Much of our species’ 300,000 years of existence has been spent foraging, hunting, and gathering in the forests. And <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-salt-of-the-earth">nomadism</a> is in our blood, as it were. Our ancestors were still nomadic when they left their African homeland 100,000 years ago and ultimately colonised all six continents. But even after leaving Africa, they continued practicing nomadism for tens of thousands of years. Although nomadism has been the primary way of life for most of human evolution, 10,000 years ago some of our ancestors gave it up, settled down, and began farming– a practice that continues today.&nbsp; The success of early agriculturalists inspired most cultures across the globe to transition to farming settlements. Slowly, nomadism became the norm of the past.&nbsp; Yet, some human populations resisted the new ways of life and continued their foraging, hunting, and gathering lifestyles. Only a handful of them have survived to this day. The Raute of Nepal are the last of the <a href="https://nt.exposure.co/last-but-not-least">nomadic hunter-gatherers</a> in the Himalaya. In 2006, while I was researching about the indigenous peoples of Nepal for a study in human genetics, I was surprised to find a chapter in Dor Bahadur Bista’s book, &nbsp;सबै जातको फुलबारी in which he described the Raute as one of the ancient peoples of Nepal.&nbsp; Bista highlighted that there was not enough study on the Raute but postulated that they potentially descended from an Australoid population. The origins and history of the Raute remains unknown to this day. In 2016, I finally got the opportunity to meet with the Raute people. From Kathmandu, my fellow researcher Yoshina Gautam and I flew to Nepalganj, where we met Prof Guru Prasad Gautam, who has established a long working relationship with the Raute.&nbsp; Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/imagine-no-possessions"> Imagine no possessions</a>, Kunda Dixit  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111040_dded3a3a20e2701ee88db1bf18b2341ecaab8615ca52cf5304031ea022fe2205.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20231019111040_dded3a3a20e2701ee88db1bf18b2341ecaab8615ca52cf5304031ea022fe2205" data-rendition-name="original" width="1493" height="848" loading="lazy" alt="Raute map"> </figure>  We drove up the winding accident-prone Karnali Highway for several hours and reached Tunibagar of Dailekh district, a small town serving as a rest stop for trucks. We hiked several hours the next day to reach the Raute camp located on the banks of a small river in Achham district. At first the Raute were apprehensive of us, but they gradually opened up.&nbsp; The <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=434">Raute</a> are elusive and mystical, divine yet destitute, enlightened albeit unschooled, appreciated and disliked by mainstream society. Because of their nomadic lifestyle, duodecennial nature, and preference for obscurity the Raute are portrayed as fearsome and savage in folklore.&nbsp; Yet the Raute consider themselves divine: direct descendants of Lord Ram, and therefore entitled to rule the forest as kings. They also hunt monkeys, a sacred Hindu symbol that local farmers would not dare to harm despite the nuisance and toll the monkeys take by destroying crops.&nbsp; They navigate high hills of far western Nepal with precision and are remarkably knowledgeable about the nutritional and medicinal value of hundreds of local plants. The Raute do not seem to disturb the settlers’ lives and livelihoods at all, yet their existence seems to irritate them. While later settlers sometimes regard the Raute with curiosity, most of them flatly reject the Raute way of life. Their claims of divinity despite their destitution are incomprehensible to the settlers. The only desire the Raute have is the right to their isolation, and the settlers promise them everything except that.&nbsp; This dichotomous relationship appears to have existed for a long time because the Raute have incorporated aspects of Hindu culture to establish themselves as equals and not inferior to the higher caste settlers. Whether such elements are superficial and used by the Raute only to deal with the settlers, or it has influenced the Raute identity and self-perception remains unknown.&nbsp; Even though the Raute have endured immense pressure to give up their nomadism and settle down, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11239">dwindling forests and increasing urbanisation</a> has added to the pressure to assimilate. Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-last-of-the-kusunda">The last of the Kusunda</a>, Sewa Bhattarai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111048_ce8d6dd4c509ea645ed4d3f5c6628a32148d4a76df3ac7778ebb5329bae17e8d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20231019111048_ce8d6dd4c509ea645ed4d3f5c6628a32148d4a76df3ac7778ebb5329bae17e8d" data-rendition-name="original" width="533" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="exploring genetic roots of the raute"> <figcaption>A temporary Raute settlement in Salyan district of Nepal.(Photo: Kishor Sharma)</figcaption> </figure>  The Himalayan foothills were once home to several other nomadic groups including the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15950">Kusunda</a>, the Ban Rawat (Dadeldhura Raute), the Raji, and the Chepang. All of them have succumbed to the pressure to settle and this transition has left them fragmented.&nbsp; They have suffered massive loss of culture, many of their deities have been forgotten, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lost-in-translation">their languages are dying</a>, and these ancient cultures are rapidly becoming extinct. Such loss of cultural heritage makes Nepal’s much-vaunted ethnic diversity poorer.&nbsp; Importantly, the nomads and their ways of life provide us a means to gaze into our past. Understanding their lifestyle, culture, and diet allows us to peek into how our own ancestors lived.&nbsp; The Raute are the last nomadic group of Nepal, and therefore are the only means through which we can peek into the past to understand the ways of life of our ancestors.&nbsp; However, the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12649">Raute way of life</a> is understudied. From the little ethnographic and linguistic data that exists, the Raute appear to be descendants of an ancient population. Their aboriginal lifestyle is ancient, and their Khamchi language also appears to be among the ancient Himalayan dialects.&nbsp; Since historical, anthropological, and archeological data on the Raute is limited, my laboratory at the New York University Abu Dhabi (The Genetic Heritage Group) is relying on genetic analyses to address some of the outstanding questions regarding Raute population history.&nbsp; We are analysing genetic variation within the Raute to understand how members of the group are related to one another, which may benefit the Raute to avoid consanguineous marriages. This data can also be useful to estimate Raute population sizes over time, which can provide key pieces of information to understand their history.&nbsp; Furthermore, we are comparing genetic data of Raute with many other Asian populations to demonstrate how they could be related to neighbouring Nepali populations and their distant cousins elsewhere in the region.&nbsp; Finally, we seek to compare Raute DNA with publicly available genetic data from ancient populations obtained from thousands of years old bones excavated from archeological sites across Asia. They could tell us more about the origins of the Raute. The research is ongoing, but we believe the results will provide solid scientific evidence to establish the Raute as the living national treasures of Nepal. &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/chepang-and-their-chiuri">Chepang and their Chiuri</a>, Bhadra Sharma Aashish Jha, PhD, is Assistant Professor at the Department of Biology at the New York University campus in Abu Dhabi. &nbsp;&nbsp;

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Exploring the genetic roots of the Raute

What do we call a people without fixed addresses, without land or proof of citizenship? And what do we call a people who have no desire to possess any of these things?’ In 2011, when photographer Kishor Sharma made his first encounter with &nbsp;<a href="https://nt.exposure.co/last-but-not-least">Nepal’s last truly nomadic community</a> in the highlands of Salyan two days walk from the nearest road, he struggled to be accepted and understand their lifestyle. But as he gradually won their trust, and they his respect, the original plan to document in photographs the reclusive forest-dwellers turned into an exercise in visual poetry. Recording the lives and times of the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=434">Raute </a>cannot just be done in a narrative text or through flat photography. “You are the world, we are the Raute,” they remind the lensman. It is a life of wandering, a culture that predates history and the modern nation state, before healthcare and the need to learn the alphabet, before buses and mobiles.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nt.exposure.co/last-but-not-least">Last but not least</a>, JAN MØLLER HANSEN Sharma revisits the Raute clan three years later, and shows them a photo on his laptop of tribe member Surendra that he had taken earlier. Surendra had died, but his relatives did not want a printout of his photo.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111040_dded3a3a20e2701ee88db1bf18b2341ecaab8615ca52cf5304031ea022fe2205.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20231019111040_dded3a3a20e2701ee88db1bf18b2341ecaab8615ca52cf5304031ea022fe2205" data-rendition-name="original" width="1493" height="848" loading="lazy" alt="Raute map"> </figure>  ‘Photographs contain remembrances of things past, Rautes with their wandering souls, do not like to be stuck with old memories,’ Sharma writes in the evocative bilingual text accompanying the photographs. But globalisation, the modern Nepali nation, its administration and police are never too far away. Rautes have frequent encounters with townspeople who look down upon them, but also fear their wild ways. Raute life is also being rapidly monetised, a process accelerated by a monthly Rs5,000 allowance they receive from the state. But the stipend is always late, and that has now become their greatest complaint.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111044_471bf9b8cc775d13f100fc771a72665591e9cf6e33bba7e0d5319fe3f7b8e8c5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20231019111044_471bf9b8cc775d13f100fc771a72665591e9cf6e33bba7e0d5319fe3f7b8e8c5" data-rendition-name="original" width="533" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Imagine no possessions2"> <figcaption>Samjhana Shahi near a Raute camp in Achham.(Photo: Kishor Sharma)</figcaption> </figure>  Sharma spent six years, off and on, among the Raute in Salyan, Achham and Dailekh, and won their confidence. But one thing they never cared to share with him is their practice of monkey hunting. They do not like outsiders joining in the hunt which they see as a sacred duty to ensure survival. They do not use guns or knives, but net traps, and never kill more than they can eat.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-last-of-the-kusunda">The last of the Kusunda</a>, Sewa Bhattarai It has been a few weeks, and it is time to change camp. The Raute are bundling up their possessions. Bir Bahadur tells Sharma: “It is time to move again.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111044_dca2f1a446666ac761b6ff1e03754f23f4172d91ab19effd8da6846d1755c344.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20231019111044_dca2f1a446666ac761b6ff1e03754f23f4172d91ab19effd8da6846d1755c344" data-rendition-name="original" width="533" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Imagine no possessions"> <figcaption>A Raute man. (Photo: Kishor Sharma)</figcaption> </figure>  Many readers may see in Kishor Sharma’s Living in the Mist, a photographic visual confirmation of an endangered nomadic group with a vastly different lifestyle from ours.&nbsp; But others may find survival lessons for ‘modern’ globalised humans of a frugal, gentle and dignified people who only take from nature what they need. They cannot own land because the land owns them. &nbsp; Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/kishorksg/">@kishorksg</a>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111044_f74be3b6c6dd7d663844211b4f21379565680673c5b5e3f40c51ade081ab7a8a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20231019111044_f74be3b6c6dd7d663844211b4f21379565680673c5b5e3f40c51ade081ab7a8a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Exhibition"> </figure>  <a href="https://www.photocircle.com.np/publications/living-in-the-mist-by-kishor-sharma/">Living in the Mist Exhibition</a> Patan House, Dhaugal Till 30 November (Closed 21-30 October and 12-15 November)&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111032_4c4d3c90f14c5db68dfb737113d96b705d74e7b73639dc9973d2f3c7ac82ab8e.png" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20231019111032_4c4d3c90f14c5db68dfb737113d96b705d74e7b73639dc9973d2f3c7ac82ab8e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1121" height="681" loading="lazy" alt="living in the mist"> </figure>

Kunda Dixit

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Imagine no possessions

Know your Ministers

‘One early morning, we heard the ambassador’s wife cry out, “Ram, Ram, Ram!” A disaster has befallen Nepal!” She had heard on the radio that a fire had consumed Singha Durbar." This is not about the arson attack on 9 September 2025, but the one on 8 July, 1973. It started in the South Wing of the then single-largest building in all of Nepal. It took two days to bring the blaze under control, requiring the use of explosives to demolish one wing to protect the imposing western facade. As Bhekh Bahadur Thapa recalls in the English translation of his memoir A Life in Public Service: Nepal from Autocracy to Democracy, he was then on leave from the Nepal government serving with the IDRC in Ottawa.&nbsp; He had already served as Nepal’s Finance Secretary at age 25, went on to be Finance Minister and Governor of Nepal Rastra Bank. He was already younger than some of the GenZ ministers in Nepal’s present RSP government. Thapa, now 89, was at the launch of the book in February which was attended by former diplomats and bureaucrats. After speeches by panelists, there was a question from the audience about how Thapa had managed to be the diplomat he was, managing Nepal’s international relations on the world stage.&nbsp; Writer and journalist Akhilesh Upadhyay, who was moderating the panel, responded by going into the section of the book where we see Thapa as an ambassador to the US, playing tennis with White House officials, cultivating a network of contacts to project the identity and welfare of Nepal, and making it possible for a state visit by King Birendra to Ronald Reagan’s America. The book is full of anecdotes that suggest Thapa was a clever and strategic diplomat, always calm and unruffled, easily making friends in high places with his maturity and engaging sense of humour. Thapa’s memoir is heavy on details about Nepal’s administrative history during the years he was active in public service, serving as minister and ambassador under three kings: Mahendra, Birendra and Gyanendra, and alongside five prime ministers.&nbsp; Aside from an insider look on how certain treaties, development deals and research projects in Nepal came into fruition, Thapa goes into great detail about his personal and professional relationships with the kings, ministers, ambassadors, foreign leaders and politicians.&nbsp; As a reader, one is struck by the level of detail around the events that unfolded in Nepal over the years during Thapa’s tenure. Was Thapa recording a journal over the years of the events and the conversations that transpired, or were they committed to his phenomenal memory? Either way, the reader gets a glimpse of Nepal’s recent history from the early days of the Panchayat, through the People’s Movement and the democracy period, the Maoist insurgency, Royal Palace massacre of 2001, and Gyanendra’s coup of 2005.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041204048_125dc8ae300a1e33124f394abe724d42727f83e067b0201d2008b58d60c459a4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026041204048_125dc8ae300a1e33124f394abe724d42727f83e067b0201d2008b58d60c459a4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1584" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="How to win friends and influence nations NT"> </figure>  Not enough is said about the political parties of the time whose presence led to the way Nepal’s multiparty democracy came to be shaped. The book keeps its focus on the administration and the key figures around it, mostly those in the Panchayat era. Towards the second half of the book, we do start to hear about political parties, but not in great depth. Another figure whose presence in the book is conspicuously less prominent is that of his wife, Rita Thapa — the person who seems to have rescued him every time financial quandary or family care became a challenge. Yet, we do not see her as a full person. Perhaps because of the personal tragedies in his life, the children are also barely mentioned.&nbsp; The book is therefore less personal and more technical. Throughout, we learn about Thapa’s thinking as he navigated the world of diplomacy to win him the trust of those who mattered. There are tips here for a new generation of Nepali officials and diplomats about how much commitment and focus is needed to be good at one’s job and serve the national interest. This book adds to tomes that have been written on Nepal’s fragile relationship with India. ‘India has always wished for Nepal to remain dependent on it,’ writes Thapa, who served as Nepal’s ambassador to India and later in the Eminent Persons Group &nbsp;on Indo-Nepal relations that has been allowed to languish. The book has several insights into the Indo-Nepal trysts with diplomacy and agency.&nbsp; China’s role is also recorded, viewed through conversations during a visit to Beijing, but all that was before Nepal’s neighbour to the north emerged as a world economic and military power. The book also has such sudden instances of quirkiness and humour. For instance, we see a young Thapa in America explaining to a government official why he would like to return to Nepal instead of settling down in the US. “Because, Nepal is beautiful,” he said. The text is immaculate and does not read much like a translation, credit for which clearly goes to the team that put the edition together: translator Prawin Adhikari, &nbsp;Anagha Neelakanthan and Bhekh Thapa’s daughter, Manjushree. As Nepal enters a new era of governance and diplomacy, A Life in Public Service: Nepal from Autocracy to Democracy should be essential reading for students of political science, economics and foreign affairs who can gain a fresh perspective on the country’s trajectory.&nbsp; There are dozens of forgotten state secrets recorded in the book, but the reader must also remember this is a story told from one person’s perspective and there may be others.&nbsp; So, what really made Thapa the diplomat he was? I met him in 2004 at the Kantipur TV studio when he was serving as king Gyanendra’s foreign minister. He was there for a studio interview, and I was just done with my English newscast.&nbsp; He surprised me at the door: “Pratibha! I’ve been reading your articles in The Kathmandu Post. You must keep writing.” I thanked him, glad to have been noticed for my work by a stranger. That was perhaps one of the things that set Thapa apart — he excelled at staying close to those in power, while also noticing those who were not.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260412040412_213e706136a038ec9f5e2b8c6d7f7c1e9ceed9479e22fe2884872ad7bd20955f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260412040412_213e706136a038ec9f5e2b8c6d7f7c1e9ceed9479e22fe2884872ad7bd20955f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Book details"> </figure>

How to win friends and influence nations

In a classic arc of political sociology, a revolutionary figure takes several decades to complete their cycle: mobilisation, institutionalisation, and finally governance. 
However, the timeline of this trajectory has been telescoped in the case of Home Minister Sudan Gurung, who in 2025 described himself as a social activist and volunteer, has gone from the barricades of the GenZ protests to the mahogany desk of the Ministry of Home Affairs.
Gurung is a personal pick of Prime Minister Balendra Shah, and played a pivotal role in getting him to join the RSP by mediating with Rabi Lamichhane. His journey serves as a real test bed for the ‘Outsider-to-Insider Transition’, raising a fundamental question about someone who now leads the very apparatus that he once fought against: the police, intelligence service, and the bureaucracy.
Social capital can indeed be built during a crisis exacerbated by state failure, and that is where we first see Sudan Gurung — expediting relief delayed by systemic corruption and red tape. Gurung’s delivery aid through a social-media-driven volunteer network bypassed the government. 
Whether or not he really rushed a dying child to hospital after the 2015 earthquake does not matter, it has become an urban legend. 
His work evolved into the non-profit Hami Nepal in 2020, serving as a ‘parallel state’ mechanism that would later become central to his public identity. Later, his group sprang into action during the Covid crisis, organising oxygen cylinders and beds . He was there after flood disasters in Manang and Sidhupalchok, and even organised Rs15m worth of aid to Turkey after the 2023 earthquake. 
Moral Legitimacy became his primary source of power, and he strategically positioned himself as an alternative emergency response system. But the real rupture happened on 8 September 2025 when years of frustration, corruption scandals, lack of transparency and state accountability culminated in a rally that the next day descended into anarchy. 
There was no single leader. The movement was fully decentralised, but as elsewhere such upheavals produces a recognisable face. Among them was Sudan Gurung. Who despite being a millennial himself, became the most visible interlocutor of the GenZ movement. 
He negotiated with the state’s key actors, including the president and the Chief of Army staff, during the period of uncertainty When the country was on the brink. This led to the dissolution of parliament and the formation of the interim government under Sushila Karki, paving the way for the election on 5 March.
Since then, Sudan Gurung’s role has become contradictory. Within days of touching Prime Minister Karki’s feet after her swearing in, he was at the gates of Baluwatar spearheading midnight demonstrations calling for her resignation. He accused her and Home Minister Om Prakash Aryal of not consulting the youth over Cabinet appointments and not arresting the previous government officials.
This oscillation became a hallmark of Gurung’s own version of the ‘Radical Flank Effect’ — erratic behaviour to force the establishment to make concessions. 
On 18 January Gurung formally joined the RSP, and started campaigning from his home constituency of Gorkha-1. He won decisively and was appointed home minister by Balendra Shah. The transition was complete. 
As minister his role spans core security areas: overseeing internal security through the Nepal Police, Armed Police Force and the intelligence bureau. The man who took part in anti-government rallies is now in charge of the riot police that aresupposed control anti-government protests.
His portfolio also handles state administration matters such as citizenship, immigration, and border security, coordinates with the judicial system on prisons, detention, and policies related to punishment and clemency. For example will be overseeing the fraud case against his own party’s chair, Lamichhane.
In his book Power in Movement, political scientist Sidney Tarrow observes that social movement leaders encounter ‘institutional capture’ upon entering government. In a sociological paradox, the man who previously denounced the police for killing youth protesters is now the person who issues directives to those same forces.
Preventive detention, surveillance, and the control of public festivals are the same instruments that the former old guard employed to stifle his movement. The activist who demanded transparency at the B P Koirala Institute now manages the state’s most secretive security apparatus.
In this arc, Gurung is not alone, there are parallels around the world for leaders emerging from the ashes of revolt. It is not so much a prediction, but for Gurung the challenge is even more acute because youth expectations are so high.
The bar for performance has been raised by citizens demanding change and quicker, more efficient service delivery. He is under constant public scrutiny, which is why he has to take YouTubers every time he goes on inspections of the airport, the BP Highway, police stations, picking trash on the sidewalks or meeting the Swiss ambassador to ask about repatriating the ill-gotten wealth of politicians.
Sudan Gurung is facing intense public glare. There have been calls to reveal the truth behind Hami Nepal’s finances, the alleged links to Free Tibet, and lately not paying five years of rent for an illegal lakefront property in Pokhara. 
As minister, he will find that moral legitimacy alone is no longer sufficient, it must be reinforced by transparent and consistent institutional accountability. Sudan Gurung’s ascent is evidence that the public mostly trusts ‘outsiders’ during times of crisis. However, history also cautions us that the state only permits ‘insiders’ to operate. 
Gurung will have to organise systemic reform to inject the transparency of his volunteer days to the Home Ministry’s traditionally secretive disbursements. If he fails, he runs the risk of validating Michels’ Iron Law of Oligarchy, which would serve as a warning about how revolutionary energy is dissipated by the very structures it was intended to overthrow.
Nepal is watching the man who said he once held a dying child in his arms after an earthquake. The volunteer has become the Warden.
Nischal Raj Gautam is a student of Media Studies and Mass Communication at St. Xavier's College, Maitighar. He is a member of the EU Delegation's Youth Sounding Board (YSB), and a journalist for TheirWorld's The Education Issue 2026.

He said no to politics. Now he runs it.

This is the 91st 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. I have still not come to terms with the reality that my daughter Ruby Thakur is now the Deputy Speaker of Nepal’s Parliament. Sometimes, when I am walking, the thought hits me, and I cannot believe it.&nbsp; Things changed for my daughter in a very short time. I had dreamt that the best my daughter could achieve was a good engineering job. Fate had bigger plans for her. She is no longer just my daughter, she is the nation’s daughter. Nepal’s daughter.&nbsp; My children’s education was always my foremost priority. That is the main reason I went overseas for employment. I realised the value of education while working in Saudi Arabia. In my office, colleagues with good education earn $8,000 per month working on computers. Those with low education toil outdoors in the heat for much lower wages. A good education or skills can change everything. I am in Nepal on vacation and will soon return to my job. Ruby is all set now. But I still have to take care of my other children's education. As the eldest son, I myself never got a chance to prioritise my own education. I dropped out in Grade 7 because I had to take care of my ageing parents and younger siblings. I have done all kinds of jobs. I worked in a landlord’s field for a share of the harvest. Even now my wife and I farm for the land owner and have to give away half of what we grow.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260413120444_051b61e01a5189af538aa1e011acd3e2b38d5f42825116b2afd325d93d0c519b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260413120444_051b61e01a5189af538aa1e011acd3e2b38d5f42825116b2afd325d93d0c519b" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="DD"> <figcaption>Sogarath Thakur during a break in Nepal with wife tending to his farm.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260413120448_8a1c3ac3fd559026bc6f981cc8dc82cb8ad09a3a4f55fb9f6f7fd5f49c3d5571.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260413120448_8a1c3ac3fd559026bc6f981cc8dc82cb8ad09a3a4f55fb9f6f7fd5f49c3d5571" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="2268" loading="lazy" alt="DD"> </figure>  Then I worked as a barber, my family’s line of occupation. I went door to door cutting people’s hair and later worked in a relative’s saloon. Hairstyles were simple back then, and I got to keep half the fee. I also worked in a brick factory where I was paid weekly. &nbsp; I married when I was 16, and my wife was a year younger. As my family and responsibilities grew, I had to migrate leaving behind my three children including Ruby who was just three months old.&nbsp; I went to Qatar where I continued working as a barber. It was a large saloon and the standards for cleanliness and professionalism were higher. I had to hand over 70% of my daily earnings to the employer. I had to rely on my colleague to translate what the customer wanted. But I slowly became fluent in Arabic. I used to jot down words in Nepali and Arabic and memorise them. In Qatar, customers even came at night for haircuts, and people stayed up late. I would work till 3AM.&nbsp; Communicating with my family was one-way. I would go to Bismillah and ask someone to type out questions to my family about their whereabouts, how the harvest was that season. I would offer very little information about my life in Qatar because it was not easy. What was the point of getting them all worried? What could they do? I never received a letter in return, so throughout my time in Qatar, I never knew how my family was faring. When I appeared in the village after five years without any advance notice, it was a bittersweet reunion, and I had no gifts. I still remember how unfamiliar my village felt when I came home after so many years. I had to ask for directions. When I came home, Ruby was already in school. I had left her in my wife’s arms five years prior. I missed her growing up, and did not even see her pictures. My wife had to introduce her to me as her father. But it took just 15 minutes for her to warm up to me.&nbsp; The Arabic skills I had picked up in Qatar came in handy when I remigrated two years later to Saudi Arabia. I worked as a labourer in the desert heat, but once my company found out I spoke Arabic, I was hired for an indoor job as an office boy. The struggle in Qatar had paid off. I worked in an air conditioned office serving tea or coffee, doing bank runs or getting documents signed and photocopied. I have worked in the same company for the past 20 years, sending money home.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260413120448_f083fa873a6d77b19c8b0bdde623415c643a151fb550c57ff4e52b3c2431355f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260413120448_f083fa873a6d77b19c8b0bdde623415c643a151fb550c57ff4e52b3c2431355f" data-rendition-name="original" width="5712" height="3213" loading="lazy" alt="DD"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260413120452_5ccd9a01ee05ce26b71381725108215d0f0d3806508b0cb482aabcfea09bbaef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260413120452_5ccd9a01ee05ce26b71381725108215d0f0d3806508b0cb482aabcfea09bbaef" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="DD"> </figure>  My wife is not just my children’s guardian, but also mine throughout the two decades I was away. I trust her with all my earnings, and she manages our household finances well. She makes sure that the children’s school fees and other expenses are paid on time. These days, with video calls, things have become much easier for me to stay in touch with home.&nbsp; When Ruby told me she wanted to do an engineering diploma, I was happy. Later, her friends inspired her to join politics so she started getting involved with Shram Sanskriti Party. I first found out she got the proportional representation nomination through social media while on my work duty in Saudi Arabia. I was so excited, but even more so when she was elected Deputy Speaker. I was back home in Dhanusha on my vacation at the time.&nbsp; We are overjoyed and waiting for her to come back to the village for a visit when she gets a chance so we can celebrate properly with everyone. I plan to go back to Saudi Arabia as originally planned, I have a good job and will work for maybe five more years. Ruby has taken 75% of the load off my back. She can help take care of her siblings.&nbsp; I sleep at 8PM every day and wake up at 5AM to exercise before my day in Saudi Arabia begins – I have stuck to the same routine for the last two decades and it has worked well for me and my health. I have a good rapport with my boss who is an Egyptian. My requests to resign have often been met with counter-offers to stay on. My honesty and hard work have won me the company's trust. I will go back and resume working as I have, despite my daughter’s huge achievements. I am still a farmer’s son, a simple man who has to fulfil his family responsibilities. My colleagues in Saudi Arabia are aware that Ruby is Deputy Speaker in Nepal’s Parliament, they are all happy for me and have congratulated me. This time, when I go back, I have promised them that I will throw a bakhri party to celebrate my daughter’s achievement.

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