or being able to connect with members of her community now scattered across Nepal.&nbsp; Had she not forgotten her language after all those years? “How could I forget the language of my ancestors?” she replies. “Not speaking it did not mean that it ceased to be a part of me.”&nbsp; Kamala had been working at a brick kiln in Thimi seven years ago when the National Language Commission tracked her down, offered her a paid position as a Kusunda language consultant and source person for basic language training in Dang.&nbsp; It was there that Kamala met her cousin Gyani Maiya Sen Kusunda, the only other person able to speak Kusunda fluently, who had been working with the Commission to conserve Kusunda language and culture. It was also where Kamala met language researcher and lexicographer Uday Raj Ale. Ale had been in the middle of his research into the Tharu language and community 15 years ago when he met Gyani Maiya Kusunda’s son, who told him that his mother was one of the few people who spoke Kusunda, but that no one had shown an interest in studying and preserving the language and culture. Ale met Gyani Maiya, spending time with her learning and researching Kusunda. By 2017, Ale had collected enough words to put together a Kusunda dictionary. The Kusunda vocabulary currently comprises 2,000 words. His research into the Kusunda language and culture has taken him to every known Kusunda household in Nepal. Although the census puts the number of Kusunda at 253, Ale reckons there are only 158.&nbsp; “Kusunda language is endangered due to its lack of use in everyday life, literature, and religious and socio-cultural practices, as well as the prevalence of inter-ethnic marriages,” explains Ale. In 2019 the Language Commission began its language transfer programs for youth from indigenous communities. Since then, the Commission has completed multiple phases of Kusunda language classes in Dang facilitated by Uday Raj Ale. The classes have 20 students, not just from the Kusunda community, but also interested non-native students.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250626120632_c6c378bc00af450f2b7f0cf17af1c3b2b6f7b7226927c458c3e01ec389869d33.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250626120632_c6c378bc00af450f2b7f0cf17af1c3b2b6f7b7226927c458c3e01ec389869d33" data-rendition-name="original" width="1485" height="1535" loading="lazy" alt="Kusunda NT"> <figcaption>Students learning Kusunda with instructor Uday Raj Ale (second row, left)</figcaption> </figure>  Khamba Rokaya, who worked as a caretaker for young Kusunda children in Dang, became interested in learning the language as she sat in with the children during their lessons, and for the last few years has been among the few non-native Kusunda language learners in Dang. “I am not from the Kusunda community, but now that I have learned the language, I hope to do my part to carry on the work and share my knowledge with as many people as possible,” she says. “One way to ensure that we preserve this language is to extend its speaker base, both within the Kusunda and non-native communities.” Ale and Kamala have continued to work together since Gyani Maya’s passing in 2020, expanding the Kusunda vocabulary and creating appropriate curricula to fit the needs of the students as their knowledge of Kusunda expands.&nbsp; But without any documentation of Kusunda history, the community’s traditions, stories, values and language were at risk of being lost to time. “The loss of an ethnicity, language or culture in a country is akin to losing a vital organ, and a unique perspective of looking at the world,” says Ale. Which is why Archive Nepal in collaboration with the British Council’s Cultural Protection Fund and the UK’s Department of Culture, Media, and Sport in February launched a book of creative writings in the Kusunda language titled पिन्डा (meaning ‘The First’ in Kusunda): A Compilation of Kusunda Literature. The book is a collection of informative essays about the Kusunda language and culture, short stories that explore themes from nomadic life to universal Nepali experiences of poverty and migration, letters to loved ones, as well as conversational pieces by five Kusunda students ranging from ages 16 to 30. The works in the Kusunda language are also translated into Nepali and English.&nbsp; “Language is an important part of ethnic identity, and our indigenous languages cannot evolve or be conserved unless they are spoken or taught,” said Ale during the launch of the book earlier this year. “But most importantly, language exists as long as there exists literature in that language.” Kamala was in Kathmandu for the launch of the book, and smiled proudly as she looked at the young writers who had contributed to the collection. She said: “I’m glad the young people have chosen to learn and preserve Kusunda. Otherwise, our language would have died with me.” &nbsp;

Saving the Kusunda language from extinction

Turkish Airlines has been presented with the Sustainable Financing Pioneer Award by Ishka, recognising its landmark transaction that, for the first time, integrated a sustainability-linked loan structure into a multi-currency JOLCO financing model for the acquisition of two next-generation, fuel-efficient Airbus A321neo aircraft. This innovative transaction, arranged by Societe Generale, links the financing terms to Turkish Airlines’ Sustainability Performance Targets (SPTs), particularly the goal of reducing carbon intensity across its fleet.
&nbsp;&nbsp;“We believe this structure not only supports our fleet renewal and growth objectives, but also reinforces our long-term commitment to becoming a carbon-neutral airline by 2050,” said Chief Financial Officer Murat Şeker.