For months now, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepals-home-minister-vs-the-media">Nepal’s media has been reporting</a> on depositors defrauded of their savings by crooked cooperatives. The spotlight got brighter after<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/heads-roll"> Home Minister Rabi Lamichhane was accused </a>of siphoning off savings from two cooperatives and investing it in his television company.
Given a chance to defend his case in Parliament, he resorted to whataboutery and accused the opposition Nepali Congress (NC) of even greater plunder. After the row brought the House to a standstill for over a month, a cross-party probe committee has finally been formed, but without naming Lamichhane personally.
Nearly 30 crisis-ridden cooperatives across the country which have more than Rs60 billion in depositors’ savings at risk will be probed by the committee. Another 500 cooperatives are said to be dodgy, and the government says it will be compensating depositors who had up to Rs500,000 in savings in cooperatives that have gone belly-up.
Economist Pushkar Bajracharya says that <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/cooperatives-leave-nepalis-high-and-dry">Nepal’s cooperatives have had problems </a>from their earliest years because of lack of regulation and monitoring which allowed unscrupulous shareholders to invest the savings in questionable real estate deals (best case scenario) or fraudsters to decamp with depositors' savings (worst case).&nbsp;
“The lawlessness in the cooperatives sector meant that the hard-earned savings of depositors were misused or stolen,” Bajracharya says.
At the root of this <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/institutionalised-inequality">pandemic of plunder</a> in cooperatives is the culture of impunity where trusting Nepalis are cheated out of hard-earned savings with the promise of high interest rates. Like pyramid schemes, these are ways for deceitful individuals to cheat gullible depositors because they know they can get away with it.
This is similar to the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/nepal-s-corruption-carousel">rampant corruption at all layers of government</a> and across the country where the might of those who hold power seem to have the right to extort and defraud the powerless. In many cases shareholders in local cooperatives are even elected local officials.&nbsp;
There is even a sitting MP, Gita Basnet, who is accused of pocketing Rs165.8 million from her cooperative depositors, and she has been on the run. A mayor and his wife in Baglung siphoned off Rs3 billion from 1,500 depositors. Criminal cases have been filed against all of them in the courts.
Ironically, the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/till-debt-do-us-part">crisis in Nepal’s banks and financial institutions</a> has turned out to be a bonanza for financially fragile daily newspapers which these days are filled with pages and pages of paid property auction notices by banks. These advertisements are from Class A, B, C or D financial institutions and point to an upsurge in loan defaults.&nbsp;
The Credit Information Bureau (CIB) Nepal monitors 129 financial institutions, and says the number of blacklisted borrowers has grown from 3,609 to 96,331 in the past ten years — nearly half of them made it to the list just this year. Bijay Kunwar of the CIB says the numbers shot up after despositers failed to pay back loans from microfinance institutions.&nbsp;
The real estate slump is at the bottom of this crisis. Those who had borrowed from cooperatives or banks to invest in property speculating, hoping for fast returns, were trapped with huge loans they could not pay back. The crisis began during the Covid crisis and continued with the economic slump in Nepal caused by the Russia-Ukraine war.
Many defaulters have rallied around businessman Durga Prasai, himself a wilful defaulter who failed to pay back bank loans for a hospital in Jhapa, and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/street-politics">held nationwide demonstrations</a> earlier this year. Prasai urged his supporters to stop servicing their loans and to force banks to cancel their debt.
“Prasai’s debt cancellation campaign sowed confusion,” senior economist Keshav Acharya explains. “Some borrowers of cooperatives who wanted to pay back loans were stopped from doing so by activists. And bank borrowers covertly hoped for their loans to be waived.”
Nine months of data from Nepal Rastra Bank (NRB) for the past year shows that the wholesale and retail sectors had the highest proportion of credit (19.9%) and loans to real estate developers made up just 4.92%.
“Many borrowers took loans for business purposes but used a portion to buy property, but since there is a real estate slump it has led to banking defaults,” says Bhuvan Dahal, former president of Nepal Bankers’ Association.&nbsp;
The default crisis in turn has been a factor in record outmigration in the past year as Nepalis leave to earn money overseas to pay loans back home. If there is a way out of this crisis, it will be to henceforth provide loans for projects that create jobs and not in unproductive sectors.
Pinki Sris Rana

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Giving credit where it’s due

On 2 January 2023, Sita Adhikari (pictured above) was sitting in Narayan Chaur in Kathmandu, worrying about the Rs200,000 that she had deposited at Oriental Cooperative. She had saved the money to see through her old age, but it is now all gone. “I think I will die without getting that money back,” she said, chin resting on the palm of her hand. Adhikari is originally from Nuwakot, and spent her life alone and without any support. She was married in 1951 when she was 11 and her husband died three years later. In 1959, she came to Kathmandu, leaving everything behind. Now, she works in a household in Naxal. She had received Rs100,000 as part of her husband’s property, adding another Rs100,000 that she had saved and deposited the total amount in Nepal Bank Limited. After a kin told her that the Oriental would provide her a better interest rate, she deposited her money there. By the time she learned that this was a bad decision, it was already too late. When she needed money for medicine, she reached out to the cooperative. But the branch office was locked up. She has spent a decade since trying to get that money back. “It was all I had, the crooks stole it from me,” she added. Thousands of other depositers had also put their money at Oriental Cooperative, operated by a Sudhir Basnet, who is absconding. According to the office of Cooperative Management Committee, about Rs1.5 billion deposited by about 4,250 people at Oriental remains in limbo. Khagendra Kafle, chair of a victims’ committee, says that the depositors have been struggling financially and a dozen of them have already died.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230324100356_d20b1e6157630a9fcc7c765e073ee4e549975427f74b170efea0ad5547ca8db6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20230324100356_d20b1e6157630a9fcc7c765e073ee4e549975427f74b170efea0ad5547ca8db6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Bishnu Bhagat Shrestha"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Chhetra Dhanchhawa of Bhaktapur had deposited Rs2.6 million at Basnet’s cooperative. The money was to take care of her son Bishnu who cannot speak or walk. she died at age 83 in 2021, the loan her family took for her funeral rites remain unpaid, and Bishnu is being looked after by his niece (pictured above). Devendra Prasad Pokharel, chief of Kathmandu Metropolitan City’s Cooperative Department, meets dozens of depositers who have lost all to collapsed <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18430#.ZB121HZByJA">cooperatives</a> daily. “Some have warned they will self-immolate at the department’s office if they do not get their money back,” he says. “It is so depressing I feel like quitting my job right now.” After the department receives complaints, it summons cooperative operators for a discussion. If the operators pay back the money within a certain period of time, the case gets closed. If not, the department sends a letter to the police for an investigation. “So far, we have already sent 2,800 complaints against 56 cooperatives to the police,” Pokharel adds. And of the 1,600 financial institutions in Kathmandu alone, complaints have been filed against 125. Binda Budhathoki, who runs a retail shop in Balkot has Rs40,000 still stuck in Nagarik Bikas Cooperative. On 1 February its officials were asking depositors to visit after a month because it had a cash crunch. Between July and December, the Cooperative Department under the Ministry of Land Management and Cooperative received 451 complaints against cooperatives. Registrar Rudra Prasad Pandit said, “We take complaints if it is under our jurisdiction, if not, we suggest they visit the authorities concerned in local units and provinces.” The <a href="https://lawcommission.gov.np/en/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Cooperatives-Act-2017-final-Eng-version-Dec-21-2018-1.pdf">Cooperatives Act 2017</a> has divided the work related to cooperatives’ registration and monitoring among the department, and provincial and local governments. There is no concrete data on how many cooperatives have not paid their clients’ money. Meen Raj Kandel, chair of Rastriya Sahakari Mahasangh, the umbrella association of cooperatives, says that as many as 32,000 cooperatives across the country have deposits worth Rs700 billion. But because of the fraud committed by some of them, there is widespread loss of faith in cooperatives.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023032411034_0566f5a5d46ab324ee0d912fc9e71db37b814c4b981f01f8f6fe32d45672aa53.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2023032411034_0566f5a5d46ab324ee0d912fc9e71db37b814c4b981f01f8f6fe32d45672aa53" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="suman nepali"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  “On the one hand, the country’s financial outlook is grim, and the cooperatives have not been able to get returns on their investment,” he said. “On the other hand, all depositors have been thronging to cooperatives to ask for their money back. This is creating problems.” The problem is not new, it has just got worse. In 2013 the government formed a probe commission to investigate cooperatives after many people were left high and dry. It found the operators themselves had been taking large amounts of loans and not repaying the principal and interest for years. According to the commission’s report, 22,170 depositors had yet to receive a total of Rs7,607,995,000 from cooperatives.Including interest, the sum crosses Rs10 billion. That was ten years ago, and the problem has gotten worse since most of the guilty were never punished. The report recommended that cooperatives should be regularly monitored, there should be strong laws to control unruly financial and managerial decisions, and registrations be stopped for new cooperatives. In addition, it also suggested that operators should not invest without collateral and all financial transactions be done through banks or financial institutions. None of this was ever implemented. Lalupate Cooperative in Khotang collapsed without refunding its customers’ savings. The Dhangadi branch office of Shiva Shikhar Multipurpose Cooperative shut down without refunding depositers. The Credit Information Bureau has blacklisted 11 cooperatives just in the current fiscal year. Gauri Bahadur Karki, chair of the probe commission, blames greed and mismanagement. “The business of collecting money from the public and mobilising it in real estate or other business by a single individual or a family has increased the risk of theft of public’s property, this is a business that should have been strictly regulated,” he said. Civil Cooperative, for example, used at least Rs5.67 billion from depositers, invested it in real estate and other iffy sectors and never refunded it. Investigation has shown that the cooperative loaned Rs1.32 billion to former chair and adviser Ichha Ram Tamang’s Civil Homes without securing any collateral. Cooperatives issued loans again and again without recovering the previous credits. The Department of Cooperatives did issue guidelines related to liquidity, investment, utilisation of savings, and institutional good governance from time to time, but it has failed to monitor and take action against the cooperatives that show reluctance to implement them. There is a provision that the cooperatives should maintain liquidity up to 15%, and invest more than half of the total credit in the production-oriented business in order to minimise the investment in the real estate, but this has never been enforced. Rudra Prasad Pandit says cooperatives and real estate businesses have become co-dependent. In fact, cooperatives start facing problems when cracks appear in the real estate sector. Real estate transactions are now down to half in the last six months of the current fiscal year compared to last year. Last year, 394,307 properties were purchased and sold, but the number is now barely 189,937. This means cooperatives that had speculated on land have not been able to recoup the money. Complaints lodged at the Cooperative Department show that almost all the cooperatives invested in real estate plotting or land transactions. Savings schemes and cooperatives have become the tool of money laundering due to the lack of regulation. Economist Keshav Acharya says that cooperatives that should have been established for the public good have been infiltrated by the land mafia who collect the wealth of the public and gamble on real estate. The 2013 probe committee states in its report that the operators who were found involved in misappropriation responded that they were unaware of the laws. ‘The cooperatives should have been opened after thorough research. There is no one to formulate operation rules,’ the report states. For instance, investigation into Oriental Cooperative found that Basnet had taken most of the loans in the name of fake depositers, even establishing more than half-a-dozen sub-cooperatives in order to collect money from the public. The Auditor General’s report in 2023 notes that many cooperatives have failed to establish a system to identify suspicious transactions and to conduct a detailed study of the high and abnormal financial dealings from their own members. In addition, cooperatives have become the hotbed for people blacklisted by banks and other financial institutions. In fiscal year 2021/22, of the total 2,401,714 financial transactions above Rs1 million, 274,113 were done by cooperatives. And, although the details of all transactions above Rs1 million and all suspicious transactions should be sent to the Financial Information Bureau, the implementation is lacking. Adds Dipak Raj Pokharel of the Money Laundering Prevention unit, “There is little investigation into suspicious transactions through cooperatives.” A high-level task force led by the National Planning Commission in 2066 concluded that cooperative organisations were a risk-factor for the economy. ‘A great disaster could be on the cards due to the weak monitoring/regulatory organisational system and legal provisions,’ the report states. Adds economist Acharya: “The government has failed in its responsibility to protect the wealth of the citizens. The government became helpless in refunding the savings of the public and taking action against the fraud even though the crime continued in the name of cooperatives.” A former colleague of Acharya’s committed suicide after he did not receive the Rs5 million he saved in a cooperative. Even a former executive director of Nepal Rastra Bank has been cheated of Rs20 million he saved in a cooperative. Although the 2013 probe commission found 162 cooperatives, including their branches, as problematic and recommended for property management, the government has declared only 12 as such. No action for management of property and liability has been taken against many cooperatives that have failed to refund the savers’ money and have disappeared.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023032411034_8b8f53546869197478909c0d19bdb0945afa82e54f81c691915bfdc82c92cf8a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2023032411034_8b8f53546869197478909c0d19bdb0945afa82e54f81c691915bfdc82c92cf8a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="suman nepali"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Trilochan Pangeni, suggests that that the risk has increased due to the politicisation of the cooperatives. He argues that law has been deliberately weakened by people in power so that the cooperatives could be let free. “While formulating the Cooperatives Act in 2017, a stern legal action against those committing irregularities in the cooperatives was proposed, but the political nexus derailed those provisions,” he added. In 2016, Nepal Rastra Bank drafted a bill making fraud in cooperatives subject to punishment as banking offence. During discussions in the Parliament, the bill was taken to the Finance Committee which had cooperatives campaigner Keshav Badal, Civil Cooperatives chairperson Ichha Raj Tamang and other persons associated with cooperatives as members. The conflict of interest in the Committee limited the definition of the cooperative organisation to include only the organisations licensed by Nepal Rastra Bank. As per this definition, the Act would incorporate only 15 cooperatives that had obtained permission from the central bank. As a result, the fraud committed in other cooperatives could not be brought to action for banking offences. Says Tol Raj Upadhyay of the Department of Cooperatives: “The power to regulate the cooperatives could be developed at the local and provincial levels. Even the federation has only 20 staff. The long-standing deterioration that crept under the lack of institutional regulation has flourished now.” <a href="https://cijnepal.org.np/how-nepals-cooperative-are-leaving-customers-high-and-dry/">Originally published</a> by Centre for Investigative Journalism (CIJ).

Cooperatives leave Nepalis high and dry

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141132/636cfdc29c7e80680e0a0c01jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="661"/><figcaption>Photo: TOH EE MING / NEPALI TIMES</figcaption></figure>The one-size-fits-all regulatory policy does not seem to work for savings and loans (S&amp;L) cooperatives in Indonesia, and the country could benefit from Nepal’s experience with small and medium enterprises.In Indonesia, a small S&amp;L cooperative which has less than Rp10 million (approximately $690) of assets has to complete on the same accounting report structure as larger institutions with more than $690 million of assets. To give context to the figure, an average labourer in 17 essential sectors in Indonesia makes about $290 a month.If we are to enforce the same regulation and supervision for all the S&amp;L cooperatives, the smaller businesses would not survive. On the other hand, if the rules are too lenient, they could undermine market discipline with middle and large savings and loans cooperatives taking advantage of it.Indonesia needs to learn from the success stories of the cooperatives’ movement in other countries, notably Nepal, with its similar culture and socio-economic conditions to that of Indonesia.According to a 2013 Kathmandu University study by Nav Raj Simkhada ‘Problems and Prospects of the Cooperative Sector in Nepal for Promoting Financial Inclusion', more than three decades after the first cooperative was established in Nepal in 1956, the country saw minimal progress in the sector of small and medium-sized enterprises.Nepal’s <a href="https://www.ilo.org/dyn/natlex/natlex4.detail?p_lang=en&amp;p_isn=39064&amp;p_country=NPL&amp;p_count=118" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Cooperative Act 1992</a> however specified that the government would no longer directly promote cooperatives, shifting its strategy from a top-down to a bottom-up approach. Additionally, it also prevented cooperatives from any political interference, they are forbidden from making a donation or providing financial assistance to organisations working for a political party, religion or community.This allowed for the<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/cooperatives-replacing-money-lenders,1172" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> independent growth of cooperatives in Nepal</a>. There are now over <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18437#.YSJP4y1w3OQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">30,000 small, medium and large cooperatives </a>in Nepal with over 45 million members.The <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18430" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">role of women</a> was particularly crucial in developing credit cooperatives in Nepal. For example, Women Awareness Centre Nepal (<a href="https://www.globalgiving.org/projects/build-women-savings-and-credit-cooperatives-nepal/updates/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">WACN</a>) has successfully established 41 microcredit organisations consisting of 30,000 women members.Another study conducted by Nepal Agriculture Cooperative Central Federation Ltd (<a href="http://asia.procasur.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/2.-Khairhani.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">NACCFL</a>) shows that <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/Nepal-land-of-our-daughters,2901" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">empowerment of women </a>through cooperatives had benefited not only the individuals but their families and communities, financially as well as socially.Indonesian small S&amp;L cooperatives should similarly focus on building community-based members only, instead of giving in to the temptation of rushing to expand the business.A few reliable members who know each other well can better manage the cooperative than thousands of those who are virtually strangers. Moreover, a large number of members create a large span of control wherein self-control and self-regulation are difficult to achieve.As a collectivist culture, Indonesians would choose to deal with their S&amp;L co-operative where they are comfortable and are treated as a family rather than with commercial banks. Members could become loyalists if they have a voice and are heard. This is fundamental for an S&amp;L cooperative to grow sustainability.Grants and direct subsidisation by authorities often create a beggar mentality and increase financial dependency, which is at the heart of the problem.Irsyad Muchtar in his recent book Indonesia’s 100 Largest Cooperatives revealed that some large cooperatives tend to avoid publishing results, and are closed to the press -- worried that it will shine a light on their tax evasion.<a href="https://www.thejakartapost.com/academia/2021/06/23/who-should-supervise-savings-and-loans-cooperatives-in-indonesia.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Thus, the concept of </a>a two-tiered rules and supervision institutional framework for S&amp;L cooperatives is more suitable for the Indonesian context. In the first tier, the Financial Services Authority (OJK) should regulate and supervise medium and large S&amp;L cooperatives at the national level to protect large members from any potential fraud by managements and create sound business competition among credit institutions to avoid regulatory arbitrage.In the second tier, the small S&amp;L cooperatives should not be supervised prudentially by OJK. They need more empowerment programs conducted by the Ministry of Cooperatives and SMEs and local governments. The policy aims to increase opportunities for those to graduate to a level where they can compete with other financial institutions. We understand that small S&amp;L cooperatives exist because they serve mainly the poor who have little or no access to formal financial services, especially since they lack collateral and a stable income.However, the empowerment programs from the government should not be financial aids or subsidies. Robby Tulus, the former regional director of Asia Pacific International Co-operative Alliance, says that when initiating a business, the source of seed money is often the starting point for people.In the case of Indonesia, their first choice is to look for special subsidies from the government. This is in line with some Asian governments favouring direct control and subsidisation to the small S&amp;L cooperatives.Tulus suggested that cooperatives must learn to focus on their competencies and deliver the best services to their members, instead of setting up the business only to get financial aids from the government and make quick money from the members.The Indonesian government can still play an important role, it can provide continuous and intensive support programs to cooperative members, such as training on management and entrepreneurial skills, risk management, bookkeeping standards and intellectual property rights. It can also promote micro-entrepreneur members of small S&amp;L cooperatives to potential customers as well as Indonesian-made products to empower micro-enterprises.While undertaking these strategies collectively, Indonesia can learn from Nepal to gradually cut down on financial schemes such as interest subsidies, credit guarantee funds, and grants to small cooperatives and their members.This will in the longer term empower the cooperatives while also reducing their dependency on the second or third parties.<a href="http://whistleblowing-indonesia.blogspot.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Bitra Suyatno</a> is a senior policy analyst at Indonesia's Ministry of Finance focused on financing service business issues. Currently, he is a team member on formulating Draft Law on Development and Strengthening of Financial Sector. The views expressed are personal.

Indonesia can learn from Nepal’s cooperatives

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

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

The second season of the Nepal Premier League (NPL) is a prettier and more mature product. The Tribhuvan University International Cricket Stadium has new flood lights, colourful seats, and more of them from which fans watch not just sixers soaring into the evening sky but also spectacular sunsets over the mountains.&nbsp; Tuesday’s match was a double header with matches 20 and 21 of the season. The early game was Chitwan Rhinos vs Janakpur Bolts, and in the evening Karnali Yaks played Pokhara Avengers. These were teams towards the bottom of the table, with plenty to play for.&nbsp; Things looked fluorescent with the high-vis vests of security, bright pink jerseys of the Bolts, vivid orange Rhinos and the neon green inDrive logo. Security is tight, and between buying tickets and getting to seats viewers are patted down four times, their ticket stubbed twice. The seats are divided into zones, set out by fan base, and they are full and loud throughout.&nbsp; The biggest name in NPL 1.0 last year was probably Shikhar Dhawan, but the second season has brought in internationals who have played at the highest levels: Jason Roy, Faf du Plessis, Imran Tahir, Wayne Parnell, Sohail Tanvir, Martin Guptill. &nbsp; Although they are now in the 35-40 age range and well past their athletic prime, they have been valuable as sources of experience and technique for young Nepali teammates who are preparing for the T20 World Cup in February. They are seeing firsthand the work that goes into being an international level professional.&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_0" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photos: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  NPL 2.0 is also much more commercial. Boundary ropes and zones have logos on them, KFC and Asian Paints have their anamorphic logos designed for angle on the field, there is an electric vehicle on display, and the digital scoreboard shows ads in between balls and action on the field.&nbsp; Sponsors and advertisers have allowed the organisers to pull out all the stops to put up the month-long tournament. Maybe the next season will be broadcast with virtual advertising with digital overlay.&nbsp; Cricket is a much faster and more dynamic game in person with the whole field in view, while still being relaxing to watch due to its stop start nature, the winter sun and enchanting sunset views.&nbsp; In the morning game Janakpur bowled first. The defending champions had a defence failure with five losses out of five. They could not break the opening partnership of the Rhinos, who were cruising at about nine runs an over.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> </figure>  Thirteen overs into the Rhinos’ inning, they are 109 for zero. English batsman David Malan, 38, is on 59 off 42, and his opening partner Arjun Saud, 22 from Dhangadi, is on 50 off 37. The message from the dug out is clear: there are wickets in hand, so hit some sixes.&nbsp; Namibian leg spinner Nicol Loftie-Eaton was bowling for the Bolts, and the batsman went after him. They got off twice, with Rupesh Singh losing an easy catch in the sun, and then putting down a much harder chance running to his left.&nbsp; American Sanjay Krishnamurthi took a fantastic catch diving forward in the very next ball. The rest of Chitwan’s batting order got out regularly while still scoring at a decent clip. The Rhinos ended up posting 174, a big score of course, but not the 200+ that their strong start suggested.&nbsp; In the last over, young left-handed national team batsman Kushal Malla lofted a six on the off-side. The ball scored a direct hit on a cheerleader’s face, she crumpled to the ground, and was rushed on a stretcher to an ambulance. Meanwhile, Mr Gaida, the one-horned Chitwan mascot, stole the show as he roamed the boundary, swaying to the wide mix of DJ songs. The crowd cheered.&nbsp;  <figure> <video controls src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251206071236_63033e071dcdf7e9c6382f889e72f438318faed63d9a3c52d4ba6c10a6e357f6.mp4" alt="" width="100%" height="100%"></video> <figcaption>Mr Gaida, the one-horned Chitwan mascot, stole the show as he roamed the boundary, swaying to the wide mix of DJ songs. Vidoe: VISHAD RAJ ONTA</figcaption> </figure>  As the Bolts started batting, popular Irish commentator Andrew Leonard came down from the press box to check on cheerleaders. Three cheerleaders were reduced to one, but a male breakdancer had joined her.&nbsp; Janakpur were never in any real trouble as they chased. Young Pakistani all-rounder Maaz Sadaqat’s 63 off 30, and Anil Sah’s 61 of 36 propelled the Bolts to the target with two and a half overs to spare.&nbsp; At dusk, the floodlights come on, adding to the atmosphere. There is smoggy Kathmandu below and Langtang glowing pink on the horizon as the second match began.&nbsp; Karnali Yaks captain Sompal Kami won the toss and chose to bowl, but Adam Rossington’s 108 off 58 and Jason Roy’s 46 of 34 meant that Pokhara set up a target of 202. &nbsp; The Yaks started well, and were still very much in the game at over 10 with 95/3. But they lost wickets and slowed down. The pressure of the rising run rate got to the batting order, and soon they were all out for 167.&nbsp; In between innings and games, there is plenty for viewers to do in the carnival-like atmosphere outside. Asian Paints offers free face-painting. Ncell has a stall where viewers can pick up free new sims and play against a bowling machine to win t-shirts. KFC is the only food option around. Red Bulls are Rs150 per can. “Why do you think they’re dancing so hard out there?” asks the vendor of the caffeine-rich energy drink. “Red Bull.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025120412128_06edd8e6713c1e76c39364d3efb8ea54d4f7c3d8d2bf0d90933c993fdcfeba74.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025120412128_06edd8e6713c1e76c39364d3efb8ea54d4f7c3d8d2bf0d90933c993fdcfeba74" data-rendition-name="original" width="934" height="656" loading="lazy" alt="NPL fixtures NT"> </figure>  <h2>Starting a new innings</h2> Tek Raj Kharel had just dropped off his inDrive customer near Zone 3 and had been following the tournament, watching games in between rides. He thinks the NPL is more than a game, it is a carnival. “This festival is more for women than men,” says Kharel. How so? “They go to be seen on the digital screen and take selfies, and the men go to see the women.”&nbsp; This week both male and female fans on the stands were certainly dancing hard, and they did not seem to care much about which team was winning. They cheered both when batsmen hit boundaries, and when a wicket fell. They were there to have fun, cricket was just an excuse. A pair of friends were not having as much fun, and were obviously not too much into cricket. The youngsters exited early, with one telling the other to never invite him to something as boring again. Many other couples seemed to be on dates.&nbsp; There were also many dads with their young kids, both generations enjoying themselves. There are not too many other events in Nepal that the family can go to like this.&nbsp; “Any match you watch here is pretty entertaining,” says an older fan. “I didn’t really know much about cricket before but now it has become a habit.”&nbsp; Thanks to new Youth and Sports minister, 26-year old Bablu Gupta, at the end of day’s games, fans get a free ride on shuttle buses to Kalanki, Swayambhu, Bhaktapur and elsewhere in the Valley.&nbsp; There is a lot that is very good with the NPL, and not much that is bad. A few things need quick fixes.&nbsp; While the stadium itself is all right, outside where the stalls are, the ground is dusty and resembles a construction site with litter everywhere. There are no actual bathrooms. Siddhartha Bank has set up a few small makeshift steel sheds, where fans stand shoulder to shoulder to relieve themselves. &nbsp; The pricing system has to be rethought. Tickets started at Rs300 last year, and the stadium was packed. Tickets cost Rs500 now, and on weekdays many seats are empty. A new system where tickets get discounted depending on booking time would improve the atmosphere with bigger crowds. &nbsp; Even so, the NPL is a breath of fresh air in post-GenZ protest Nepal with the hope that the country is starting a new innings.&nbsp; Tickets on Khalti.