<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203d59c7e80680e0b282bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"/><figcaption>Bhakta Bahadur Regmi with Rabin and Rabina in Kathmandu last week speaking about a traumatic tragedy 20 years ago that changed their lives. All photos: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>It was exactly 20 years ago that Rabina Regmi and her brother Rabin were travelling with their parents when their bus was attacked with petrol bombs by Maoists along the East-West Highway in Sarlahi.As the fire spread, the driver lost control and the bus toppled over into a ditch. Rabina, aged 5 and Rabin, 3, and their mother, Anju, were the last to be rescued.All three suffered severe burns, and a video taken at the time shows the two children huddled around their mother, crying and in shock.Anju died after two weeks of pain and agony in a hospital in Raxaul. Rabina had burns all over her face, her hands and stomach. Rabin had burns on his face, a gash on his head, deep cut on his leg and his left hand was broken. Two other passengers also lost their lives in the attack.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=2681#.Yd3XUy8w3u1">Rabin and Rabina</a>, Nepali Times<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203d89c7e80680e0b282cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="632"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203db9c7e80680e0b282djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="427"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203de9c7e80680e0b282ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203e19c7e80680e0b282fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="162" height="462">After Nepali Times reporter <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4138#.Yd01MmhBxPZ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D4138%23.Yd01MmhBxPZ&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1642003161641000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3xCd8ewhrV9Mu4ia5bOtYQ">Naresh Newar’s story</a> appeared in this newspaper in 2002 (left), the tragedy came to represent the face of a meaningless war, and there was an <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10418#.Yd01s2hBxPZ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D10418%23.Yd01s2hBxPZ&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1642003161641000&amp;usg=AOvVaw0k9ll2ElmCFl161aiP0SgQ">outpouring of support from readers</a>. Sushma Koirala Memorial Hospital offered <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4485#.Yd01uGhBxPZ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D4485%23.Yd01uGhBxPZ&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1642003161641000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2vHaXELYbwVRMJ58aPNrLT">reconstructive surgery to the children</a>, and Bright Horizon Children’s Home and School took responsibility for their education till college.“Telling their story was important because there wasn’t enough coverage on how the war was affecting children,” says Naresh Newar. “The Maoist were attacking public spaces without regards to who may be affected from their actions, this story showed the victim’s side of story.”Newar followed up with the family numerous times and is grateful for the positive impact it had for the family. The last time he met them, the siblings were happily settled in at the school.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1fsjRXaEHUThe Regmi family's tragedy and ordeal was depicted in <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nation-sibling-war-juna-rai,731">A People War</a>, a photo book trilogy curated by Kunda Dixit and featured in Kesang Tseten and Prem BK's documentary <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2009/10/27/a-state-of-lawlessness/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Frames of War</a> (clip, above).   Now aged 25 and 23, Rabina and Rabin still bear scars from the tragedy, but are determined to not let their past hold them back. Rabina is a final year BBA student at Global College of Management and wants to get into banking. Rabin is doing his BSc in Agriculture from Chandigarh University. After the campus closed last year due to the pandemic, he in Kathmandu attending online classes.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4138#.Yd3XSS8w3u1" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Why the children?</a>, Naresh Newar<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203e39c7e80680e0b2830jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203e69c7e80680e0b2831jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640">Their father Bhakta Bahadur Regmi is a forest ranger stationed in Hetauda, the same job he had 20 years ago. He is grateful for all the help his children have got over the years from the school, hospital, and others, but says it has been two decades of struggle without their mother.There has been no help from the state. “Everywhere we go, they ask for identification cards proving that we are conflict victims. But we don’t have any papers to prove that,” he says. Even today, he carries a folder of newspaper cuttings and old medical records of his children.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203e99c7e80680e0b2832jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640">The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was mandated to provide identification cards to conflict survivors, and inform them about investigations into war crimes. But without political connections, and no time to scour many government offices, Bhakta Bahadur and his family have been left to fend for themselves. The attackers were never identified and did not have to answer for their crime.For the past 20 years, Rabina and Rabin have needed numerous operations to heal their wounds, including reconstructive and orthopedic surgery, laser treatment, even hair transplant. The fees for surgeries are waived or subsidised, but the cost of travel, medicines and hospital stay add up.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12867#.Yd3XRy8w3u1">New life</a>, Naresh Newar<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203ec9c7e80680e0b2833jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640">In 2015, when Rabina was getting another of her laser treatments for burn scars, the Indian blockade led to a shortage of medicines. “The doctors had to perform the procedure without anesthesia and it was very painful,” recalls Bhakta Bahadur. Later, her wounds got infected and she had to get it treated again. Rabin has not had laser surgery due to financial constraints.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/psychological-scars-%20of-maoist-conflict-on-young-survivors-take-longer-to-heal,1519" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Post-conflict stress syndrome</a>, Taylor Caldwell<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203f09c7e80680e0b2834jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="161" height="242">At Bright Horizon, the siblings aced their studies. Rabin passed his SEE with a GPA of 3.85, the highest from his batch. Rabina was also a good student, and the school is still helping them with college fees, while their father struggles to cover other costs.The first year Rabina was at the boarding school, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12867#.Yd0szmhBxPZ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id%3D12867%23.Yd0szmhBxPZ&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1642003161641000&amp;usg=AOvVaw1HzBsDJ5lqZZQWUUsNOHQp">she ran away</a>. “I did not know anyone there and I missed home,” she says. “But later, it became our home. Both of us made life-long friends there.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203f29c7e80680e0b2835jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="161" height="242">Bhakta Bahadur describes Rabina as the calm one. Rabin on the other hand was a mischievous little boy. He says, “Both of them felt at home at Bright Horizon, when I went to pick them up during holidays, they’d refuse to come home saying their mother wasn’t there.”Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4485#.Yd3XUS8w3u1" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Rabina and Rabin in hospital</a>, Naresh NewarAt school, Rabina made it a point to look out for her brother. Every time Rabin got into fights with his friends, his elder sister would come to his rescue. Today, the two share their hopes and dreams, supporting each other and hope to take care of their father who has sacrificed all to raise them.Weary of the country’s situation, Rabina now wants to go abroad for her MBA. Rabin wants to complete his MSc and then try for the civil exams. “The two of us came to the conclusion that one of us should go abroad and the other should stay back,” says Rabin. “We have seen how much difference having a family member abroad makes for the economic wellbeing of families.”Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10418#.Yd3XTy8w3u1" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Rs 199,349 for Rabina and Rabin Regmi</a>, Nepali Times<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203f59c7e80680e0b2836jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="363" height="242">Having brought up the children on his own, Bhakta Bahadur still worries about their future. But he is happy the two have become responsible young adults ready to take charge of their own lives.Rabina says with determination, “We have had to depend on our father for so long. Now, we want to look after him, and our family.”Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13966#.Yd3XSi8w3u1">Remembering hell</a>, Nepali Times<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/burning-in-the-aftermath,3757" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Burning in the aftermath</a>, Sahina Shrestha

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The scars of war

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203b79c7e80680e0b2821jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="695"/><figcaption>Tsering Sumjok Gurung with German plastic surgeon André Borsche (left) and Peter Hinze (right). Borsche had treated her childhood injury at the Sushma Koirala Memorial Hospital in Kathmandu. All photos courtesy: PETER HINZE</figcaption></figure>Last November, in the waiting room of a hospital in Bad Kreuznach in Germany, Tsering Sumjok Gurung caught glimpse of a familiar face.The tall man with graying hair and moustache was wearing a white coat over a yellow jumper. He was none other than plastic surgeon André Borsche who had treated her horrific childhood burn injury at the <a href="https://www.skmt.org.np">Sushma Koirala Memorial</a> Hospital in Kathmandu ten years previously.“It was an emotional reunion for both of us,” Tsering, now 23, remembers. “He was very friendly and wanted to see how my injuries had healed.”Tsering was 18 months old that summer when her family made the annual migration up to high pasture to graze their yaks. One day, while her mother was tending the livestock, Tsering fell off her crib right into the fireplace. She was badly burnt on her back, and right arm.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/A-burning-desire-to-help,881">A burning desire to help</a>, Kunda Dixit<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203ba9c7e80680e0b2822jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="308" height="462">There were no doctors in her village of Bhijer, so she was treated for the next four years by the local <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/I-am-an-amchi,3349" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">amchi healer</a>. This kept her alive, but the skin on her right arm was fused with the torso. All her childhood, Tsering was carried around in a doko bamboo basket.“Burns are common in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/dazzling-dolpo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dolpo</a> because home life revolves around the kitchen fire,” says Tsering. “I was lucky.”Despite being painful to move around, Tsering started going to school in Bhijer and excelled in studies. In Grade 2, a group of wealthy American and Swiss trekkers visited the school that they had supported. They noticed Tsering, examined her injuries, and helped bring her to Kathmandu for school and treatment. Over the years, the two families have also funded a hospital and a cheese factory in the village.Tsering used to watch her classmates in Kathmandu run and play, or dance in school programs, but could not participate because of her injury. She was eventually admitted to the Sushma Koirala Hospital, which is supported by INTERPLAST-Germany, where André Borsche and his team performed five major operations with reconstructive surgery. Every week, she had to make a painful bus ride from her dorm in Boudha to the hospital in Sankhu for physiotherapy and follow-ups.She missed many classes, but she made up for it by reading books which inspired her to become a doctor, so she could serve her community in Dolpo. Not able to afford higher education, in 2017 she started working as a hostel warden at a school in Chobar.That is when she met German journalist Peter Hinze who was researching his first book on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/The-Great-Himalaya-Trail/dp/3957281377" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.amazon.com/The-Great-Himalaya-Trail/dp/3957281377&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1641892465582000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3DjWYFudXKEdEQ0H4UlQmW">The Great Himalayan Trail, </a>and Tsering later travelled with him to Upper Dolpo to make a film with herself as the lead character.Tsering was back in Bhijer for the first time in ten years, and her family and neighbours were surprised how much she had grown and changed. Her injuries were not visible anymore, and no one could believe that a little girl who had such terrible injuries would be so transformed.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18771#.Ydv72C8w3u0">Lending a hand</a>, Nepali Times“I met the right people who helped me get treatment otherwise my life would have been different,” Tsering says. “Even now, there are many children in my neighbouring villages who are not as fortunate.”The film project was cancelled because of the pandemic, but Hinze converted the research into the book 100000 Schritte zum Glück about Dolpo, and invited Tsering to Germany for the unveiling in November. The book made it to number 4 on Amazon's best seller list in Germany.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203bd9c7e80680e0b2823jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="169" height="242">And he had a surprise in store – a meeting with the surgeon who had treated her in Kathmandu all those years ago. It was an emotional and joyful reunion.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203bf9c7e80680e0b2824jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="641"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“This was one of the best days in my 26-year career, when I could see the wonderful result of our charity work,” said André Borsche.Tsering was equally happy: “I made it from my family stone hut in Bhijer to the hospital in Germany to meet the surgeon who changed my life.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-acid-attack-survivors-find-a-saviour/">Nepal’s acid attack survivors find a saviour</a>, Sabina Devkota<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111410110/637203c19c7e80680e0b2825jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="750" height="1000">In the hospital, Borsche examined her burn scars and was satisfied with how well her back had healed. He suggested one more operation, but Tsering refused any more treatment.“I am over medical procedures for now,” Tsering told Nepali Times on her return from Germany. “After all those surgeries, I am put off by the sight of blood. I don’t want to think about the pain afterwards. For now I think I am ok.”These days, when Tsering is not busy with her full-time work at the Chobar school, she helps Hinze with Project Dolpo, a private initiative to help those who need assistance in her home district. She gets frequent calls from families in Dolpo who are in distress.Says Hinze: “I think this is a motivating story about a girl who never gave up, and who trusted herself. It shows how when help gets to the right people, the underprivileged and the almost forgotten, it can make a big difference to their lives.”This past week in Kathmandu, Tsering has been busy taking a seven-year-old boy from Dolpo who was also badly burnt with boiling water, and was brought to Kathmandu for treatment. Tsering has been taking the patient to the burns hospital in Kirtipur for medical attention.“It happened to me, and now to this boy. These accidents occur so frequently and Upper Dolpo just does not have the facilities to treat burn injuries,” says Tsering.For now, she wants to complete her education and ultimately return to Dolpo: “I feel it is my responsibility to give back to my community. The only way my village is going to develop is when young people like me get educated, and head back to help others like us. There is so much to do.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-prolonged-trauma-of-acid-attack-survivors/">The prolonged trauma of acid attack survivors</a>, Laxmi Basnet

Tsering Sumjok is all right

Sha Bahadur Gurung was 30 years old when he was arrested for participating in a peaceful protest. He died aged 65 last week in Bhutan’s Chamgang Central Prison. He was among 31 prisoners of conscience in Bhutan, many of whom are serving long sentences for opposing the regime’s forcible expulsion of 100,000 of its Lhotsampa people in the early 1990s. ‘Mr Gurung died on 15 December in his prison cell under circumstances that raise serious concerns about custodial negligence and long-term abuse,” said a statement by the Global Campaign for the Release of Political Prisoners in Bhutan (GCRPPB) based in The Hague which demanded an external probe, justice and release of remaining political prisoners. Gurung was from Chirang and was arrested in 1990 while serving in the Royal Bhutan Army, and accused of having sympathies for the Lhotsampa people. He was mostly held at the notorious Rabuna Prison in Wangdi Phodrang District.&nbsp; Gurung’s relatives in the United States said he had endured prolonged physical and psychological abuse during his imprisonment, and repeatedly subjected to torture and inhumane treatment. They believe the decades of ill-treatment had damaged his health, ultimately leading to his death. Earlier this month, Gurung was transferred from Rabuna to Chamgang Central Prison. On 14 December. He had gone to bed after dinner without any visible sign of distress. He was found unconscious in his cell the next morning.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224151248_5fc8305ecd320d89b9e343c04a1a897dc1353353da55b6d277f5398034b265ea.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251224151248_5fc8305ecd320d89b9e343c04a1a897dc1353353da55b6d277f5398034b265ea" data-rendition-name="original" width="902" height="1103" loading="lazy" alt="Sha Bahadur Gurung NT"> <figcaption>Sha Bahadur Gurung, who died at age 65 in prison in Bhutan after serving 30 years for expressing political opinion.</figcaption> </figure>  He was referred to a hospital in Thimphu, suggesting that he was still alive during transfer to a local health post. But it appears that he had already died before being taken from prison. Gurung’s death occurred two days before Bhutan’s National Day on 17 December, when families, supporters, and human rights advocates worldwide had hoped for the release of political prisoners through a royal amnesty. Instead, the death of one of the longest-serving political prisoners has caused grief and anger in the Bhutanese diaspora.&nbsp; “We strongly condemn the treatment and death of Gurung, a peaceful and justice-loving Bhutanese citizen,” the V statement said. ‘This tragedy raises serious questions about the treatment of political prisoners in Bhutan and stands in stark contrast to the country’s international image under the principles of Gross National Happiness, compassion, and mindfulness.’ Earlier this year, The <a href="https://www.ohchr.org/en/special-procedures/wg-arbitrary-detention/opinions-adopted-working-group-arbitrary-detention/opinions-adopted-working-group-arbitrary-detention-its-101st-session" target="_blank">United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention</a> said the Bhutan government was detaining citizens without parole for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/detainees-in-dire-straits-in-bhutan-s-prisons" target="_blank">expressing political opinion</a>. The New York-based Human Rights Watch (HRW) said in 2023 that there were least 37 <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/03/13/bhutan-free-long-term-political-prisoners" target="_blank">political prisoners</a> in Bhutan’s jails. Of them, 32 belong to the Nepali-speaking Lhotshampa community, which has faced <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2003/06/18/nepal-bhutanese-refugees-rendered-stateless" target="_blank">decades of discrimination and abuse</a> and eviction. Most of them were convicted because of prohibited political activity between 1990 and 2008. One political prisoner, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/no-country-for-dissent?fbclid=IwAR07lpitMBWAYSkny_3d_smQBlmoxAOQm1OxdNtl-27h8mV0RNO9IxVY2qs" target="_blank">Madhukar Monger</a>, who was released in 2023 after serving 29 years described brutal conditions in <a href="https://www.hrw.org/asia/bhutan" target="_blank">Bhutan</a>'s jails. Political prisoners were not given enough food, and medical care, he said, urging the internaitoonal community to press for the release of prisoners of conscience.&nbsp; In March, <a href="https://www.hrw.org/about/people/meenakshi-ganguly" target="_blank">Meenakshi Ganguly</a>, Deputy Asia director at Human Rights Watch, urged Bhutan’s international partners to call on the Bhutan government to release all remaining political prisoners immediately.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224161216_9d11a78ed5490091c595341900e4c26f5c0dd0328718f6930ef19c1e9b7f95a6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20251224161216_9d11a78ed5490091c595341900e4c26f5c0dd0328718f6930ef19c1e9b7f95a6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1422" loading="lazy" alt="Bhutan political prisoners NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251224161216_176855f3d3df42d24ac7e77372bbf49115695b732a6c094a66267e969111dfca.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20251224161216_176855f3d3df42d24ac7e77372bbf49115695b732a6c094a66267e969111dfca" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1420" loading="lazy" alt="Bhutan political prisoners NT"> </figure>  &nbsp;

Bhutan political prisoner dies in detention

‘Get out of my house.’ ‘All my sickness is because of you.’ ‘You’re a millstone around my neck.’ Arundhati Roy heard these admonitions from her mother over and over throughout her life.&nbsp; This must be a singular, yet universal experience. There must be very few daughters who make it through life unscathed by their mothers. And vice-versa.&nbsp; How many of our mothers look at us and see in us the potential of all of the lives they could have lived? How many resent us for it, or want us to live those lives in their stead? And how many of us look back at our mothers and imagine what they would have achieved had they not been expected and assigned to play the role of wife, daughter-in-law, mother — had we never existed in their lives? How many mothers project their experiences onto their own daughters and continue the cycle? No daughter seems to escape it — no matter how well-behaved, docile, unruly, or rebellious. Certainly not the child who would go on to become a Booker prize-winning author. Arundhati Roy’s memoir Mother Mary Comes To Me chronicles her complex relationship with her mother Mary, or Mrs Roy, as her educator mother had her two children refer to her. In December, Arundhati Roy was in Kathmandu to sign books and briefly interact with readers at two bookshops in the city. She describes a childhood overshadowed by her mother’s volatility towards her and her brother. Mary herself was raised by an abusive father to escape whom she married the first man who proposed — Arundhati’s father who in her mother’s words turned out to be an alcoholic ‘Nothing Man’.&nbsp; Mary left her husband in Assam and eventually wound up with her two children in her town of Aymanam in Kerala, encountering other family members along the way who did not treat her, or her children with respect. The trauma and cruelty her mother endured could not be contained in her body, and spilled out onto her two children, towards whom she was physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive.&nbsp; While she treated her children with disregard, she would build a school in the nearby town of Kottayam from the ground up, educate thousands of children, take up a legal fight that led to the Supreme Court granting Syrian Christian women in India equal inheritance rights, and uplift many orphaned children and women in Kerala.&nbsp; Arundhati lived with both her mother’s brutality and brilliance. And like her daughter, readers must reconcile the indefensible parts of Mary Roy’s personality — the cruelty of calling her nine-year-old daughter a bitch, or shooting the family dog that mated with a stray — with her unyielding drive to educate thousands, fight for equal rights, and challenge the way her world viewed women.&nbsp; Mrs Roy had little kindness for her own children, but plenty for the students, children, and women whose lives she shaped, and made better. And her kindness was not rooted in empathy, but in anger at the hand she had been dealt in life. Eventually, Arundhati decided to temporarily cut all contact with Mrs Roy — not because she did not love her, she writes, but so that she could continue to love her. Her desire to get away from her abusive mother, and her fascination with the ideas inspired by the architect who built her mother’s school, would lead her to the Delhi School of Architecture at age 16. In Delhi, Arundhati became roommates with Hisila Yami before she and her Maoist ideologue husband Baburam Bhattarai went underground to lead Nepal’s decade-long armed struggle. &nbsp; But architecture was not her calling. In Delhi, the heart of India’s statecraft, Arundhati came into young adulthood against a backdrop of the country’s changing socio-politics, which began to take a turn for the hyper-nationalist, Hindu supremacist community that it has now largely become. The winds of those changes have now blown into Nepal. In the city, far from her mother, Arundhati met the man who would become her partner of many years, collaborating with him on several films and screenplays before finding the language (‘I needed to hunt [language] down like prey,’ she writes) she needed to become the writer she is now.&nbsp; She went on to write her Booker prize-winning novel The God of Small Things, but the wealth and status the book brought her did not sit comfortably. So she smashed her newly-built gilded cage, as she describes it, and became more political. Contrary to norm, she published several works of non-fiction, and would only publish her second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, in 2017, 20 years after The God of Small Things. &nbsp;&nbsp; Her fierce opposition to India’s nuclear policies, to a dam that would displace millions of indigenous people and ecologically damage the Narmada Valley, her championing of Kashmiri self-determination, and her time spent with Maoist rebels in the forests of Chhattisgarh as they took up arms to defend their land and resources against corporate interests made her an enemy of the state.&nbsp; Meanwhile, being raised by a single mother had never sat well within her Syrian Christian community. ‘I wasn't Christian enough. I wasn't Hindu enough. I wasn't communist enough. I wasn't enough,’ Roy writes in her memoir. For all her love for India, the nation did not seem to reciprocate. The circumstances might be different, but it might strike a chord with readers in Nepal, many of whom marched on the streets in September hoping for a better tomorrow, but were gunned down by the very institutions meant to protect them. It might resonate with those who are not seen as citizens of this nation simply because they might not fit into an imagined idea of Nepali nationhood.&nbsp; Arundhati’s relationship with her mother, who was simultaneously proud and disdainful of her daughter’s accomplishments, continued to be tumultuous until the end of Mary Roy’s life.&nbsp; One of Mrs Roy’s last messages to her daughter before she passed was: ‘There is no one in the world whom I have loved more than you.’ Arundhati muses that her lifelong refusal to stop loving her mother must have finally breached her barriers. One wonders if that final declaration of love was solace enough, apology enough, for all the pain caused.&nbsp; But for Arundhati Roy, her love for her mother and her motherland outweighs the cruelty both have shown her. This, too, must be a singular, yet universal experience.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025122208128_32b171acb09df2184495367b74efd91fe2896b0f5ba75b276e1533276268761c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Mother Mary Comes to Me review"> </figure>

The sins of our mothers

When Winston Churchill addressed the Canadian Parliament in December 1941, he recalled that generals of Nazi-occupied France had said that England would “have her neck wrung like a chicken”. Churchill went on to quip: “Some chicken.” As the laughter and applause subsided, he added: “Some neck.” (Even longer laughter and applause) We do not know who first started calling the narrow corridor that joins India to its northeastern states a 'Chicken’s Neck', but there also was the hint of a Churcillian connotation. Akhilesh Upadhayay in his new book In the Margins of the Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck, uses this strip as an entry point to explore a region adjoining Nepal, Bhutan, China, Sikkim, Darjeeling, India’s northeast and the tectonics that shaped its geo-strategic terrain.&nbsp; Upadhyay’s Chicken Neck is an organic whole, connected through centuries by transboundary traders, travellers, monks, spies, missionaries, mountaineers, and more. And as infrastructure and connectivity improves, smaller countries like Nepal and Bhutan (and earlier Sikkim) are caught up in the region’s rivalries. The tri-junction of the Chicken’s Neck is a potential flashpoint that has obsessed India’s military strategists ever since Partition in 1947 and the formation of East Pakistan, and the Chinese annexation of Tibet. India found itself squeezed between Chumbi Valley in China to the north and Pakistan to the south. So, when Sikkim started acting too independent for its own good 50 years ago, India engineered its annexation and turned it into its 22nd state. The 1962 Sino-Indian war elevated its strategic importance even more. Alarm bells ring in New Delhi each time there is trouble around the Chicken’s Neck: the Naxalite uprising had to be swiftly crushed, the Indian military moved in to liberate Bangladesh, Gorkhaland and ULFA activities were dangerously nearby, Bhutan had to be appeased. Every once in a while things would flare up between India and China, as in the 2017 Doklam standoff.&nbsp; And last year’s regime change in Bangladesh has rattled New Delhi enough to deploy its Rafael fighters and BrahMos cruise missiles in the Chicken’s Neck. It is now the most densely militarised strip of real estate in this part of the world. &nbsp; As a journalist and former editor of Kathmandu Post, Upadhyay also peers at the Chicken’s Neck through Nepal’s perspective. After all, Jhapa (where the author is originally from) sits right there astride India’s strategic lifeline.&nbsp; Geopolitics is at the front and centre of the book that takes readers back to the time Nepal was a closed Himalayan kingdom.&nbsp; Nepal may be a yam between two boulders, but it may just as well be a thicker Chicken’s Neck as far as New Delhi and Beijing are concerned. Nepal’s rulers have always had to walk the tightrope between China and India. Khampa guerrillas, covertly helped by American and Indian intelligence, raided Chinese military convoys from bases in Nepal, and King Mahendra had to do some intricate diplomatic footwork. India is often described as Nepal’s closest friend, but our relations with China go back as long in terms of the Lhasa trade, Bhrikuti and Arniko, religious exchanges and people-to-people relations. While Nepali researchers are wary of touching on Chinese, Indian or American sensitivities, Upadhyay’s journalistic background means he has no qualms about tackling the subject head-on, and objectively. He spent more than a year researching the book, sniffing around Siliguri, Bagdogra, Naxalbari, Darjeeling and the villages on the Jhapa side. Then he travelled to Olangchung Gola to listen to ordinary people of the Himalayan rimlands. Despite the perception about rigid frontiers between nation states, the book hints at how absurd the notion is. The Chicken’s Neck is also a wild elephant migration corridor, disturbed by the India-Bangladesh border fence, new expressway embankments, airport runways, and expanding cities. Similarly, the people on the Nepal-tibet border used to cross over to graze yaks — this expanded the gene pools of not just the yaks but also the nomadic humans who moved with the herds.&nbsp; Despite the hard borders, trade flourishes. Upadhyay marvels that a shop in Phungling in Taplejung has embroidered saris from Siliguri and fluffy jackets from China. he finds that residents in the northeastern and southeastern tips of Nepal have more in common with kin across the border in Tibet or India than with someone from Kathmandu. Nepal was once one of the biggest trade hubs in ancient times, and our products were treated as equals in Indian border cities. People too, could move freely, especially if they were and are from bordering Tarai cities.&nbsp; Nepal’s rich history and culture was shaped by the proximity to neighbours, and despite borders it is still cemented by marriages and trade — especially in the Nepali-speaking lands to the east. Its geographical positioning makes Nepal not landlocked but land-linked, adjacent to the largest emerging economies of the world. Nepal needs to deploy its soft power with effective diplomacy to take advantage of these two empires, and not be choked by their rivalry. The book was going to press when the GenZ protests ignited in September, but Upadhyay nevertheless managed to insert the current political transition into the pages with deft editing. &nbsp;The final section of the book examines at least three possible scenarios that may unfold as South Asia continues to be shaped by great power rivalries and imperial contests that have weakened the unilateral influence of the west.&nbsp; Akhilesh Upadhyay extrapolates from the Chicken’s Neck, zooming out for a wider perspective on the Subcontinent. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121912124_0ae772e7736a65f53a99599b5724ca133a64fdea0e61c7170ea81f9dd95c7af0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="In the Margins of Empires: A History of the Chicken’s Neck NT"> </figure>

Some chicken, some neck

Samrat Upadhyay’s newest novel <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/10/books/review/darkmotherland-samrat-upadhyay.html" target="_blank">Darkmotherland</a> imagines a Kathmandu in political turmoil after a large earthquake. In the aftermath, Home Minister Giridharilal Bhagirath Kumar stages a ‘koo’, and has convinced people that he is the answer to the crisis.&nbsp; He is now known as ‘PM Papa’, and picks up classic dictatorial ways — propaganda, statue-making, history-revising, and a gang of Shiva-worshipping ‘Fundys’.&nbsp; We are introduced to two complicated protagonists. The first is Kranti, a fetching young woman and ‘Madam Mao’, her Communist professor mother. The chef father loved classic rock and died by gas cylinder suicide. Kranti hates her mother, and the Communist group which congregates at her home to plot against PM Papa, although they seem to take forever to get anything done.&nbsp; Kranti has a complicated relationship with the handsome Bhaskar, the middle son of the Ghimirey family oligarchy that is aligned with the dictator. She loves him, but as Bhaskar gets more and more involved with her mother and the Communist group, finds herself heading out to the ‘Bhurey’ (Bhu-kampa Rey-fugee) tents, to spend time with poet Kabiraj.&nbsp; Kranti is also given to delusions, paranoia, and psychosis, convinced that Bhaskar’s family is spying on her, and that one in the Communist group has supernatural powers of suggestion that led to her father’s suicide. Despite mental issues, she marries Bhaskar and into the Ghimirey clan, and the complex nexus between business and politics.&nbsp; The second is Rozy, initially the genderqueer lover of PM Papa who he discovered in the streets, and is described as a ‘gorgeous homosexual’. She turns heads due to her sexuality and beauty, and gets more and more politically powerful as the story moves along.&nbsp; Upadhyay tells us Nepali writers writing in English often feel a pressure to create an “all-embracing world” (interview), but that is what he seems to be getting at with the monumental plot of his novel. Unlike the realism in his previous novels, this one drifts off into magical realism. His narrative blends the ever-present risk of a big earthquake and the actuality of political tremors. The speed of political upheaval seems a little unrealistic for anyone who lived through the 2015 earthquake, although the GenZ protests showed just how quickly a regime can be reduced to a heap of rubble. The age-old question: oppression can be overcome, but what comes after? The PM Papa character is a Gyanendra-Oli-Deuba-Prachanda-Modi-Trump-Papa Doc composite who is good friends with the not even thinly veiled President Corn Hair.&nbsp; Through the character of Kranti, Upadhyay conveys the dynamic between a parent and a child who is now a full adult, on relationships in Kathmandu as marriage looms, on pervasive corruption which one might denounce but have to take advantage of to get things done.&nbsp; Through Rozy, Upadhyay brings attention to the non-binary identity, one that has existed forever in Nepal, and although is discussed a lot in the West lately but not so much here. Upadhyay explores the origins, the present, and the various advantages and disadvantages of the queer.&nbsp; Storytelling in the early parts of the book oscillates between the real and absurd fantasy amidst the physical and political backdrop that does not have to be Nepal -- it could be Modi's India or Trump's America.&nbsp; The reader sees the world through Kranti’s psychosis, or PM Papa’s displays of power, such as when a ‘Sweej’ wrestler is beaten to death with a mace in a wrestling spectacle.&nbsp; These elements <a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/authors/profiles/article/96329-samrat-upadhyay-wants-you-to-expect-the-unexpected.html" target="_blank">coagulate in the novel</a>, and Upadhyay has all the pages at his disposal to prod and push them against one another to see what happens. The novel is still at its best and most engaging when describing vulnerable scenes, of Kranti and her mister, or of Rozy’s messed-up childhood.&nbsp; Any Nepali reading his weighty novel can recognise the allusions and nudges such as the Tourist Area: Thamel, Open Stage: Khula Manch, Tri-Moon: Tri-Chandra etc. But anyone not from these parts may have a tough time keeping track. Keeping a notebook handy may be useful.&nbsp; Ultimately, the novel does work, it provokes and entertains. For best results, serialise the reading over 30 days, not 3 like this reviewer.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025122005124_88d92d9a2c5718436354d9c1ce6a2576931ef3242a37f6b90d84da15fe96dd8d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Darkmotherland NT"> </figure>  <h2>More things change, more they remain the same</h2> First US-published Nepali Samrat Upadhyay is the award-winning author of novels and short story collections like Arresting God in Kathmandu, The City Son, Mad Country, and Buddha’s Orphans. Upadhyay is also the Martha C. Kraft Professor of Humanities at Indiana University, where he teaches Creative Writing.&nbsp; Recently in Kathmandu, he talked to the Nepali Times over coffee in Boudha about his writing, his teaching, and his newest novel, DARKMOTHERLAND.&nbsp; Nepali Times: Darkmotherland is 732 pages long. What was it like writing a much longer book? Samrat Upadhyay: Torturous Ha ha ha. Around 2014 I started a story. I knew it was going to be a novel. It was about this woman who is accused of being a Mangalik. Then the big earthquake happened in 2015. I was in the US but my parents were still here, they were living in tents. Then I started thinking, what would happen if a dictator came to power. That’s how PM Papa was born. I think mostly because of his character the novel exploded. I had never written a character like him before. I don’t do any plot outlines when I write. Let’s see where it goes. I like the process of writing to lead to discoveries. If I knew everything then I’d get bored. Not knowing where the storyline might go is very exciting. All these different threads started coming in, the character of Kranti started taking on a big role. Her mother, a Communist-leaning professor, started taking shape. Kranti also had a love-interest from an oligarchical family. The novel just took off and I just continued writing. A novel is as long as it needs to be. The initial draft was 1,700 pages. I was writing pretty fast. I don’t pause to see if the sentences are pretty. I whittled it down, and by the time I sent it to my agent it was 1,100 pages. He was able to sell it to Soho Press. I worked with an editor who suggested some further cuts and expansions. The editing part was even harder than the initial writing, because by that time I was tired of looking at the novel. There was a bit of a delay because of Covid, then we got back on track. What’s your daily process of getting the words on paper? I am a morning writer. I get up in the morning and start writing. You can have all kinds of theories but there is this saying, Shut Up and Write. The writing is where the meat is. You encounter difficulties in writing that you may not encounter when thinking about it. I see this in my students. I knew this was a big project so I knew that if I wanted to get it out I would need to write a lot per day. I got a couple fellowships in the university that gave me a few semesters off teaching. I would write for about 4 or 5 hours. Sometimes I would give myself a 1,000 word deadline, but I’m flexible with it if I don’t get there. You have to be kind and patient. What is your inspiration behind the gender-queer character, Rozy? I’ve always been a strong supporter of LGBT. I would say that at this point half of my students are non-binary or on the gender spectrum. Some of them are going through transitions. In some ways Nepal has become more accepting, but in other ways not. I did a workshop with Blue Diamond Society, and heard pretty harrowing stories. I didn’t intend to create a gender-queer character, but it seemed like the novel was demanding that. Especially in terms of the tyrannical stronghold that PM Papa has over the entire country, it made sense that there would be a counterpart, I wanted to put these things in motion and see how they interact. As I was writing Rozy, her character became very formidable. How much do you draw from Nepali politics? Do you form characters off people you know? Not in a very concrete sense, but I’m always drawing from them. I grew up in the Panchayat System, and lived in Lainchaur. The palace was there. The monarchy was such an institution. But then I was in the US, so I wasn’t here when the pro-democracy movement happened. In some ways it felt like things had changed, but were the same in other ways. I feel the same way now. I do draw upon people. I think my father makes an appearance in my work in various forms, I disguise him, of course. You’ve taught creative writing for a while now, how is literature changing?&nbsp; My students are also writing non-binary characters, because they want to be reflected in the stories. This is something new that we didn’t have. White authors, characters were the default. People of Color on the margins. African American and then Hispanic, South Asian authors were always pushing back on this status quo. When I was growing up in the classroom we were reading a lot of white male authors, but in my own life I was reading Salman Rushdie, African, South African friends and writers. My students have a lot more interest in fantasy, many are writing dystopian. One student is writing a novel where the characters start playing a game, and then they enter the game, and an entire new world opens up. On the one hand there are complaints that students aren’t reading enough, which is true, but my students are producing smarter work. Writing that is a lot more insightful. The calibre of discussion in my graduate-level novel writing classes is mind-boggling to me, and makes me want to keep on teaching. Do Nepali writers who write in English feel a certain pressure, from the market or self-imposed, to make their stories more Nepali? My experience for a long time was that there was a pressure, I felt it true in my case, I was supposed to be the representative of every Nepali. But Nepali writers writing in Nepali are not asked, how are you representing Nepal. At that time there was a lot of pressure to write a novel that is all-embracing, that is supposed to speak on all aspects of the country. Politics felt like an integral part of it, that these novels had to make big political statements. I always felt like this was wrong. I mean, people have to write what they want to write. &nbsp;You write what you want to write, and if it resonates with readers, that’s great. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too. Art isn’t going to speak to everyone. We do a competition every couple of years called Writing Nepal. We make a call for stories, and we decide the best ones. I find it refreshing now that the writing isn’t all about Nepal. The best stories are quite varied. What are Nepalis writing about?&nbsp; Several of the stories are about the role of women in our society, done with a lot of nuance, about the sort of multitasking they have to do. Some of it was deeply historical, some dystopian, the coming of AI. Some of them have an old-timey type of feel, and some of them are very modern, contemporary. The general level of art in movies, TV shows, and novels seems to have regressed compared to say the 90s.&nbsp; I don’t think that’s entirely true. Publishing has been harder, for sure, but there are a lot of novels being published every year. My writing workshop had always been a good vehicle for short stories, but a lot of my students now—even undergraduates—are working on novels. I haven’t formulated my thoughts on AI, it is so new and has hit us so hard. Many of my students are using AI, especially when writing response papers to works of literature or peers, which I find appalling. That’s going to be a struggle. I tell my students, who are you fooling? If you feel that you want to be an artist, or a writer, then what’s the point of using AI? AI-generated stories are also just not that good. They’re almost too perfect, too well put-together, making moves that are easy to detect. There is something about human-written stories that are messy and exciting. But there are also plenty of students who want to do original work and don’t want anything to do with AI.

reconstructive-surgery

The scars of war

Tsering Sumjok is all right

Bhutan political prisoner dies in detention

The sins of our mothers

Some chicken, some neck

A dystopian motherland