The rugged mountains of Rukum East are all covered in late snow. After a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/first-drought-then-downpour">prolonged drought</a>, it has finally snowed, but it is too late for the high altitude meadows to grow again. They have all dried up. &nbsp; At 3,720m, visitors rarely make it to the high pasture at Ma Kharka. But even until 20 years ago, every family in the village of Lugum brought its sheep and mountain goats for grazing up here. Shepherds with their flocks spent half a year in what used to be cool, green patches of grasslands. Very few do so now. Rassa Gurung, 60, is one the last few shepherds carrying on their <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/village-of-the-climbers">ancestral occupation</a>. “I started coming here as a baby, slung over my mother’s back. We didn’t read and write back then, we all helped our parents tend the sheep,” he says. Gurung knows every corner of this pasture like the back of his hand. His sheep used to graze freely, but now he has to watch out that they do not wander into someone’s farm or enter the nearby community forest.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024021517020_1112590731e0e52430463cd0bbf6e400e24f846d284b2fc42b8010da24b7da70.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2024021517020_1112590731e0e52430463cd0bbf6e400e24f846d284b2fc42b8010da24b7da70" data-rendition-name="original" width="1750" height="995" loading="lazy" alt="Climate crisis ruins Himalayan pastoralists NT"> <figcaption>Rassa Gurung is one the last few shepherds carrying on their ancestral occupation.</figcaption> </figure>  Mt Dhaulagiri looms in the distance, and even that high up there is little snow this year. It looks like a giant dark rock. The sheep are also dying from mysterious causes. “Some 40-50 sheep die every year now, I myself have only 150 sheep now, down from 300 four years ago,” says Gurung. “Most of them die because they eat poisonous grass, as the edible grass does not grow in time. Some are eaten by leopards and bears.” He adds: “It rains when it is not supposed to and it does not snow when it is supposed to. Sometimes it does not snow till March, and other times it does not rain until June, so there is no grass to graze on.” High mountain communities are<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-change-is-a-disaster-in-the-nepal-himalaya"> disproportionately affected by the climate crisis</a>. This year was one of the hottest ones Nepal has experienced. “Farmers are affected directly by the increase in the average temperature. Unpredictable seasonal changes can lead to the growth of new species, and native indigenous plants disappear,” explains climate scientist Ngamindra Dahal. He adds: “Rainfall patterns have also changed. At times we have unseasonal cloudbursts, other times there is no winter rain and we get droughts. The absence of snow has affected sheep herders.”&nbsp; Indeed, new kinds of grasses have started growing and for shepherds like Gurung, there is no way to know if they are edible.&nbsp; Botanist Bhakta Bahadur Raskoti agrees that climate change has affected the growth of edible grass for sheep and goats in high mountain areas. “Because of climate change, grass species from the Tarai are now found in the mountains, while mountain grasses have moved up,” he adds. Shepherd Jore Pun, 43, used to have 350 sheep a few years ago, but now has only 250.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024021517020_6dd609e1837506d6a623b9c6217cae8b7da0909ee445a1d0d1fe13cf277fef87.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2024021517020_6dd609e1837506d6a623b9c6217cae8b7da0909ee445a1d0d1fe13cf277fef87" data-rendition-name="original" width="1250" height="751" loading="lazy" alt="Climate crisis ruins Himalayan pastoralists. NT"> <figcaption>Jore Pun</figcaption> </figure>  Lugum used to be a large sheep farming village in Rukum East. Half of the 400 households here used to herd sheep and goats. Today, there are 500 households but only 35 are pastoralists.&nbsp; The Magar people make up the majority of the Rukum East population. To them, sheep rearing used to be a way of life here. The sheep are sacrificed during their festivals and women make clothing from their wool. With the sheep gone, these traditions are now in decline. “Our grasslands are depleting and sheep rearing has become unfeasible,” says ward chair Mankaji Pun. “Moreover, young men are moving out for jobs in the cities or overseas. They are abandoning their ancestral occupation.” <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/no-country-for-young-men-c89lgrrl">Many men from here have left for the Gulf</a>, Malaysia or India. Youth here are also increasingly taking the backdoor to America. Only the women, the elderly and children are left.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240215190216_a8e5bf8de837acaf13c1c9d966a3316bb7098b3d6c12da9d65323d920445c19b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240215190216_a8e5bf8de837acaf13c1c9d966a3316bb7098b3d6c12da9d65323d920445c19b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Temperature map NT"> </figure>  Every household here has <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepalis-take-backdoor-to-the-american-dream">at least one member in the USA</a>. These families spend as high as Rs6 million to make their way there, borrowed from local lenders at high interest. The ones who remain are averse to hard work. Dilchan Pun Magar of Lugum was rearing sheep until three years ago. He had 200 of them. Unable to make a living, he also kept side jobs. He has now completely given up on sheep rearing and operates a hotel. “We couldn’t modernise sheep farming. It was a lot of work and we barely made any money, so I ended up leaving it altogether,” says Pun Magar. Rassa Gurung is still supporting his family by selling sheep. He says he makes Rs400,000 a year, and the income goes to paying for his children’s education. “But my children are not interested in taking after me, they think it is too much work,” he adds.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024021517020_8a63eabfb7287bf84d8a5a9753b343eec25c4607ed67b8610316d40af46b16ab.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2024021517020_8a63eabfb7287bf84d8a5a9753b343eec25c4607ed67b8610316d40af46b16ab" data-rendition-name="original" width="1523" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Climate crisis ruins Himalayan pastoralists NT"> </figure>  Jore Pun also cites the new generation’s lack of interest as a reason for the decline of sheep farming. He says, “People started going to school. Now everyone is migrating. Sheep farming is a lot of work, after all.” There are still about 22,000 sheep in Rukum East, according to the Ministry of Agriculture and Livestock Development. Two years ago, there were nearly 800,000 sheep across the country. It is now down to 770,000. This decrease in sheep numbers has similarly affected the production of meat, down from 2,964 metric tons last year to 2,880 this year. Wool production has also decreased, from 584,000kg two years ago to 567,412 this year.&nbsp; Translated for the Nepali original published on himalkhabar.com

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Climate crisis ruins Himalayan pastoralists

<img width="800" height="466" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221207101212/639059c09c7e80680e0ce204jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>On 22 November, as results of Nepal’s parliamentary and provincial elections started to roll in, Surul Pun learned that he had been elected to the Lumbini Province assembly.The 44-year-old former guerrilla and loyal member of the Maoist Centre was denied a ticket by his party, so he had contested the election as an independent provincial assembly candidate from Rukum East.Pun defeated his rival, fellow ex-guerrilla Tej Bahadur Oli of the Maoist Centre who is a current member of Lumbini provincial assembly and was supported by the governing coalition.Pun was born in Maikot village and joined the Maoist militia at age 17 when the party launched an armed struggle against the state in 1996. The insurgency lasted ten years, and cost 17,000 lives. Soon after he was recruited, Pun was seriously injured during a battle when a shell exploded next to him. He remembers the day vividly: his comrades left him bleeding in the battlefield promising to come back. “I drank my own urine to keep hydrated and stay alive, even as I was drowning in my own blood,” Pun recalls.He survived after being captured by the security forces, but released because of his wounds. He returned to the underground Maoist, where his commander Nanda Bahadur Pun (currently Nepal’s vice president) advised him to join the party’s political wing because of his diminished physical ability. But Pun refused, and rejoined the militia. After the war ended, Pun was active in the Maoist party serving till recently as a member of the Lumbini Province Committee, but was refused a ticket in the provincial election.“I once rebelled against the state, this time I was forced to rebel against my own party,” Pun said in an <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/133245?fbclid=IwAR0apLUxU8r2JuVYgelfV_qSpy8muLXnEtSk309wsqq_hxWvw9V_041-Xqo" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/133245?fbclid%3DIwAR0apLUxU8r2JuVYgelfV_qSpy8muLXnEtSk309wsqq_hxWvw9V_041-Xqo&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1669554662137000&amp;usg=AOvVaw0p1I7dkkRoNsytmULkT-nK">interview with Himal Khabar</a>. The party took action against Pun, and this convinced him that he had taken the right decision to fight the election on his own.Even before the elections, Pun had felt strongly that the party he had been through during war and peace, had lost its way. Former commanders had reached positions of power in Kathmandu, and forgotten the sacrifices of the people. They had abandoned the goal of the revolution of Nepal’s socio-political transformation. “When I ponder these questions, I find myself getting emotional,” says Pun. “I realised that all the answers lie within the party itself.”When he realised his party was setting a bad example among its supporters, Pun felt that someone had to stand up against the leadership. His decision appears to have been right — not just because of his own win but because the Maoist Centre has fallen far behind its Nepali Congress partners and the UML in the polls.“I thought to myself— if I don't do it, who will?” Pun says of his decision to stand as a rebel candidate. “If I don’t stand up now, when is it going to be the right time?”Rukum East is a historical Maoist stronghold, with an organised base of former Maoists. But Pun’s win is indicative of loyal voters’ dissatisfaction with established Maoist leaders as well as party politics. Pun agrees that the party base in the districts has collapsed, and there is open aversion to the former guerrilla commanders. Many other former Maoist combatants who later joined the party have long since left.“Voters here understand that promises of a better society were just lies,” says Pun. “The people who lost their lives, livelihoods or their limbs, whose loved ones were killed, have been long forgotten. They were not even offered a word of gratitude, let alone justice.”He adds, “I stand on the shoulders of those who paid with their blood during the war. I am indebted to them, and recognise the responsibility I have.”Although he is no longer involved in the party, Pun says that he holds no grudges. “If the founding members of the party recognise the need for complete institutional overhaul, and are open to listening to current and former cadres who are down the ladder, I will be wholeheartedly supportive. But if things within the party remain as they are now, I do not see myself returning.”For now, Pun looks forward to uplifting his neglected district in the rugged mountains of central Nepal. His priority will be the road linking the district to the rest of the country. Almost every family in Rukum East has an ex-Gurkha soldier or is working in the Gulf. Pun himself was once a migrant worker. “I understand these issues because of my personal experience, I can raise them at the provincial level, but I alone cannot solve these problems,” says Pun. Rukum faces many of the same issues of social injustice, discrimination, exclusion and state neglect that it did before the war.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221207101212/639059c29c7e80680e0ce205gif.gif" data-bit="iit">Adapted from the <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/133245">Nepali original</a> at <a href="http://himalkhabar.com/">Himalkhabar</a> by Shristi Karki.

It is comrade vs comrade in Nepal’s elections

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

Looking at Nepal from Venice

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

A new normal

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

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

Nepali Times spoke to Manoj Kumar Gyawali, CEO of Nabil Bank about the post-GenZ economic condition of the country. Excerpts:
Nepali Times: With COP30 in Brazil having failed to agree on tangible goals on phasing out fossil fuels, how important is the concept of sustainable banking in Nepal?
Manoj Kumar Gyawali: Sustainable banking is not optional anymore for countries like Nepal. It’s essential. We are one of the most climate-vulnerable countries in the world, and our financial decisions today will determine the kind of Nepal we leave behind.
When Nabil joined the Partnership for Carbon Accounting Financials (PCAF) it encouraged us to take a much closer look at our financed emissions. And the truth is, once you start measuring your impact, you can’t unsee what the numbers tell you. It naturally pushes you to rethink how and where you deploy capital.
For Nabil Bank, sustainable banking is about more than compliance, it’s about directing finance toward sectors that safeguard the environment, uplift communities, and strengthen governance. Frameworks like PCAF give us a credible, globally recognised way to measure and manage our ESG impacts. 
That level of transparency and accountability not only improves our own decision-making, it also positions Nepal to tap into blended finance and other concessional funding streams that reward responsible, forward-looking investments.
So, for Nepal, sustainable banking is not a niche activity - it’s central to how we operate.
But is sustainable banking itself sustainable, given that international commitment to climate financing is not adequate to tackle climate breakdown?
This is a concern I hear quite often, and it’s valid. Global climate finance must increase, especially for countries like Nepal. Our economy is already feeling the impact of climate change across agriculture, hydropower, tourism. But sustainable banking, in my view, does not depend solely on external funding.
For us, it’s fundamentally about managing climate and environmental risks more intelligently, understanding the footprint of our own portfolio, and reallocating capital toward climate-positive and resilient sectors. These are things we must do anyway if we want long-term financial stability. It also means embedding strong ESG practices into our daily operations, supporting social impact, advancing financial inclusion, and driving sustainable economic development.
So even if global climate finance remains inadequate, sustainable banking is planned to be sustainable for Nepal in long run. It strengthens the resilience of our financial system, safeguards our clients, and positions banks to tap into emerging opportunities in the green economy. More importantly, it ensures that Nepal’s development pathway remains environmentally responsible, socially inclusive, and anchored in good governance. For now, we are not looking at whether sustainable banking is sustainable financially but considering our responsibility as the leading bank of Nepal.
Nepal’s banks, including yours have a lot of exposure in hydropower. Is there not a need to diversify Nepal’s energy mix
Hydropower is and will remain Nepal’s strongest natural advantage. At Nabil, we have financed 56 hydropower projects across 37 rivers in 21 districts with a total installed capacity of over 3,000 MW, so we understand the scale and importance of this sector.
But we also cannot ignore the realities of climate change — unpredictable rainfall, increased glacier melt, more frequent glacier lake outburst incidents, floods, and landslides. These risks make it clear that while hydropower is essential, Nepal must diversify its energy mix to remain resilient. 
The good news is Nepal has enormous solar potential and wind corridors. Our national commitments already call for at least 15% of total energy demand to come from clean energy, with 5–10% from solar and other renewables. This creates real opportunities for banks like Nabil to support solar, wind, and emerging clean technologies alongside hydropower. We have already approved financing of 5 solar projects having a total capacity of 120 MW.
Tax rebates on EVs allowed Nepal to take a lead in adopting battery-operated vehicles in Nepal. How can we build on this to reduce our petroleum import bill?
The EV push has already shown results—we saw a reduction of nearly Rs22 billion in our petroleum import bill in 2024/25. That's a notable achievement.
But if we want to truly scale EV adoption, we need three things: More charging infrastructure that is reliable, widespread, and commercially viable, Local assembly and value creation we should be assembling EVs here, and Stable policy that gives people and businesses confidence to invest.
We are ready with financing models for EV fleets, public transport, and charging infrastructure. With the right ecosystem, Nepal can significantly cut its oil dependency.
The GenZ uprising showed the urgent need for transparency in government and investment in productive sectors to create jobs. What would be the banking sector’s role in this? 
The GenZ movement is more than a protest, it’s a clear message. Young Nepalis are demanding transparency, good governance, and real opportunities at home, and their concerns could be considered justified. The banking sector has a major responsibility: we need to direct more lending toward the real economy, sectors that create jobs, build productivity, and strengthen long-term growth, while also encouraging businesses to adopt stronger ESG practices.
Our financing has helped support around 112,000 direct jobs, with nearly 30% held by women. And through initiatives like the Nabil School of Social Entrepreneurship and our wider CSR programs, we’re working directly with communities to uplift the most vulnerable and nurture the next generation of entrepreneurs.
Across Nepal we also see evidence of haphazard over-development, at Nabil do you have guidelines about projects that result in environmental degradation?
Absolutely. We cannot afford to support development that harms the environment, it eventually becomes a financial risk as well. Environmental stewardship is one of our core priorities. Haphazard development may look profitable in the short term, but it leads to long-term economic, social, and ecological losses and ultimately becomes a financial risk. 
Nabil has a strong Environmental and Social Risk Management (ESRM) Guideline, a clear exclusion list in our credit policy, and a Sustainable Banking Policy to guide our decisions.
Every project we finance must meet both local regulations and international standards. If it doesn’t, we simply don’t fund it. Our goal is straightforward: to support development that is responsible, sustainable, and in Nepal’s long-term interest.
Nepal’s macroeconomy is looking good, remittances are up, but the economy is not growing as fast as it should. Banks have cash, but no one is borrowing. Do you see a light at the end of the tunnel?
Nepal’s economy today carries both optimism and caution. As you say, remittances are strong, reserves are healthy, and liquidity is available. Yet investment appetite remains subdued because of structural issues like political instability, slow government spending, and weak investor confidence.
That said, I do see early signs of improvement. Lower interest rates are beginning to restore public and business confidence. Rising remittances provide a safety net and fresh investment capacity for households. And if government capital expenditure continues to improve, it will act as the essential boost for private sector activity.
From Nabil’s side, we are ready to finance strong, bankable projects. With stable policies and timely execution, I believe Nepal is on a path toward gradual but meaningful economic recovery. The road ahead may be challenging, but the lights are definitely there.

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