The sixth edition of PhotoKTM will mark a decade of visual storytelling and continue its role as a vital platform for photographers and visual artists to explore the politics of photographs and their role in shaping our histories and futures.&nbsp; The month-long festival across Kathmandu Valley features 18 exhibitions, slideshows, workshops, artist talks, panel discussions, portfolio reviews, and film screenings. While Nepal Art Council will be the anchor venue, the festival will go on the road in Mangahiti and Chyasal in Patan, Nigu Pukhu in Madhyapur Thimi, Nandi Keshar Bagaincha in Naxal and Tribhuvan University. The curatorial themes of PhotoKTM 6 Global South Solidarities draws inspiration from the historic 1955 Bandung Conference in Indonesia, which marks its 70th anniversary this year.&nbsp; The festival explores the political and cultural legacy of the Third World Project, exploring the history of global resistance and solidarity, and how they have shaped contemporary processes to reclaim sovereignty of regions battered by centuries of colonialism, exploitation, and violence.&nbsp; The festival spotlights the work and curatorial voices of artists from over 40 artists based in the Global South, from Santiago to Lubumbashi and Quito to Dakar, alongside Nepali photographers and filmmakers. “We hope this year’s coming together will deepen cultural understanding among artists and cultural communities across the Third World, strengthen reciprocal transnational solidarities through the sharing of our histories, stories, struggles and hopes, and open up pathways for more south-south collaboration and exchange across geographies,” says NayanTara Gurung Kakshapati, co-founder and festival director.&nbsp; Also featured are eight Nepali artists from the 2025 photo.circle fellowship cohort, whose works explore questions, challenges, and contradictions surrounding the notions of ‘development’ and ‘progress’ in contemporary Nepal.&nbsp; The festival comes two months after the GenZ protests, at a pivotal moment when Nepal is navigating significant political transitions. Says curator Diwas Raja KC: “From anti-colonial struggles to the Bandung Conference, to the non-alignment movement and revolutionary cultural exchanges, these histories continue to shape how countries like Nepal imagine their place in the world.”&nbsp; PhotoKTM6 is supported by the Shikshya Foundation Nepal, the Embassy of Switzerland in Nepal, as well as independent non-profit organisations FreeMuse and Cultural Workers Solidarity Front. “I think it is particularly relevant that these spaces are created and maintained because it is only if people meet and continue to do this important work, in which they think collectively, they work collectively, and they hold up certain values, that they will be capable of contributing to what I would call a ‘free world’,” says yasmine eid-sabbagh, who is the invited interlocutor to this year’s festival. &nbsp;&nbsp; <h2>Ji ta Newa Bhyaa Mawa (I don’t know Nepal Bhasa)&nbsp;</h2> Jyoti Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121124_0fbeb8abf122867f5d5294c6e4c7ef2a4e3785e2d4083fb663ebe543e9b8396d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251113121124_0fbeb8abf122867f5d5294c6e4c7ef2a4e3785e2d4083fb663ebe543e9b8396d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: JYOTI SHRESTHA</figcaption> </figure>  Jyoti Shrestha was born to Newar parents in Kathmandu but grew up without learning the mother tongue, Nepal Bhasa. ‘My parents, with the best of intentions, taught us English and Nepali—languages of success and survival in a world that had set ours aside... A Newar without language, I felt alien in the very culture that was meant to be mine,’ writes Shrestha in her testimony. Nepal Bhasa is in UNESCO’s ‘definitely endangered’ list. Shrestha has begun to learn her language with help from her parents, and in doing so, their relationship has shifted for the better. She adds: “No census counts the intimacy of a shared memory, the tenderness of language passed between generations, or the weight of an inherited silence.” <h2>The Land Remembers Our Name&nbsp;</h2> Rejin Purja  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_14b44a9e7a9d27c9ac5e893e59930d049d1be05401a42217c304a7d08c2e47e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251113121128_14b44a9e7a9d27c9ac5e893e59930d049d1be05401a42217c304a7d08c2e47e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: RENJIN PURJA</figcaption> </figure>  The Department of Mines and Geology has confirmed the presence of iron ore in Jhumlawang in East Rukum. Iron mining has not started yet but a Kathmandu-based private company is said to have won the bid at Rs40.3 million. If the project indeed takes off, most of the families will have to be evacuated. “Not only will they lose their houses, land, and forests, but their roots, culture, and autonomy are also at stake. How can this project be considered of national benefit when it forces the very people it should serve to live in fear of their future?,” Rejin Purja writes in his testimony. Economic development exploits the natural resources of native and indigenous communities. Such projects may boost GDP and corporate profits, but they rarely improve the lives of the people whose land is being extracted from. This work reflects the uncertainty felt by the local people about their village’s future. <h2>Fragmented Land and Me</h2> Sujata Khadka  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_f28f960361f822792d8e4442f61deaea71bdf6022b9906509b7e9258939fdbcb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251113121128_f28f960361f822792d8e4442f61deaea71bdf6022b9906509b7e9258939fdbcb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUJATA KHADKA</figcaption> </figure>  Sujata Khadka’s ancestral home in Godavari’s Jharuwarasi was destroyed in the 2015 earthquake, after which her family built a new house on a small plot of land nearby. In the decade since the earthquake, rapid land trade has turned the farmland surrounding her home into a housing development. For the past 10 years, Khadka has been watching natural and man-made events unfold on the plots from her window on the second floor of her house. The land has been witness to playing children, negotiating brokers, bulldozers, and prowling wildlife. But despite relentless hemming and hawing by buyers and sellers over the past decade, no houses have been built on the land. &nbsp;“This misshapen land feels like a stage where a cast of characters performs an ongoing act,” says Khadka. “Perhaps this land and I are spectators to this drama.” <h2>Why doesn’t home feel like home?</h2> Karma Tshering Gurung  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_c568cdf076247f8904b289e9108ed4e7b5187d86694913751123a6b5df663142.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251113121128_c568cdf076247f8904b289e9108ed4e7b5187d86694913751123a6b5df663142" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: KARMA TSHERING GURUNG</figcaption> </figure>  Karma Tshering Gurung was born in Manang to a Manangi family, where he was raised with his siblings. But in recent times, whenever he has visited his family in Manang, he has felt a sense of unease, like the place sees him as an occasional visitor, an outsider who no longer understands the aspirations of his people. As Manang becomes a tourist spot, Gurung’s brother thinks it is a good idea to tear down their ancestral house and build a snooker house in its place. But Gurung thinks the house is their Appa’s legacy, and worth preserving. The brothers’ ideas of home have diverged. &nbsp; &nbsp;“With a camera in hand, I am trying to rediscover my relationship with this place, with my past, navigating ideas of home and belonging tied to Manang,” he says. “Maybe home for me is no longer just a place, but this search for identity, memory and connection.” <h2>Life and Struggle of Garment Workers&nbsp;</h2> Taslima Akhter (Bangladesh)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_9447434bde6d70048768c33dda8001e4e3f8da0718c8fff8f96970c4d69139ef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251113121128_9447434bde6d70048768c33dda8001e4e3f8da0718c8fff8f96970c4d69139ef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: TASLIMA AKHTER@Taslima Akhter</figcaption> </figure>  This project focuses on the millions of workers who leave their villages and move into crowded worker barracks in the cities of Bangladesh, in search of a better life. <h2>Between Us, a Thread&nbsp;</h2> Ahmed Alaqra (Ramallah)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_805845728d6e1fd13539d5c0af35f202f72ffbfb8e7dd502cc3c44067e2b574f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251113121128_805845728d6e1fd13539d5c0af35f202f72ffbfb8e7dd502cc3c44067e2b574f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: RUBA ALFARAOUNA</figcaption> </figure>  A quiet gesture between photographers, image-makers, and those who hold memory like a fragile light. Palestinian, Arab, scattered — yet orbiting the same wound.&nbsp; <h2>Possible and Imaginary Lives&nbsp;</h2> yasmine eid-sabbagh / Rozenn Quéré  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_a30877e2c30764d5d29c0b0457e2722685138e968549dedd8803dee1299bc45c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251113121128_a30877e2c30764d5d29c0b0457e2722685138e968549dedd8803dee1299bc45c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo Courtesy: YASMINE EID-SABBAGH AND ROZENN QUÉRÉ(Photo: ) </figcaption> </figure>  An exhibition, based on family photographs and taped interviews, tells the story of four strong and feisty Palestinian-Lebanese sisters, exiled to the four corners of the globe. <h2>Martyrs, Saints &amp; Sellouts&nbsp;</h2> Siona O’Connel (South Africa)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121128_7b84f695bdd27353af1f35ff5f739283d739b4fa7594e4965ca1230d4d60940b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20251113121128_7b84f695bdd27353af1f35ff5f739283d739b4fa7594e4965ca1230d4d60940b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: BENNY GOOL</figcaption> </figure>  Comprised of photographs by Benny Gool, Zubeida Vallie and Adil Bradlow, documenting apartheid South Africa, this exhibition presents a vivid narrative of violence, loss and injuries that continue to reverberate under the rhetoric of the post apartheid landscape. <h2>Humo, Semilla, Raíz</h2> Isadora Romero (Ecuador)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251113121132_b01b94f340265fd42dcdffd98f39f58d3b1b3385718cb055d2b35e04fb1eda58.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20251113121132_b01b94f340265fd42dcdffd98f39f58d3b1b3385718cb055d2b35e04fb1eda58" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="798" loading="lazy" alt="The politics behind photographs NT"> <figcaption>Photo: ISADORA ROMERO</figcaption> </figure>  An alternate look into environmental issues through the prism of possibility, instead of catastrophic consequence is what this exhibition brings. Romero’s visual research engages with how the loss of ancestral memory and Indigenous knowledge resulting from colonisation, forced displacement, and racism is causing seeds to disappear at an alarming rate. <h2>First week schedule (selected)</h2> Friday, 14 November Bhandarkhal Garden, Patan Museum, 5:30pm -7:30pm Festival Opening + Award of Excellence Saturday, 15 November Yala Maya Kendra, Patan Dhoka 3pm-4pm Demounting Louis Agassiz – Artistic Renegotiation of Archive, Memory &amp; Place. Talk by Sasha Huber (moderated by Diwas Raja Khatri) 4:30pm-6pm Witness or Accomplice: Photography, Human Rights and the Question of Freedom. Talk by Prof. Siona O’ Connell (moderated by NayanTara Gurung Kakshapati) Sunday, 16 November Yala Maya Kendra July, Unfinished. Jaheen Faruque Amin in conversation with Sabnam Lama, 3pm- 4pm When The World is Blind – Images by Palestinians. Ahmed Alaqra in conversation with yasmine eid-sabbagh, 4- 6pm Manga Hiti, 7pm-8pm Slideshow – Who Does The River Belong To? Monday, 17 November Yala Maya Kendra, 3pm - 4pm Memory is an Inaccurate Place: Dialogues Across Time, Territories, and Histories. Isadora Romero in conversation with Tanvi Mishra 4:30pm-6pm Third Camera – a Film Series: Ernest Cole: Lost and Found Dir. Raoul Peck 2024 | 1h 46m | English Tuesday, 18 November Yala Maya Kendra Sustaining Art Ecosystems That Resist and Nurture – Part 1 Paola Farran in conversation with Jessica Lim, 3pm- 4pm Sustaining Art Ecosystems That Resist and Nurture – Part 2 Chelsea Chua in conversation with Tif Ng, 4pm:30-6pm Khapinchhen, Patan A Photographer’s Fifty-Year Journey in Nepal. A Slideshow and Talk with Kevin Bubriski, 7-7:30pm PhotoKTM Bhoé, 7:30pm-9:30pm Rs1,800 (early bird), Rs2,000 (door sale) Wednesday, 19 November Yala Maya Kendra 3pm- 4pm Sustaining Art Ecosystems That Resist and Nurture – Part 3 Andrea Thal in conversation with Diwas Raja Khatri 4:30pm-6pm We must refuse silence! Samir Eskanda, Shahidul Alam, and Tabara Korka Ndiaye in conversation with yasmine eid-sabbagh Thursday, 20 November Nepal Art Council, 4pm- 6pm Walk-thru at NAC with Enuma Rai, Jyoti Shrestha, Karma Tshering Gurung, Manoj Bohara, Manjit Lama, Rejin Purja, Sujata Khadka, Sushila Bishwakarma More details <a href="https://photoktm.com/photoktm6-schedule/">here</a>. PHOTOKTM6 14 November-14 December Kathmandu Valley All events free and open

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The politics behind photographs

The Imadol neighbourhood of Kathmandu Valley was among the worst hit by last weekend’s devastating floods. The Manohara River, swollen by incessant rainfall, overflowed into the settlements along its banks. A photograph taken by French anthropologist Corneille Jest in monsoon 1972 shows the Manohara meandering across a wide plain, its banks lush with ripening paddy. Two farmers cross the field carrying a kharpan, a sturdy traditional bamboo basket carried on shoulders, that has almost vanished from the Valley today. It is a tranquil view of a once-emerald Valley and its unique civilisation that blended urban living with intense agriculture on the fertile topsoil. Gazing at these images shows us the life and times of Old Nepal. This and other photographs taken by Jest during his research in Nepal’s Dolpo and Kathmandu 60 years ago are a reminder of how much in Nepal has changed, and what remains the same. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/kathmandu-s-passage-of-time-in-photos">Kathmandu’s passage of time in photos</a>, Ashish Dhakal  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024100505108_e5eae5b7745301134e49b009d519326ea826f2e11c76b33aa63ea13734fa9d2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024100505108_e5eae5b7745301134e49b009d519326ea826f2e11c76b33aa63ea13734fa9d2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1667" loading="lazy" alt="An anthropologist's perspective of Nepal"> <figcaption>Offering a prayer flag at a pass above Tukuche in 1963.</figcaption> </figure>  Jest visited Nepal every other year since 1960, and the exhibition itself shows us the passage of time -- it is aesthetic and evocative, a lament and sometimes deeply nostalgic.&nbsp; The exhibition is organised by Mémoires de l’Himalaya, a French association that works to preserve works on the trans-Himalayan region. Jest was a prolific photographer and out of the 45,000 negatives in his collection, &nbsp;almost 100 black and white and colour prints were selected for this exhibition at the Patan Museum. “The data researchers collect rarely helps the community being studied.. So, it was Jest's idea and ours as an organisation to give back, what we can, to the local community,” says Rémi Chaix of Mémoires de l’Himalaya, who is also one of the curators. “The field notes taken by Jest can also be accessed.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/making-nepal-s-history-colourful">Making Nepal’s history colourful</a>, Kanak Mani Dixit  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004091020_eb98695b6253e9dde6f051b24596bc09060834bdba1219b9cff2ac080540c63c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20241004091020_eb98695b6253e9dde6f051b24596bc09060834bdba1219b9cff2ac080540c63c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="3000" loading="lazy" alt="An Anthropologist's Early Glimpses of Nepal NT"> <figcaption>Members of the Tarap community at Dolpo's Drolma Pass during their pilgrimage to the Buddha-ri sacred mountain in 1960.Corneille Jest - Mémoires de l'Himalaya</figcaption> </figure>  Curated by Fernand Meyer, Kunsang Namgyal-Lama and Chaix, the first floor of the museum showcases photographs of Kathmandu Valley and the second floor is dedicated to Dolpo, especially Tarap Valley where Jest spent most of his time. This curatorial choice of placing the photographs of a place in a specific floor is important, allowing viewers to keep the two worlds separate. The photographs on the first floor are exclusive and published for the first time. There is also an 11 minute documentary on loop that captures the 1968 Seto Machhindranath festival. One does not just get to see this era but even hear its sounds. Photos of Dolpo on the second floor show how little the landscape and dwellings of this remote region has changed in the past decades, although with the road now reaching the district it will inevitably undergo rapid transformation. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/memories-of-an-archivist">Memories of an archivist</a>, Anita Bhetwal  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004091020_ae632fde3aac88ac90bad7e348904446b10b793d650d7bfc4a2f7a977f6f84cc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241004091020_ae632fde3aac88ac90bad7e348904446b10b793d650d7bfc4a2f7a977f6f84cc" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="884" loading="lazy" alt="An Anthropologist's Early Glimpses of Nepal NT"> <figcaption>Attendees at a Buddhist ritual, Tarap, 1963.Corneille Jest - Mémoires de l'Himalaya</figcaption> </figure>  Some of the Dolpo photographs have already been published in Jest’s books like ‘Tales of The Turquoise: A Pilgrimage in Dolpo’. “Jest had a habit of clicking the same image twice. One would be in black and white and the other would be in colour,” explains Chaix who along with other two curators had to decide which would be a better fit for the exhibit. Jest’s photos of Dolpo are intimate and let the audience peek into the Himalayan lifestyle at the time. Researching about the Himalayan people and the culture while living in Tarap Valley, Jest developed a particular affinity for Dolpo, shares Guillaume Jest, one of Corneille’s sons, who was here at the inauguration of the exhibition.&nbsp; “I think that my father’s fondness for the population of Dolpo and their religion and culture comes from the fact that they build their way of life in a very harsh but breathtaking world of the high valleys of the Himalayas,” says Guillaume. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/adventures-of-a-lone-archivist">Adventures of a lone archivist</a>, Alisha Sijapati  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004091020_6cba26cf4cd2c38db65a4b00966f58ed87d46de3e01c8927f6ac1d8d3f5cadc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20241004091020_6cba26cf4cd2c38db65a4b00966f58ed87d46de3e01c8927f6ac1d8d3f5cadc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1666" loading="lazy" alt="An Anthropologist's Early Glimpses of Nepal NT"> <figcaption>Terraced maize and paddy fields during the 1972 monsoon at Imadol, which has been built over and was submerged on 28 September.Corneille Jest - Mémoires de l'Himalaya</figcaption> </figure>  Being an anthropologist, Jest’s focus is always on the people he encounters and the landscape or architecture being props. This is a rich visual documentation of what people wore, what they ate, what the houses looked like, their daily work in the fields, the harvest process, cultural rituals and celebrations. “Corneille Jest’s photographs give us a rare insight into the everyday life, culture, and landscapes of Nepal during a pivotal period in the country’s history, just after its opening to the rest of the world. They reveal the depth and diversity of Nepali culture,” says Virginie Corteval, French Ambassador to Nepal, who opened the exhibition last week. She adds: “These represent a testimony of the important work by pioneer French researchers such as Corneille Jest or Sylvain Lévi, in studying the diversity of the Nepali civilisation.” &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/an-archive-of-nepali-heritage">An archive of Nepali heritage</a>, Ashish Dhakal <h2>Lalita Niwas 60 years ago</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241004091020_72859aaf3e5f323bfce71e7adb8ba84fe1016e7e7323b4b3458570be22572146.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20241004091020_72859aaf3e5f323bfce71e7adb8ba84fe1016e7e7323b4b3458570be22572146" data-rendition-name="original" width="2500" height="1667" loading="lazy" alt="An Anthropologist's Early Glimpses of Nepal NT"> </figure>  The Lalita Niwas Land grab scandal is making headlines today, and has implicated the high and mighty of the land. But few know what the original palace of Subarna Shumsher Rana looked like. Corneille Jest’s aerial photograph in 1963 of the neoclassical palace gives us an idea of the grandeur and size of the complex that spread over a 7 hectare plot in Baluwatar. After the property was nationalised during the Panchayat, it has been fragmented, bought and sold numerous times. The scandal has put 18 of the 310 individuals charged behind bars. The building now houses the Nepal Rastra Bank.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19789#.YX-e4S8w3u0">The first photographs of us</a>, Kanak Mani Dixit An Anthropologist’s Early Glimpses of Nepal 10AM-6PM Till 18 October Patan Museum

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The present meets the past

Photographer Tashi R Ghale is known for his work in <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/studying-snow-leopards-in-Nepal/1000">protecting snow leopards</a> through which he won the Disney Conservation Hero Award in 2018. During his research he saw the impact of climate breakdown in the Himalaya with receding glaciers and melting ice that was affecting the traditional habitat of the snow leopard. &nbsp; “I notice that global warming is bringing other species to snow leopard territory. Common leopards move up, and Himalayan grey wolves come down,” says Ghale, known for his exquisite <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/snow-leopard-redux">photographic documentation of the rare snow leopards</a> in Manang. Lowland leopards are now overlapping with snow leopards and competing for prey. But for his new photo exhibition ‘Shifting Perspectives’, Ghale has shifted gears — changing his focus from snow leopards to the impact of climate change.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240515060528_dc4b5af0dc39e6d104175f691035201a3863cfefe2b8193ac44c88511023b3e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240515060528_dc4b5af0dc39e6d104175f691035201a3863cfefe2b8193ac44c88511023b3e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1538" loading="lazy" alt="Ice to water NT"> <figcaption>Tashi R Ghale (right) with artist Tsherin Sherpa of Takpa gallery at the inauguration of the exhibition on 11 May. Photo: @tsedorje </figcaption> </figure>  But he uses his photographic skills, this time with more of an artistic eye than just for documentation purposes. He has captured some striking images of Gangapurna Lake in Manang to convey the impact of the rising temperatures on the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/nepal-pallas-cat,1934">Himalayan ecology</a>. The images in Shifting Perspectives which are on exhibit at Takpa Gallery are close-ups of ice on the shores of Gangapurna Lake, which itself is expanding as the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-change-is-a-disaster-in-the-nepal-himalaya">glacier recedes rapidly</a> up the mountain.&nbsp; Ghale has captured ephemeral bubbles, ripples, currents, shapes and textures of ice on the lake, and are separated into three categories: Illusion, Composition, and Frozen.&nbsp; Ghale used powerful telephoto lenses to zoom in on snow leopards, but here he uses macro lenses for extreme closeups.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240515060540_be31d82614bfadd01f573ff4daa3a40ed24afcc2fe3003a6f1b1d1622c517615.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240515060540_be31d82614bfadd01f573ff4daa3a40ed24afcc2fe3003a6f1b1d1622c517615" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Ice to water NT"> </figure>  One of his pictures, ‘Illusion VI,’ shows clusters of bubbles of various sizes entombed in ice just below the surface, casting small shadows on the lake floor.&nbsp; ‘Illusion III,’ has the dark blue, green and purple lake as the background while frozen ripples have formed in the ice that look like contour lines on a map.&nbsp; Some of the most striking images in the exhibition feature a contrast between warm and cool colours. ‘Frozen I’ shows ice-bound waves that catch the golden rays of the sunrise sending streaks of light in the direction the water was moving before it froze. ‘Composition I’ shows sunrise on the north face of Gangapurna reflected in the icy surface of the lake, the roughness of the ice giving the photograph an impressionist touch.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240515060528_5a24c2a63fa09d5e2beee9e20cb5d93398e93636f41ca3028ddf18de7ab33bfa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240515060528_5a24c2a63fa09d5e2beee9e20cb5d93398e93636f41ca3028ddf18de7ab33bfa" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Ice to water NT"> </figure>  Other photos show mountains reflected partly on the water and the frozen surface of the lake. The contrast between the hard ice and the flowing water underneath is visual poetry — making us notice the turbulence of the water flowing beneath the smooth and unmoving ice.&nbsp; One element present in most of the photographs is that of ice next to mud on the shore with jagged textures. “During the night, the ice freezes hard into the ground, and in the morning it melts away but the patterns formed in the mud stay,” explains Ghale. ‘Composition IV,’ looks like a drone photograph of a big river flowing through jagged hills, but a leaf in the bottom right corner gives away the scale. The exhibition truly presents shifting perspectives using closeups of the ice and water as a metaphor for the larger scale impact of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-mountains-are-melting">global warming</a>.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240516060556_446298e12391d3c45cdce8e4f1e4d1182afd5e653d000ff30a86e815b0f89ca2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240516060556_446298e12391d3c45cdce8e4f1e4d1182afd5e653d000ff30a86e815b0f89ca2" data-rendition-name="original" width="3600" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Composition VII"> <figcaption>Composition VII</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240516080520_3a69d2644dd6f0105ec367e9445eb6acedf94ce84225d5e5aa75c066d5ae06e8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20240516080520_3a69d2644dd6f0105ec367e9445eb6acedf94ce84225d5e5aa75c066d5ae06e8" data-rendition-name="original" width="2400" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Ice to Water"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240516080520_5ae61de1167da77d411c2bed91ba24c09d39017dd13972aa4be530b7a48598f7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20240516080520_5ae61de1167da77d411c2bed91ba24c09d39017dd13972aa4be530b7a48598f7" data-rendition-name="original" width="2400" height="2400" loading="lazy" alt="Ice to water"> </figure>  &nbsp;Shifting Perspectives 11AM-6PM Tuesday-Thursday 11AM-7PM Friday-Sunday Until 26 May Takpa Gallery, Lazimpat <a href="https://takpagallery.com/">https://takpagallery.com</a>

Vishad Raj Onta

Ice to water

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141124/636a58e89c7e80680e054866jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="855"/>Nepal and France might be celebrating 70 years of diplomatic ties, but the links between the two countries began to be forged centuries earlier.In the 1600s cloth merchant Jean-Baptiste Travernier became the first French citizen in Nepal, according to the book Six Voyages of Baron Aubonne, published in 1676. Other merchants and missionaries followed, including the Jesuit priest Dorville in 1665, who mentions the two cities of, ‘Catmandir’ and ‘Patan’ in one of his accounts sent to Rome. In the other direction, the 1908 European trip that inspired Chandra Shumsher’s modernisation drive also included a stop in France.All these events, and much more, are on display at Alliance Française Kathmandu, in a photo exhibition marking Nepal-France ties over the centuries. Highlighted are the past 70 years of the modern diplomatic relationship, with photographic evidence filling the white walls of the auditorium, including the Prime Minister KP Oli’s visit in June 2019.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/ancient-panautis-french-connection/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Ancient Panauti’s French Connection</a>, Nepali Times <img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141124/636a58ec9c7e80680e054867jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="535">The exhibition reveals some interesting and previously unknown facts about France in Nepal, such as the French influence in the military uniform of Prime Minister Bhimsen Thapa. Also, the sword of Prime Minister <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/jung-bahadurs-destitute-descendants/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Jung Bahadur Rana</a> was gifted to him by Napoleon III, and is currently in the National Museum of Nepal.Photographs display Gurkha soldiers fighting alongside French soldiers in World War I and II, those bonds ‘formed in blood’ crucial to the nascent diplomatic relationship between the two countries.The last part of the exhibition highlights bilateral development projects and meetings, conversations and exchanges between the countries’ leaders and officials during the last 70 years.The photo exhibition is colour-coded: the red section exhibits photographs from the years before diplomatic ties, blue indicates pictures taken during the past 70 years and green is used to highlight photos of the bilateral projects carried out by the two countries.The exhibition will remain open until 30 September at the Alliance Française Kathmandu in Dhobighat.

Nepal-France ties in photos

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36e19c7e80680e048331jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="507"/><figcaption>Panauti in 2013. Photo: PRASANT SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>The 13-century town of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10973#.XMai0zAzaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Panauti</a> has the ambience of a place that has been bypassed by history. The fertile valley along the Rosi Khola was given by the king of Bhaktapur as dowry to his newly-married sister.  However, archaeological finds prove that Panauti was settled much sooner, in the early Kirat period 1,500 years ago.It escaped the Gorkha invasion of the Valley, 30km to the west, and was annexed into the unified Kingdom of Nepal by default. Situated astride the India-Tibet trade route, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/electing-better-future,3714" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Panauti</a> was set back far enough from it not to be tainted by commerce. In 1964, the Kodari Highway linking Nepal with China once more circumvented Panauti. Today, a new alternative road from Lalitpur to the B P Highway in Kavre passes through the town, but it is still not a major highway.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36e49c7e80680e048332jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="170" height="250"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36e49c7e80680e048333jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="426"><figcaption>Panauti in 1970s. Photo: GERARD TOFFIN</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36e89c7e80680e048334jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="426"><figcaption>Panauti today. Photo: PRASANT SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36ec9c7e80680e048335jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="426"><figcaption>Photo: GERARD TOFFIN</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36ef9c7e80680e048336jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="426"><figcaption>Photo: PRASANT SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>All this has meant that despite the march of modernity and the non-traditional reconstruction after many of its monuments were brought down by the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2015/05/27/a-month-that-felt-like-a-year/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">2015 earthquake</a>, Panauti still retains much of its quaint and bucolic charm. The town has a sacred location at the confluence of the Rosi Khola and the Punyamati, as well as a third mythological river, Lilawati. Panauti is also the seat of the famous Indreswar Temple – one of Nepal’s oldest standing pagoda shrines, built in 1294 to honour Lord Shiva. The temple grounds now house a museum as well.Panauti also has intangible heritage: it is still a largely cohesive town, which has preserved its Newa culture that has similarities, but also differences, to Kathmandu Valley traditions. Piles of newly harvested paddy are still spread out to dry in golden circles along the brick-paved square of the old palace. Next month, on full moon day, the town will mark the three-day chariot festival and the exciting mass-crossing of the Punyamati by devotees.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36f29c7e80680e048337jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="434"><figcaption>Picture taken in 1974. Photo: GERARD TOFFIN</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36f59c7e80680e048338jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="390"><figcaption>Harvested paddy is still spread out to dry in golden circles along the old palace today. Photo: PRASANT SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>This year will also see the Makar Mela, which happens every 12 years in Panauti, when tens of thousands of people from surrounding districts -- including Kathmandu Valley -- will converge on the town to take a dip in the holy confluence of the rivers.  The month-long festival will be held in January.It was at the last Makar Mela in 2010 that Panauti native and photographer Prasant Shrestha met <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13550#.XMZ2d8Mza70">Gerard Toffin</a>, the French anthropologist who has researched Nepal’s Newa civilisation. Toffin is now emeritus professor at the <a href="http://www.cnrs.fr/en/research">Centre national de recherche scientifique (CNRS)</a> and was involved in detailed research of Panauti’s culture and architecture with Vincent Barré, Patrick Berger and Laurence Feveile. This led to French Government involvement in the restoration of Panauti and its urban renewal from 1979-1989, just as the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/clash-of-cultures-in-bhaktapur/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Germans were involved in restoring Bhaktapur</a>.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36f89c7e80680e048339jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="1016"><figcaption>Bramhayani temple in 1970s. Photo: GERARD TOFFIN</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36fb9c7e80680e04833ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="1021"><figcaption>Bramhayani temple today. Photo: PRASANT SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>To find out more about Panauti’s past, present and perhaps even the future, Shrestha and Toffin have collaborated on an exhibition of old and new photographs at the Alliance Française in Jhamsikhel, on display till 6 May. The exhibition is part of events to mark the 70th anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic relations between France and Nepal.Toffin’s photographs of Panauti from the 1970s are juxtaposed with Shrestha’s recent images from the same spot. The before-and-after photography depicts the changes that have taken place in the town in the past four decades, but it is also heartening to see how much of the core area of Panauti is preserved. In fact, a temple that is in ruins after the 1934 earthquake in Toffin’s photograph, has been meticulously restored in Shrestha’s image of the same shrine.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a36fe9c7e80680e04833bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="426"><figcaption>Photo: GERARD TOFFIN</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a37019c7e80680e04833cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="426"><figcaption>Photo: PRASANT SHRESTHA</figcaption></figure>Says Shrestha: “We have managed to restore and salvage much of Panauti’s history and culture, and now we need to get the younger generation to value our heritage. That is why this exhibition is important: to prove that our past is precious.”Changes in PanautiPhoto ExhibitionTill 6 May, 9am-5pm<a href="http://www.alliancefrancaise.org.np/event/photo-exhibition-changes-in-panauti/">Alliance Française Kathmandu</a>Jhamsikhel  01 5009221Free Entry<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110812110/636a37049c7e80680e04833djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="200" height="283">

Ancient Panauti’s French Connection

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2ad59c7e80680e04593djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="1500"/><figcaption>Oligaun is an hour by foot from the district capital at Mangalsen of Achham. It is less remote than most villages and is made up of mixed families of Chhetris, Pariyar and Mijar. Mangala Nepal Rastriya Madhyamik Vidhyalaya offers technical education, and is he only one of its kind in Achham. Most households at least one member – mostly the men – working in India. Many young people aspire to leave. It is common for girls to marry by 16 even though the legal age of marriage for girls is 18 with parental consent and 20 on their own. Chhaupadi was outlawed in 2005 and criminalised since August 2018. Oligaun has been declared Chhaupadi-free by local authorities, but the tradition persists. All photos: UMA BISTA</figcaption></figure>Photographer Uma Bista’s exhibition Our Songs from the Forest is a gentle invitation into the remote mountains of Achham where we meet young women coming of age in a fast-changing society.The women are learning to navigate superstition and ingrained patriarchy in their community while balancing it alongside new aspirations of equality. They are asking questions, and pushing boundaries.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2ad89c7e80680e04593ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1600"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2adb9c7e80680e04593fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1200"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2adf9c7e80680e045940jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1600"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2ae29c7e80680e045941jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1600"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2ae59c7e80680e045942jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1600">Women are considered impure during menstruation, and even though the practice of being banished to the cowshed during their periods is now outlawed and is gradually fading away, it is still happens. These brave women are challenging societal norms, and trying to speak against the superstition that perpetuates the practice.Many women still believe that the gods are angered if they do not isolate themselves in the outhouses every month. They are held responsible for ills that might befall the family, especially the menfolk, if they break the rules.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2ae89c7e80680e045943jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1600" height="2000"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2aec9c7e80680e045944jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="1500"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Despite new laws that criminalise these practices, the fear runs deep: fear of angering the gods, fear of being labeled immoral, fear of being ostracised by the community, fear of change. Can such fears be replaced by the fear of legal consequences? Will destroying the sheds free us of the tradition associated with them?Uma Bista takes us into the forests around Oligaun, where the young women seek freedom from the inequality they face daily and the shame they are forced to endure every month. In the forest, the skies are open, the air is free and they feel no fear. They can sing and laugh as loudly as they wish.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2aef9c7e80680e045945jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1600" height="2000"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2af29c7e80680e045946jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1600"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811118/636a2af69c7e80680e045947jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1600">Our Songs from the ForestTill 10  AprilChhaya CentreThamel 11AM-7PM(01 )5543501 (photo.circle)

Their songs from the forest

International Mountain Day on 11 December should inspire celebration, not cynicism. It follows &nbsp;a small but rare diplomatic win: the agreement at COP30 in Belém to hold a dedicated global dialogue on mountains in 2026, and to include mountain-specific indicators in the new climate adaptation framework.&nbsp;
A welcome shift, certainly. But the old narrative lingers — mountains are fragile, disaster-prone, eternally vulnerable. But the uncomfortable truth is that safe and environment-friendly development in the mountains is simply too expensive than anyone wants to admit.
To build a kilometre of two-lane highway in the Tarai costs Rs200 million. That same kilometre on a Himalayan slope with retaining walls, drainage, bioengineering, and landslide protection costs more than Rs1 billion. Add tunnels, viaducts or highways designed for minimum 80km/h speeds and that figure can easily triple.
This pattern repeats across all sectors. A 50MW run-of-river hydropower plant that costs $80 million in low-ling valleys costs four times more in the mountains. The headrace tunnels have to be longer, desanding basins must trap the silt, the access roads cost more than the entire project. And there is no way to prevent the scheme from being washed away by a glacial collapse flood.
Nepal's annual road budget is only Rs150 billion. It is scattered thinly across 753 municipalities, most of them perched on steep, unstable slopes. When resources are inadequate and political cycles are short, the incentives for corruption are predictable &nbsp;— shaving a mountain flank at 70 degrees instead of 45, taking a shortcut on drainage canals, skimping on asphalt thickness, or skipping the Gabion.
In high Nepal, the bulldozer is the engineer. We hang on the prayer that the monsoon will be merciful. July arrives, and reality returns. Mountains fall on roads, flash floods wash away swathes of expensive highways.
The entrance to the Siddhababa Tunnel in Palpa collapses yet again. The Nagdhunga Tunnel faces another landslide delay. The Melamchi headworks go under — again. Each failure costs more to repair than proper engineering would have cost when that infrastructure was built.
We are not just paying once. We the taxpayers are signing up for a subscription to disaster. The real fragility of Nepal’s mountains is of governance, not geology.
This is what the international climate conversation habitually misses. Mountain communities are repeatedly told to ‘respect nature’ and avoid linear infrastructure, often by the same countries proudly announcing new expressways and airports in their own countries.
Mountain people are not anti-development. They want what everyone else wants: electricity that does not flicker, roads that survive the monsoon, schools their children can reach in winter. What they lack is not aspiration, it is the budget required to build things safely that is not stolen by politicians and their crony contractors.
If the world truly wants to protect the Himalaya, Andes or Alps, and the billions who rely on them for water, the answer is not more romantic slogans about fragility of the mountains. It is concessional, patient financing that narrows the gap between cheap and dangerous versus expensive and resilient. And it is transparent government that spends that money wisely.
This means money for tunnels instead of unstable surface cuts. Money for bioengineered slopes instead of naked bulldozer scars. Money for hydropower built for 1-in-100-year floods, not 1-in-25-year budgets.&nbsp;
This is not charity. Mountain infrastructure safeguards global water, carbon, energy and biodiversity systems. It is a global public good, and should be financed as such.&nbsp;
In Syangja, small investments under the Climate Adaptive Equitable Water Management Practices have restored nine community ponds, protected recharge zones and increased dry-season spring flow by about a third. All of this for less than the cost of repairing a single kilometre of poorly built hillside road after the next landslide.
Our experience from the Subnational Governance Programme (SNGP) in some districts of mountains and plains show that when municipalities receive practical guidance backed by scientific research, they can scale these solutions with modest, targeted budgets. Local governments are not the problem — they are the missing link. &nbsp;
The tragedy is not technical incapacity; it is chronic under-financing of the most cost-intensive terrain on earth. Lets stop romanticising mountain poverty on 11 December, International Mountain Day. Let us retire the language of fragility that excuses inaction.
Mountains are not pleading for sympathy. They are demanding fairness: that the true cost of safe development in the world’s steepest geographies be acknowledged and shared. Until that bill is paid, the monsoon will continue to do the accounting, one landslide, one road, one abandoned promise at a time.
Ngamindra Dahal is a water and climate adaptation practitioner based at the Nepal Water Conservation Foundation, Kathmandu.

The Himalaya is not fragile

This is the 76th 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. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

Singha Bahadur Lama worked for six years in Malaysia, but back home in Nepal he is now earning more than he ever did overseas. Here in his village 60km east of Kathmandu, Lama now harvests Buddhachitta seeds from sacred trees that grow in the mountains, and turns them into prayer bead necklaces revered in Tibetan Buddhism. The Buddhachitta tree (Ziziphus budhensis) is indigenous to Nepal and grows in the mountains of Kavre district, and demand boomed after the Dalai Lama proclaimed that the seeds found in Nepal were the best. People from Kavre had gone to Bodh Gaya 12 years ago and presented the Dalai Lama with Buddhachitta prayer beads. Not long after, while speaking in Taiwan the Dalai Lama told followers that the seeds from Nepal had special powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251209141220_dd1fddffc2f22652f57b0fdebe5d0612aa48c79c1e5c1a82da10b1d0a0af69b8" data-rendition-name="original" width="737" height="536" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama shows a visiting journalist different types of Buddhachitta seeds. Single-faced beads are the rarest and most valuable, as are the smallest 8mm beads. A prayer necklace made of 108 beads would easily cost Rs1.5 million (over $10,630). “We cannot say if our trees will give smaller beads or even how many faces or clear eyes, it’s all natural,” says Lama, who now works as a consultant, advising people all over Nepal about planting the tree, and has since spread it across the country. Four years ago, a Chinese middleman made 7mm plastic cups to cover the seeds, hoping the trees would produce smaller pods. It did not work, and the trees died. Such is the demand for high-quality Buddhachitta beads that a group of 20 men employed by a Chinese dealer cut down a tree along the Rosi River last year. The harvest from that tree had made $212,600 the year before. With that kind of price, the trees are in danger of being chopped down. &nbsp; Lama himself used to make Rs10 million ($70,880) from the seeds of each tree. With this money, he built new houses and sent his daughter to Japan, all with Buddhachitta income. But the market for the seeds is volatile.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251209141224_0fd29cdc36db0c3ad5f5add513b8b220d0101760e1c42d5c54266eac7c2dfe75" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> </figure>  Lama invested Rs10 million when prices were high ten years ago, but he lost most of that when the prices collapsed for bigger seeds.&nbsp; He adds: “That year the demand was only for small seeds, and it has only been three years since the prices have risen again for seeds that make no sound when you shake them.”&nbsp; HISTORY Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche left seeds of Buddhachitta while meditating in the Temal region of Kavre district in the 8th century as a blessing. He is known in the Himalaya as the ‘Second Buddha’ whose birth was foretold by the Buddha himself, and spread Buddhism in Tibet. Now, almost every household from the Tamang community here has on average 50 trees. The tree thrives on gravel and sandy soil, needs to be protected from excess water, and can grow up to 10 meters high. It starts bearing fruit annually from its third year and one tree lives for 90 years. The fruits are handpicked every June and July, and then have to be processed by boiling the seeds to remove their hard outer skin. The seeds are then dried in the sun for a few days.&nbsp; “Our families have been growing Buddhachitta for generations, but it started becoming hugely profitable only about 12 years ago, it has become a cash crop and has even replaced staples like maize,” says Dev Lama, 55.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251209141224_7820e90f918489045c0668465190df37120167cc7d4401bb128adf931e156bc3" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Dev Lama</figcaption> </figure>  What helps is that Buddhachitta is not a high-maintenance crop, it just needs some weeding, watering, and protection from hailstorms and pesticides. Once it matures, it does not need much care, and farmers intercrop it with other grain.&nbsp; “You don’t have to work on it every year like maize, which needs to be planted year after year,” explains Shova Shrestha, 33. “We also continue to grow other vegetables and spices, all of which help to preserve soil nutrients.” Generally, farmers do not sell directly to Chinese traders but deal with local middlemen who take a cut before they take it to the Chinese traders who lodge in Kathmandu during the harvest season. But the bulk of the profit is made by Chinese wholesalers across the border. &nbsp; And now with the proliferation of the plant, and with nearly every family growing several trees, farmers sometimes struggle to find buyers and are often severely short-changed, as was the case with Maiya Tamang’s family.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251209141220_2d82949a8a32b272216e4f288e976c5af68abf65f52500947ba366526a9b2a2c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Buddhachitta NT"> <figcaption>Maiya Tamang</figcaption> </figure>  “I wasn’t home that day two years ago, but my sons later told me that my husband sold an entire tree for just Rs1,500,” recalls Tamang, 60. “We asked him why he sold it for a price that wouldn’t even buy a sack of rice, and he just shrugged.” Tamang did make a profit two years ago, but last year’s crop was destroyed by a hailstorm. Despite this, the bead business has augmented the income of a family dependent on subsistence agriculture. &nbsp; A neighbour, Sonam Tamang, had a few Buddhachitta trees in his backyard and has bought saplings from a nursery to expand. Saplings cost Rs500, but it is double that for plants that give high value seeds. Says Sonam Tamang: “The middlemen sometimes cheat us by offering much less than the seeds are worth, and they don’t allow us to speak directly with the Chinese buyers. But even if we did, there would be a language barrier.” Meanwhile, Singha Bahadur Lama who started out as a Buddhachitta farmer now owns a nursery and is a dealer in saplings himself. Some Nepalis have tried to sell directly in China, but face added costs of travel and hotel while there. &nbsp; With contributions from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

Sacred seed feeds boom

Dimar Chaudhary was born and raised in Old Padampur, the village inside what is now Chitwan National Park before it was dsignated a protected area. His Tharu community, as well as other indigenous groups, traditionally relied on Chitwan’s jungles and rivers for generations. Chaudhary himself had grown up collecting medicinal plants and wild vegetables, gathering wood, and grazing cattle in the forest. Chitwan, along with much of Nepal’s Tarai, was plagued by malaria until a US-supported DDT spraying campaign to wipe out the disease in the district in the 1950s. This opened the valley up to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. Before that, Chitwan was inhabited entirely by indigenous people: 90% of the district’s population was Tharu, and the rest were Bote, Mushar, Darai and Majhi communities. In 1973 Chitwan National Park became Nepal's first protected area and in 1996, the Nepal government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management. Old Padampur was subsequently relocated outside the park. Ntional parks formed buffer zone user committees (BZUCs) to manage and oversee community forests. Hundreds of thousands of local people were directly involved in managing buffer zone community forests across the country. Over three decades, these forests have not only made conservation collaborative, but also helped to mitigate wildlife-related crimes and human wildlife conflict. In 2014, 2015 and 2016, Nepal achieved zero poaching for its three flagship species: rhinos, tigers and elephants. But while these user communities have made wildlife conservation participatory, the process hasn’t been inclusive of Nepal’s indigenous and underserved communities. In 2022, WWF supported Community Conservation Nepal to collect data on natural resources used by Tharu indigenous people before the establishment of Chitwan National Park. The project also looked into the inclusion of indigenous, women, Dalit and disabled communities in the Baghauda, Paachpandav, Meghauli, Mrigakunja, and Amaltari Buffer Zone User Committees (BZUC) as well as the Someshwor, Gardi Chure, Radha Krishna, and Baghmara Buffer Zone Community Forests (BZCF).  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251210141228_83a5b021c62b6c4a67888e5eee85d3fdcba3fd34d00e581996213d1ae10d6977" data-rendition-name="original" width="1342" height="941" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC map"></figure>  BARRIERS TO INCLUSION The survey found that women are underrepresented in all the BZUCs despite women user groups being larger. Nepal’s Buffer Zone laws dictate that each BZUC has 13 members. Each BZUC is made up of nine units, and as many representatives are elected from those units. The elected members have the authority to choose the remaining four members. This meant that indigenous peoples, marginalised groups, and women have a far lower chance of being elected. Indeed, out of the total members, Paachpandav and Mrigakunja BCUZs had four women, Meghauli had three women, and Baghauda had only one woman, whereas Amaltari user committee had no woman member. In contrast, the BZCF are relatively more inclusive of women, with two out of four surveyed BZCF comprising half women members. Additionally, some grassroots user committees are made up entirely of women. Most women members of the user committees are not appointed through elections, but chosen by elected male members, and are not given positions of leadership. “Women have been the ones protecting the forests ever since the concept of forest conservation initially emerged,” one female participant told us during a focus group discussion. People would get angry when the women stopped them from cutting down trees and grass, and grazing cattle in the jungles, she recalled, adding, “We were dedicated to the user committees. However, we are no longer involved in the committees, nor are we invited to meetings.” When asked about the absence of women in the user committees, one BZUC chairperson responded, “There are only men here because they won the election. Women are unwilling to run for the election. How will they fit into the committee if no woman has ever run for election?” However, not only are women deprived of the chance to contest elections, the chances of them winning polls are also very low because a majority of the positions in the committee will already have been allocated by political parties to their male cadres. Women from marginalised communities face further hurdles.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251210141228_7ee7dc43b925b4d6e97bfdc5a02df85d4d828e8a82eb00d3086217baf2438b43" data-rendition-name="original" width="959" height="508" loading="lazy" alt="BZUC "></figure>  “No male member from the Musahar community has been elected in the user community, if they had, they could have suggested that women from our community be included in the committee as well,” said a female participant from the Musahar community. While the native Musahar and Bote people lack representation in the BZUC, indigenous people did make up the majority of the members in the committees, while Dalit members were included in some collectives. However, only one committee is led by an indigenous person. The others are chaired by upper-caste hill migrants. In addition, no committee had any representative with disabilities. One of the key reasons for the under-representation of marginalised communities in Nepal’s BZUC is its non-inclusive policy. When Nepal’s Constitution was promulgated in 2015, residents living in proximity to protected areas across Nepal had hoped that policies relating to buffer zones and their governance would be reformed to reflect Nepal’s new socio-political reality. But this has not been the case. However, this has not discouraged indigenous Nepalis, who have continued to demand buffer zone policy reforms that ensure the inclusion of women, indigenous and marginalised communities. In addition to policy revision, it is necessary to reform the buffer zone election so that it is more participatory for underserved communities. Reforms should also regulate the number of members in a user group. Similarly, the budget allocated for buffer zones must be used on activities that benefit conservation instead of local infrastructure development. Women, people with disabilities, indigenous and marginalised communities should be the primary beneficiaries of budget dispensation. Crop damage compensation, which currently is Rs10,000, can be increased by five times to Rs50,000. Policy revisions should ultimately guarantee the rights of indigenous communities like the Sonaha, Bote and Musahar to practice their culture and traditional livelihoods and receive a formal education. Buffer Zone User Committees must apply indigenous conservation practices for park management. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.

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