<figure><img width="1138" height="822" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861e9a9c7e80680e0ccdd6jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>A woman in Kathmandu carrying her child infected by small pox in 1964. Photo: WHO</figcaption></figure>The smallpox virus plagued Nepali communities throughout the 19th and early 20th centuries. As historian Susan Heydon has written about in a recent essay called ‘Death of the King’, smallpox destroyed families rich and poor alike, with tremendous personal and political consequences. In the late 1790s, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/big-story-of-small-pox-in-nepal/">smallpox erupted in Kathmandu Valley</a>. Little is known about the outbreak, but at the time the Valley's cities were still recovering from Prithvi Narayan Shah's conquest three decades earlier. Kathmandu's population lived and worked on streets that one British visitor described as ‘excessively narrow, and nearly as filthy as those of Benares'.In 1799, King Rana Bahadur's favorite wife, Kantivati, came down with smallpox, igniting a series of events that reshaped court politics. Seeing his wife gravely ill, Rana Bahadur dedicated himself to prayers for her, and even abdicated the throne in favour of his two-year old son, Girvana. His efforts were to no avail: Kantivati succumbed to the disease. Rana Bahadur, distraught and furious, desecrates and destroys the temple of Hariti Ma (known to Hindus as Sitala) at Swayambhu.Rana Bahadur also orders children with the disease removed outside the Valley, all the way across the Tama Kosi in the East or the Marsyandi in the West. Because of the Valley's demographics, these were Newar children. A traditional Newar song recounts what happens. Called 'Sitalamaaju Mye', the song is addressed to 'Mother Sitala,' the smallpox goddess. Part I: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/big-story-of-small-pox-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Big story of smallpox in Nepal</a>Part II: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-smallpox-virus-in-british-india/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The smallpox virus in British India</a>Part IV: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/how-nepal-eradicated-the-smallpox-virus/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">How Nepal eradicated the smallpox virus</a>Part V: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/viruses-past-present-and-future/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Viruses past, present and future</a>'Oh Mother Sitala,' the first line goes, 'behold the piteous state of your people! The children were driven out of the country, surrounded by soldiers.' The song describes the stages of the disease, which touched most Nepali families at one point or another, through its appeal to three different deities. ‘We pray to Mother Kachala, who brings forth the smallpox blisters, to Mother Sitala, who fills them with water, and to Mother Bachala, who carries off the afflicted.’Parents faced heartbreaking difficulties. 'They led them away, carrying one child on the back, one child under the arm and dragging along a third child.' After a week, the families reach the Tama Kosi. There, a child dies. Unable to say goodbye the proper way, the devastated parents throw the body into the river. One of the legacies of these distant events, the 'Sitalamaaju Mye' song appears to use the tragic expulsion of families to symbolise the mistreatment and dukha Newars faced since the takeover of the Valley by the Shah regime in the 1770s. Observers this month have noted that the song speaks to the hardships faced by many Nepali migrant laborers, displaced from their worksites by Covid-19, trying to return to village homes.Rana Bahadur ends up in exile in India, and takes along with him a young Bhimsen Thapa. He returns to power in 1804, but is killed in 1806, opening the door for Thapa to seize power and go on to become one of the most important rulers in Nepal's early history.Smallpox struck again in 1816, and again shapes the power struggles in Nepal's tumultuous Darbar. Bhimsen Thapa still held power, but King Girvana, now 21, was a clear threat.The disease appeared first in the west of the country but found its way to Kathmandu by July. As historian Vikram Hasrat has documented, ‘Smallpox became so virulent in the country that hundreds and thousands of men, women and children, old and young, were swept away. The rivers, tanks, and canals were crowded with dead and dying; and in the streets a man had scarcely room to walk and the dogs dragged away the neglected and putrefied corpses and vultures died with surfeit of human flesh.’Fear gripped the palace. King Girvana had not contracted the disease as a child. He also had young children. Officials requested vaccinations from the British, who had been trying to spread the new practice in India for over a decade.As historian Heydon has documented, the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-smallpox-virus-in-british-india/">British sensed possible political advantage</a>: ‘It would not only be an act of humanity to introduce the Vaccination,’ the British resident Edward Gardner wrote his superiors in India on July 17, ‘but be a desirable object, perhaps to have the Raja and the Officers of the Court inoculated by us.’The British organised vaccinations around the Valley, beginning in Banepa. It is hard to say how many people actually got vaccinated. But one thing we do know: the king was not among them.  <figure><img width="1376" height="980" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022112916110/63861e9d9c7e80680e0ccdd7jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The exact reasons why are lost to history, but not the consequences. In late October, both of the king's children showed fever and then rash. One perished on 2 November. Gardner passed along news of the king's family to Calcutta: ‘His youngest son a child under two years of age I am sorry to add died this morning of that distemper and his eldest &amp; only remaining male child has also taken the disease.’ Two weeks later, on 18 November, Gardner learned that 'the Raja had unfortunately taken the smallpox'. He died two days later. The resident reported the event: ‘Alarming symptoms it seems made their appearances during the night which continuing unabated, the Raja was according to the usual custom in this country conveyed early in the morning to the temple at Pusputhnath, where he breathed his last about 11 o’clock am. As was Hindu custom, preparations were underway quickly for his funeral.’ Girvana's senior queen, Siddhi Rajya Laxmi, threw herself on her husband's funeral pyre, as tradition demanded.Gardner regretted the missed chance to prevent the king's death. ‘Many opportunities have unaccountably been neglected for him receiving the vaccination.’ It's hard to know why. There was, however, as historian <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/the-rest-is-history-for-john-whelpton/">John Whelpton</a> notes, 'speculation about foul play'. The young prince Rajendra recovered and was placed under the regency of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/turning-a-shrine-into-a-temple-of-learning/">Tripura Sundari, a longtime ally of Bhimsen Thapa</a>. Girvana's death and Tripura Sundari's installation as the young king's regent helped <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2014/01/05/the-pashmina-war/">Bhimsen Thapa</a> retain his grip on power, a grip he would not yield for another two decades.  Over the next century and a half, as Heydon shows, smallpox showed itself routinely in Nepal. Every spring communities would make prayers to ward off the disease. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/kathmandu-in-the-time-of-cholera/">But periodically epidemics raged</a>. One observer in east Nepal in 1885, for instance, noted that a wave of smallpox had ‘carried off a large number of the inhabitants of Khumbu’.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-is-a-microcosm-of-all-of-the-changes-in-world-health/">“Nepal is a microcosm of all of the changes in world health”,</a> Nepali TimesVaccination use was sporadic, and government efforts weak. At mid-century, the Kathmandu-based <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/pencilling-in-kathmandu-rajman-singh-chitrakar,3379">British doctor Henry Oldfield</a> noted that Jang Bahadur Rana held ‘great faith’ in vaccination and had his children and other royal children inoculated, but did little else. In the 1920s, British journalist <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3351#.XqwdhS8w0Wo">Perceval Landon</a> noted, 'Vaccination is not compulsory but it is free to those who choose to avail themselves.' Several reasons explain why Nepalis did not use vaccination. Some people, particularly some Newars and Tarai groups, disliked the vaccine. But a far greater problem was that the Rana governments did little to make it widely available or to promote it. They never set up a health system to promote sound practices across Nepal. In contrast, in India by the early 20th century, the British campaign to spread vaccination had found its legs. Millions of ordinary Indians in Madras and other parts of the country started getting vaccines. In 1947 alone, the year the British left India, 21.3 million Indians received vaccinations or re-vaccinations.Nepalis who studied or traveled in India and those who served in the British Army noticed how little health service the Rana regime provided their countrymen. Smallpox was one of many diseases and ailments that modern medicine could help with. The Ranas' lack of concern about the people's health and welfare helped fuel the growing movement to drive them from power. After the 1951 revolution, successive Nepal governments tried to set up a modern health care system in the towns and villages. They implemented disease control programs, including <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-mosquito-that-changed-nepals-history/">a nationwide malaria eradication effort</a>, launched in 1959 with the help of the US and the WHO. A smallpox campaign for the Kathmandu Valley was launched in 1961 and became a nationwide eradication program in 1966.  After tormenting Nepalis for centuries and sometimes shaping their politics, smallpox was finally eradicated from Nepal in 1975. It is a tremendous success story -- a story of strong bureaucratic organisation, impressive scientific work, and tenacious implementation. But it is also a story of occasional heavy handedness by a government given unprecedented powers in the effort to maintain public health. This is the third in a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/big-story-of-small-pox-in-nepal/">series of articles</a> about the history of disease in Nepal. The fourth installment will explore the eradication campaign in the 1960s against smallpox. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/how-chitwan-was-opened,4159">Tom Robertson</a>, PhD, is researching the environmental history of Kathmandu Valley.

Tom Robertson

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Smallpox, politics and power in Kathmandu

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f239c7e80680e056e0ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1500"/><figcaption>Mutton Korma. Photos: MANNSI AGRAWAL</figcaption></figure>Nepal’s <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/the-rana-reign-a-recap-of-history,3751" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Rana dynasty</a> ruled for just over 100 years, building ornate neo-classical palaces with vast manicured gardens copied from Victorian England, while the aristocrats wore magnificent jewellery.What the Ranas are less well known for is a cuisine that is a unique fusion of Nepali and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/yes-mughlai-cuisine-can-be-vegetarian/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mughlai dishes</a> from northern India. The recipes date back to influences of the khansama brought in from Lucknow by Jung Bahadur Rana after the Indian Mutiny in 1857. These Muslim chefs worked with the baje and bajai in the Rana palaces (although strictly not in the same kitchen), perfecting the fusion cuisine that evolved into the unique Rana flavour.The recipes will soon be out in a new cook book by Rohini Rana, who was born in Agra to the Indian royal house of Awagarh and married to Gaurav SJB Rana, who went on to become Nepal’s army chief from 2012 to 2015.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=34079&amp;preview_nonce=2924ca6ef5&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Exploring Nepal’s culinary diversity,</a> Kedar Sharma and Kiran Sharma<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/tharu-escargots/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tharu escargots,</a> Sewa Bhattarai<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f259c7e80680e056e0bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1351"><figcaption>Rohini “Dolly“ Rana</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f289c7e80680e056e0cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1351"><figcaption>Finely sliced steamed bandel with timur ko chope</figcaption></figure>“Growing up as the youngest sibling in one of the most beautiful hill stations in northern India I had an idyllic childhood. I was loved and, I admit, slightly pampered,” recalls Rohini Rana, whom friends and relatives all call ‘Dolly’. “Summers in Nainital were endless lunches and dinners with tables piled high with food.”Breakfasts were spent discussing the day’s menu, with each member of the family picking a dish to cook. After coming to Kathmandu, Dolly adjusted quickly to the new Rana household, also bonding with the kitchen staff.Her husband, Gen Gaurav Rana, is the great grandson of Prime Minister Chandra Shumshere Rana and is the seventh generation of the family serving in the Nepal Army. Dolly accompanied her husband on various military postings internationally, and to remote regions of Nepal.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-superfoods-of-the-andes-and-the-himalaya/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The superfoods of the Andes and the Himalaya,</a> Sonia Awale<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/satisfying-trekker-appetite-for-adventure/?preview_nonce=d05c21ba9f&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> Satisfying trekker appetite for adventure,</a> Sanghamitra SubbaDolly Rana wrote the first draft for her Rana cookbook while her husband was posted in Suparitar Army Base in Hetauda nearly 30 years ago, where they lived in an old Rana house in the middle of the forest. Many of the recipes in her book were perfected by her husbands’ nanny, Chiniya Champa Didi, who started working at age 15 in the Baber Mahal palace, where her father was a retainer. Though her job was to raise the young Gaurav Rana, she was interested in cooking and learnt the dishes from other maids and cooks.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141152/636a5f2a9c7e80680e056e0djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="393" height="377">Rana cuisine incorporates and builds on the basic dal bhat staple of rice, lentil soup, meat and vegetables, adding a unique aroma and taste from the jimbu and timur that differentiate the Nepali rice dish from Indian food. While north Indian cuisine is noted for its rich and thick gravy, Nepali food comes with lighter jhol, dry bhuttan and kawaf.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/much-more-than-dal-bhat/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Much more than dal bhat,</a> Anil ChitrakarDolly collected and documented recipes from Rana prime minister families, with each having a slightly different twist and taste to the basic dishes. The book will soon be published by Penguin Random House.“It is very important to preserve the dishes for posterity because the cuisine is part of our heritage, and it is in danger of disappearing with the passing of generations,” says Dolly Rana, refusing to divulge the exact recipes.“You will have to wait for the book,” she smiles.Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/could-nepali-cuisine-go-global/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Can Nepali cuisine go global</a>, Thomas Heaton

Food of the royals

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

Looking at Nepal from Venice

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

A new normal

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

Things eventually work out

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

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Things eventually work out

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal