Nearly 24,000 people died on Nepal’s roads in the last 10 years. In comparison, 17,000 people were killed in the 10 years of the Maoist armed conflict. Covid killed about 12,000 Nepalis.
Nepal’s highways are deadlier than war or pestilence.&nbsp;
Numbers are numbing. But although this epidemic of fatalities is now one of the biggest causes of death nationwide, it gets scant attention from governments, the public and media.
Nepalis have come to accept death on roads as a part of life. All three levels of government shirk from responsibility, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/highway-accidents-are-no-accident-in-nepal">calling them ‘accidents’</a>. And road mortality has become so commonplace that the mainstream press buries the news.The relentless slaughter on our roads is the result of political disinterest, governance malfunction, and public apathy. Nepalis are not dying on roads, they are being killed.
“Road traffic accidents are getting more frequent and there is a direct correlation with the failure of national governance,” says transport expert Chandra B Shrestha. “Local and provincial governments have neither the capacity, nor clarity of their roles. Budgets are poured into building substandard roads.”
Shrestha analysed the tragedy this month on the Chandragiri road that killed a doctor, his parents and two children. Only his wife, a physician, survived because she got out of the car to put a rock behind the wheel of their hatchback that stalled on a steep section.
He says the incline was too steep, the rough surface did not allow it to gather enough speed for the gradient, and the thick dust did not provide adequate traction for the tyres.
Most of the euphemistically called ‘roads’ in Nepal are similar <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/dying-to-travel">death traps</a>. They are not wide enough, do not have the required radius on excessively steep curves, no attention is paid to drainage, and houses are allowed to be built without the required set-back.
“There is no design or planning to begin with, there is a total absence of any engineering,” says Shrestha. “This should be criminal. These are not accidents, but almost deliberate deaths.”&nbsp;
And like all crimes, the perpetrators can be tracked by following the money. Inevitably, it leads to corruption linked to infrastructure budgets to build roads regardless of priority or quality for kickbacks or votes. And when a bus falls off a road, there is <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/traffic-accidents-continue-to-increase-worryingly-in-Nepal,2799">no political will </a>to investigate the root cause in the political economy and lack of accountability.&nbsp;
Apart from faulty highway engineering and absence of safety features, the other factors in <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nation-road-kill,621">road fatalities</a> include driver negligence, carelessness, over-speeding, overloading, and lack of maintenance of vehicles.&nbsp;
Two-wheelers, which used to be confined to cities, have now added a new challenge to highway safety. Motorcycles are involved in 68% of road traffic accidents in Nepal.
“Young people over-speeding in their heavy 600cc bikes are a danger to themselves and others. Moreover, we have found a notable increase in youths driving under substance abuse,” says DIG of Police Bhim Prasad Dhakal, explaining that strict monitoring of drinking and driving has led to an increase in drug use.
Highway deaths make news, but injuries are a major cause of physical disability in Nepal. The numbers are shocking: just last year more than 30,000 people were injured in road crashes. Nearly 6,000 of them had severe spinal or brain trauma needing complicated surgery, rehabilitation and lifelong care.
As Nepal’s road network expands, and with inadequate attention to highway safety as well as lack of timely treatment of trauma victims and rehabilitation, it will be the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/cartel-carnage-highway,3233">poorest Nepalis who will pay the price</a>. And they are the section of society already marginalised and excluded by governments, the public and the media.
“Road crashes perpetuate the vicious cycle of poverty,” says Raju Dhakal of the Spinal Injury Rehabilitation Centre in Sanga. “From expensive medical bills to rehabilitation to lost years of productivity, it represents a huge loss for the nation. Our health system needs to be revamped, and investment is needed for preventive, curative, palliative and rehabilitative care.”
<h2>The main cause of highway deaths: corruption</h2>
The epidemic of fatalities and injuries on Nepal’s highways are no accident, they are a criminal offence
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It is ironic that for something that is considered a vote bank, there is no accountability when it comes to the maintenance of roads to ensure their safety. All 77 districts in Nepal are now connected to the road network but bad roads are a given in this country.&nbsp;
Under federalism, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/federal-express">true devolution of power is yet to be exercised</a> but heavy earth-movers are clawing through the mountains in a misguided notion of ‘development’. A fatalistic society accepts road ‘accidents’ as a price to be paid.&nbsp;
This is one case where corruption kills, yet rarely is power held to account, or wrongdoing punished.&nbsp;
“Road maintenance is not sexy or attractive enough, there is no political or monetary incentive, and there is no budget allocated either for road maintenance,” says transport expert Chandra B Shrestha.
Shrestha was a district transport planning adviser in the 1990s, and says Nepal expanded its road network but left sustainability out of the equation. “Asset maintenance is not even an afterthought,” he says. “What this means is that our roads are non-functional and not cost-effective, among other things.”
Every 14 deaths per 100,000 are caused by road fatalities, which is now the <a href="https://www.nepjol.info/index.php/HPROSPECT/article/view/5666/4664">third biggest cause of death in the 15-29 age group</a>. Three times more men die on the roads than women.
Last year alone, there were nearly 2,500 fatalities on the country’s highways and streets. Yet, the 79 who died in two tragic aviation mishaps in 2023 got vastly more attention in the public sphere.&nbsp;
Every year in Nepal, highways take more lives than floods, landslides, lightning strikes and other disasters put together. An average of 7 people die every day on the roads, and 19 were killed in three separate bus and car crashes in a 24-hour period last week.
As per the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals, Nepal was committed to halving road traffic deaths and injuries by 2020 and providing safe, affordable, accessible, and sustainable transport systems by 2030. We missed the first target. The second is not likely to be met.
Twelve people lost their lives when an over-speeding bus plunged into the Rapti River in Dang in the evening of 12 January. The very next day, a jeep travelling to Dhorpatan in Baglung overturned and killed two. This was followed by the private car that fell 500m from the road on Chandragiri, killing five passengers including two children.&nbsp;
And this is not even the peak season for highway fatalities, which <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/deadly-dasain-on-nepal-s-highways">sees a spike during the Dasain-Tihar festival </a>or during the monsoon. In the last 10 years, there have been a total of 137,395 highway and road crashes in Nepal. A majority of these took place in Kathmandu, and in the Tarai where straighter stretches of road tend to lead to overspeeding. Gandaki and Kosi Provinces are next because of their wider network of mountain roads. &nbsp;
Nepal’s topography and weather are contributory factors, making roads difficult to build and maintain. In addition to being substandard, switchbacks wrap around mountain or roads that follow narrow gorges, traverse treacherous cliffs. During the monsoon, entire sections of arterial highways such as Mugling-Narayanghat are in a permanent state of disrepair.
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The fact that vehicles are regularly falling down mountains on the same section of highways over and over means <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-other-global-pandemic-road-fatalities">lessons are never learnt</a>, no one is accountable. We do not take corrective actions when there are cost-effective solutions readily available.
“Driver carelessness on poorly built and maintained roads is the biggest cause of accidents. So our licensing system must be improved to allow only the qualified people to drive, even then we have to differentiate between heavy and light vehicle licensing,” says DIG Bhim Prasad Dhakal.
He adds: “Equally important are regular tests of public vehicles, better signage, as well as monitoring and patrolling where even the traffic police have areas to improve on.”&nbsp;
Traffic police has introduced time card for long-distance drivers and vehicle owners need to employ two drivers on such routes. New roads like the Midhill Highway are better engineered, have improved signage and guardrails.
Still, because roads with poor safety features are being built all over Nepal, the country needs trauma centres along every stretch of highway and ambulances with emergency equipment pre-positioned at health posts. The government has mandated one trauma centre in each province, and even though more are required even that target has not been met.
“Management of crash sites is of utmost importance, but first responders are often untrained locals who add to the severity of the injuries or even cause the wounded to die during rescue due to mishandling,” says Raju Dhakal of the Spinal Injury Rehabilitation Centre (SIRC) in Sanga.&nbsp;
Trained trauma teams are often too late to arrive, and most victims and their families cannot afford long-term rehabilitation.
A four-month pregnant 20-year-old woman sustained brain injury after a motorbike hit her on the Sindhuli Highway last year. She lost her baby, and her husband had to quit his job to look after her 24/7 after being trained at the Sanga centre.
Many patients that receive rehabilitation therapy at SIRC after highway mishaps are paralysed and require a caretaker round-the-clock. If the person is the sole support, their families become destitute as well. Many children drop out of school, and end up in the streets.&nbsp;
The public must refuse to accept Nepal’s <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/maps-showing-increase-in-road-accident-fatality-rates#google_vignette">poor road safety record</a>. There should be rallies and sit-in’s outside government offices just like there are for other crimes to push the government to take this life-or-death issue more seriously.&nbsp;
Given that road accidents are the biggest killers of children in the 9-15 age group, traffic rules and discipline should be taught in school. Pillion riders should refuse to get on two-wheelers if there is no helmet available for them, cars and bikes should be restricted on pedestrian streets.
Some surveys have also found that using local vehicles reduces accidents. But more often than not, the older less conditioned buses and jeeps operate on rural roads.
The use of CCTVs on highways and major junctions as well as dashcams on public vehicles can help in post-accident investigation and deter reckless driving in the very first place.
“Most of all, it is the government that has the biggest responsibility here,” says Raju Dhakal of the Spinal Injury Rehabilitation Centre in Sanga. “It must seriously revamp everything from licensing, making vehicle tests mandatory, stricter traffic patrolling and actually holding culprits accountable.”
He adds: “The fact that most of the cost for treatment and rehabilitation of road traffic accidents is borne out of pocket by patients’ families has left the government off the hook. The public should refuse to accept this anymore.” &nbsp;

Sonia Awale

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ROADKILL

<figure><img width="800" height="464" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110161124/636d184e9c7e80680e0ac7bajpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photos: ACHYUTRAJ BHANDARI</figcaption></figure>The death toll in a bus plunge in Mugu has reached 32. Twenty-four people died on the spot and eight more during rescue and treatment. The rest, 11 passengers airlifted by helicopters for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/its-an-emergency-nepal-needs-to-improve-trauma-care/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">treatment</a> in Nepalganj, are in critical condition.The overloaded bus lost control and plunged down a steep slope near Rara Lake at about 12:30PM on Tuesday. Initial investigation points to brake failure as the cause of the accident. Most of the 43 passengers were travelling from Nepalganj to Mugu’s Gamgadhi to celebrate Dasain with their families.Also on Tuesday, a passenger bus from Dhangadi to Bajura also fell off the highway, injuring 16. On Monday, another jeep careened off the road and fell off a cliff killing at least eight. It was carrying passengers from Kathmandu travelling to Ghandruk to celebrate Dasain holidays.Nearly 50 people have died on <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/lack-of-trauma-centres-along-nepal’s-highways-worsened-fatality-rate,1383" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s highways</a> in the last two days. The causes range from overloading because of the festival, negligence of drivers, mechanical failure, over-speeding, poor road condition because of a very wet monsoon, and an increasing number of unregulated private vehicles.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/traffic-accidents-continue-to-increase-worryingly-in-Nepal,2799" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Road Traffic Accidents</a> (RTA) in Nepal’s highways are so commonplace that most Nepalis are desensitied by the numbers. An average of seven individuals die in road accidents a day in Nepal and 40 are injured. In fact, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-other-pandemic-road-fatalities/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">more people die on Nepal's highways every year </a>than in all natural disasters combined.In 2019, there were nearly 13,000 highway and road accidents in which 2,736 people lost their lives and 10,731 were seriously injured. Those who survive more often than not have traumatic brain and spinal cord injuries, requiring long-term or life-long rehabilitative care.The total accidents had come down in 2020-2021 because of the pandemic and lockdowns, but is rising again as things get back to normal. <img width="1205" height="741" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110161124/636d18509c7e80680e0ac7bbjpeg.jpg" alt="">According to the <a href="https://www.who.int/publications/i/item/9789241565684">WHO Global Status on Road Safety 2018</a>, only 8 in 100,000 people die of highway and road accidents in developed countries, but the ratio is 27.5 in low-income nations like Nepal.Most of the accidents in Nepal can be prevented by just maintaining the roads and avoiding reckless driving. According to the Ministry of Physical Infrastructure and Transport study, 76% of highway accidents are caused by drivers who do not follow traffic rules or are speeding.To control over-speeding and reckless driving, traffic police at the accident-prone Satdobato-Gwarko road have now deployed speed guns. They penalise up to 100 commuters a day, many of them in motorcycles that are going at 90km/hour on the road with a speed limit of 50km/hour.   <img width="1040" height="556" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110161124/636d18539c7e80680e0ac7bcjpeg.jpg" alt="">A parliamentary committee that had studied RTAs in Nepal two years ago and concluded it as the ninth biggest killer in the country has also given directives to mitigate the problem. But the state of Nepal’s accident-prone roads remains the same. Adding to the challenge are <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/monsoon-hits-nepal-with-a-bang/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">floods and landslides during monsoon</a>,  made more frequent and destructive by <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-doubles-its-carbon-footprint/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">climate change</a>. Sections of major highways have been washed off, cutting off parts of remote Nepal from the rest of the country. Several accidents here don’t even make it to the news or after many days.From July 2014-July 2019, there were a total of 54,000 road accidents in Nepal resulting in 12,000 deaths of people mostly in the age group 15-40 years. <figure><img width="1001" height="546" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110161124/636d18559c7e80680e0ac7bdjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Relatives of those injured or casualties at the Mugu District Hospital in Gamgadi on Wednesday. Photo: NRIPENDRA MALLA </figcaption></figure><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/maps-showing-increase-in-road-accident-fatality-rates" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Available studies</a> reveal that in the last decade, the death rate due to traffic accidents has increased by a whopping 142% and accidents by 178%. Nepal is far from meeting the target set by the United Nations General Assembly to halve the number of<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-other-global-pandemic-road-fatalities/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> road fatalities and injuries </a>by 2030.Last year’s annual report by the Office of the Auditor General (OAG) found that road traffic accidents in Nepal have increased by an annual average of 7% in 2017-18, 22% in 2018-19 and 17% in 2019-20.  <img width="1636" height="942" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110161124/636d18589c7e80680e0ac7bejpeg.jpg" alt="">The<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/how-covid-19-saves-lives-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> slight dip in 2019-20</a> is attributed to five months of Covid-19 lockdown when road fatalities declined by half to less than 700 in March-August 2020, compared to the same period last year. Ironically, hundreds of lives may have been saved by the pandemic.But by the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/this-years-dangerous-dasain/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Dasain-Tihar festival in November 2020</a>, with restrictions removed, the number of deaths on the roads again spiked to 242 after falling to 52 in May, much like this year.For a country where roads are synonymous with development, more people lose their lives on the highways than by infectious diseases. The reason is the focus on quantity over quality, bad engineering and lack of maintenance.

Deadly Dasain on Nepal’s highways

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101152/636b78c99c7e80680e0646bejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Photo: BIKRAM RAI</figcaption></figure>Nearly 2,800 people were killed on Nepal’s roads in the past year: that averages at seven fatalities per day. No data is available for the number of people who suffer such accidents, but thousands are injured seriously enough to be disabled for life. Yet, this <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nation-road-kill,621" target="_blank" rel="noopener">pandemic of road accidents</a> gets much less media attention than COVID-19.Actress and model Mahima Silwal was headed to Chitwan for her wedding  along with her sister Sharmila on 12 February when their scooter was hit by a speeding bus. Mahima was pronounced dead at a nearby clinic. Her sister later died in a Kathmandu hospital.On 26 February CPN-ML General Secretary C P Mainali and several of his family members were injured in a car crash near Bardibas. On 2 March, former Constituent Assembly member Dharma Prasad Ghimire was killed in a crash in Bagdogra of India.News of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-deadly-roads-take-their-toll/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">bus crashes and traffic accidents</a> do not even make it to the news line-up of the mainstream media anymore, unless they are celebrities. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/maps-showing-increase-in-road-accident-fatality-rates" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Yet the numbers killed</a> on Nepal’s roads in the past ten years exceeds the total 17,000 who died during the armed conflict. In fact, road traffic accidents ranked as the number one cause of death among children between 5 and 14 years of age in Nepal.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/when-panic-goes-viral/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">When panic goes viral</a>, Editorial“There has been a big expansion of new roads, but unfortunately highway infrastructure and road discipline enforcement have not kept pace. We need to work on implementation day-by-day,” Minister for Physical Infrastructure and Transport Basanta Kumar Nembang told Nepali Times in Stockholm while attending the Third Global Ministerial Conference on Road Safety here.Along with 140 countries attending the conference, Nepal committed to meeting the World Health Organisation (WHO) goal to halve the number of road fatalities by 2030. According to the WHO’s own statistics, at least 7,000 people were killed worldwide during the two days of the conference – whereas the total known fatalities due to COVID-19 in the past two months was 4,635 as of Thursday.The WHO was holding the Stockholm conference even while the coronavirus was spreading out of China to the rest of the world, but road traffic accidents have long been an endemic cause of mortality and morbidity the world over. WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus said in Stockholm that it was “an outrage” that so many people were dying on the world’s roads every day.“Most road traffic deaths and injuries can be prevented, using tried and tested strategies, and everyone should be a part of the solution,” he told the gathering. But even as the conference came to a close on 20 February, the issue was already being eclipsed by the worldwide coverage of the COVID-19 spread.Since then, there have been at least 150 deaths on Nepal’s roads – mainly from overcrowded jeeps falling off poorly-built mountain roads, or buses overspeeding on highways <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/nation-nepal-highways,622">lacking basic safety features</a> like centreline guard-rails. In the cities, 90% of fatalities involve motorcyclists or pedestrians, indicating poor safety enforcement and low awareness.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-deadly-roads-take-their-toll/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's deadly roads take their toll</a>, Gopal GartaulaWHO says the fatality rate is highest in low- and middle-income South Asian countries like Nepal, Bangladesh, India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka. Poor countries account for 93% of highway fatalities in the world.The United Nations observed 2011-2020 as a Global Decade on Road Safety, proposing to stabilise road traffic deaths and injuries around the world. There were mixed results, with partial success in ensuring better legislation, safer roads and vehicles, mandatory use of helmets and seatbelts. and reduced speeds.The <a href="#1001 March 13datairap.orgabout-us" target="_blank" rel="noopener">International Road Assessment Programme</a> is trying to raise awareness by rating roads by their safety records, and by giving ‘vaccines for roads’ to increase safety features. But very little of the infrastructure promoted by the program exist on Nepal’s roads, most of which are rated only one star out of five. Haphazard road construction in the past decade has not just disfigured the countryside with landslides, but also increased the rate of accidents.More than 200 children were killed on Sweden’s roads every year in the 1970s, but that figure now hovers at about 15. Opening the conference, Swedish King Carl XVI Gustaf said there were tested ways of saving lives.“Road safety should now be linked to other sustainability challenges, such as global health, climate change, equality, poverty and human rights,” the king said.There are now nearly 2.4 million vehicles on Nepal’s roads, and a majority of them are two-wheelers, with 800,000 motorcycles in Kathmandu Valley alone. As the number of vehicles increases, so will the fatality rate.Puspa Raj Pant, a Nepali researcher at the University of West of England in  Bristol, is concerned about the lack of pedestrian crossings, cycle lanes and traffic signals in Nepal as well as lights or crash barriers along winding mountain roads.“We have vaccines to fight killer diseases, but no medicines to reduce road fatalities,” he said. “Education, improved infrastructure and safer vehicles hold the key to improving road safety.”

The other global pandemic: road fatalities

Nepal’s month-long cricket carnival ended on a sunny Saturday in Kathmandu with a final game in which the Lumbini Lions dominated the Sudurpaschim Royals with both bat and ball.&nbsp; The Royals were bowled out for an embarrassing 85, thanks to Namibian Ruben Trumplemann’s three wickets for three runs, and captain Rohit Paudel’s hat-trick in the eleventh over. Only opener Ishan Pandey’s 33 run-innings was of any note.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025121315120_ced9258f9503a03fe53760d5ff420136ea9cfbaf3001512399ec5cafeef25364" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="909" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251213141232_0b712b438a97b49747029e4b3884b0eeba8ec0ff0bfbc5fd3d61cbb2002a16c2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1345" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  The Lions came out with virtually no pressure on them, and Dinesh Adhikari’s 42 off 13 including 27 off the first over bowled by Dipendra Singh Airee won the match. Rohit Paudel came in to finish the match calmly, with 11 overs to spare, scoring two stylish fours and a six before holing out with the Lions on 83.&nbsp; The Lions took comically long to get the final two runs to win the game, losing one more wicket. But it was merely a matter of time, and a single ended the Royal’s misery.&nbsp; As dusk fell, the big fluffy lion mascot was on the field dapping up the Lions as red fireworks went off and Lumbini fans leaped from their seats in the packed stands.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251213141232_ba4c4fde1865c583cf324d253563a0fc96002c31e8381ee85850f71c67515ea9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  This capped off an incredible run from the Lions who had finished dead last in NPL Season 1, and had only one win and three losses after four games. They won the remaining three, finishing fourth, barely qualifying.&nbsp; This meant that they had to play an eliminator last week against the Kathmandu Gorkhas and then a qualifier against the popular Biratnagar Kings, whose squad included Sandeep Lamichhane, Faf du Plessis, and Martin Guptill. They won both in style. For the Royals, however, this was the second disappointing final in a row after being the best team in the group stage in both seasons of the NPL. National team batsman Binod Bhandari had had an excellent tournament for the Royals, but was in tears at having come this far again and fallen short.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251213141228_a90fd0afaeec366416efe314464d6b1152bd9cca011346b77914c2037b6b156e" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="NPL 2"> </figure>  Despite the final being disappointingly less action-packed for the neutral viewer, the final marked the second successful execution of the NPL. The addition of seats and floodlights at the TU Cricket Stadium overlooking Kathmandu made evening games possible and improved the experience for fans.&nbsp; The floodlights also made for some gorgeous photography as the sun set behind Chandragiri, illuminating the Himalaya to the north in gradually fading shades of orange.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Adam Rossington’s 323 runs, including a century, and Sandeep Lamichhane’s 17 wickets were the standout individual performances across the tournament in the past month.&nbsp; The tournament brought out characters much loved by the vociferous crowd, including ‘Taklu’ Irish commentator Andrew Leonard who worked in a Dhaka Topi, British presenter Jess Crowe who donned a Sari for the final, and Chitwan Rhinos’ charismatic mascot Mr Gaida who entertained the crowd with enthusiastic nonstop dancing.&nbsp; The tournament was such a draw that the university grounds looked like a carnival with food and merchandise stalls. The capacity 10,000 stadium drew such a crowd that Kathmandu streets were relatively quiet on Saturday with people also watching the game live on tv at home.&nbsp; Kathmandu’s residents were genuinely delighted at being able to talk about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cricket-carnival">a Nepali cricket tournament</a>, and not about the Indian or English Premier Leagues. And while everyone appreciated the cricket no matter who was playing, fans showed up for their provinces in loud numbers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  The organisers having proven themselves, future NPLs may need more stadiums in other provinces, even better overseas players.&nbsp; Sambhav Sirohiya of the Kathmandu Media Group ambitiously tweeted that he believes that the league could already become the second most valuable franchise cricket league NEXT SEASON, especially if the government would loosen up its regulations of advertising, especially that of alcohol. Nepali cricketers and fans are now better prepared for the T20 World Cup in India and Sri Lanka in February, with the experience of playing in the NPL and with the access to world-class cricket talent and seeing how they go about excelling at the sport.&nbsp;

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

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

The Himalaya is not fragile

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

My father’s son

People like myself were too young during the decade of the Maoist War to remember its horrors. We often wonder what life was truly like back then. Perhaps the closest we have come to experiencing a national crisis of that scale – with the protests, violence, curfews, and political maneuvering – was the GenZ movement in September. How did people cope? What did they fear? What was it like in the cities and &nbsp;villages? How was it that the king still held so much power? What motivated the guerrillas? And, how did &nbsp;ordinary people adjust and endure the war? My curiosity about the war that ended 20 years ago &nbsp;was met with a rollercoaster of emotions with Monica Rana’s debut novel, The Paths We Choose. The novel is not a retelling of events from the vantage of leaders, rebels. It is not about the violence, but a carefully curated perspective of ordinary people caught up in it. It is a glimpse into how the war altered or defined their paths. This is the 'People’s War' from the people’s own perspective. Readers are immediately invested into the lives of two central characters, the sister duo, Sumnima and Rita. The elder radiating from the beginning with her brave and cunning aura, and the latter, more timid and obedient, much of her time absorbed in awe of her sister. The writer’s language flows as effortlessly as the sisters’ strides up the hills to steal mangoes from Dhire Dai’s trees, only to race back down to Rato Mato, carrying us through their journey into adolescence. Amidst the rolling hills, mango trees, life is filled with laughter, adventures, and everyday banter, scenes so serene that they carry an unsettling calm that hints at what lies ahead. Village life is not all painted in romantic hues. The stark reality of poverty, subsistence, and contrast with the comfort of city living are never far away. Amidst these reminders, there runs a humbling truth: happiness once rested on small things, not on the material excess that define urban life. As the pages turn, the title begins to resonate: two sisters, once bound by the same bloodline, shared dreams, and the same roof, are caught in the crosshairs of war and forced onto separate paths. One by choice, and the other by necessity. The story unfolds with the seasons: the relentless monsoon rains, the scorching heat of summer, and a liberating winter that carries bittersweet truths. The year is 2001, as the insurgency intensifies. Against this backdrop, the cousins’ lives diverge. Sumnima is drawn into the rebels’ ranks to 'fight for equality and freedom', while Rita is uprooted, carried across distances, and placed in Seto Bangala as a helping hand among the higher-ups, in her family’s desperate attempt to secure her a better life after their village is reduced to a 'ghost city' by violent attacks. There are betrayals and beginnings, high palaces and humble hills, royals and rurals, identity and ideology, loss and lament, distance and discovery. Through upheavals, tears, and struggles, one thing remains constant: both sisters wonder about the other. They care. They long to reconnect. They hold fast to the dream they once shared to open a guesthouse in their village someday. A dream to simply live with no fear. To be free. To be happy. And, to be together. The writing illuminates vital themes: innocent people caught up in strife, the vast chasm of class from royals dining on silver plates to villagers back home hiding their last grain to save it from looters. And discrimination so stark it was as if people carried labels on their foreheads, marked by caste, skin colour, and gender. The sisters eventually reunite, but their journey is not an easy one, and what lies ahead is far from the future either of them once imagined. One might romanticise it as fate, or might recoil at the harsh reality Monica Rana lays bare: it is often the innocent who bear the heaviest burdens of war. Civilians are trapped between warring sides, enduring hunger, displacement, and violence through no fault of their own. Wars continue to rage across the world. Though the novel does not particularly focus on exposing the horrifying depths of war crimes, it remains a timeless reminder of what the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish once said: “The war will end, and leaders will shake hands. The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son. And those children will keep waiting for their hero father. I don’t know who sold our homeland, but I saw who paid the price.” &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251213031240_2f7c62e392a430082c1627719e014f82b857118e226299e1590d74503387ae93" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="The paths we choose book review"> </figure>