<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141124/636cfc2c9c7e80680e0a0b73jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure><ul><li>Two years ago after going through a bad relationship, a 36-year-old Kathmandu-based doctor started getting suicidal thoughts. During the long months of lockdown, he would be on the rooftop and imagine jumping off to end it all. But before long he realised that he was causing self-harm, and sought help. He was diagnosed with depression, eight months into treatment he is rid of suicidal thoughts and is back to his outgoing ways.</li> <li>The bubbly young woman used to be the life of every party, but few of her friends and relatives realised what was going on inside her mind. As the pandemic hit, she started having violent thoughts about harming others and herself. The 22-year-old tried to deal with it herself, but two months ago she sought help from a mental health doctor. She was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and started treatment. Looking back, she advises others to also seek professional help in time.</li> <li>The young woman felt worthless, lacked confidence, avoided crowds and had self-inflicted cuts on her arm. Her inability to come in terms with her sexuality aggravated her sense of insecurity. When the pandemic foiled her plans, she blamed everything on herself, she felt irritated and uncertain, stopped attending virtual classes and her eating habits changed. She finally sought help for her depression and she is now under regular psychiatric counselling and medications. Grounding exercises in particular have helped her overcome self-harm and feelings of inadequacy. “I am okay now,” she says.</li></ul>As the pandemic turns lives upside down, there has also been a global <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/post-pandemic-mental-health-epidemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">outbreak of mental health disorders</a>, and Nepal has reported a rise in suicides. However, as these cases show, professional counselling and medication can save lives.Recoveries rarely make news, only suicides do.“Most of my patients who attempted suicide have gone on to lead normal lives after they get treatment, and oftentimes they look back to their mental health crisis as nothing more than a lapse of judgment,” says psychiatrist and researcher Rishav Koirala.There has been a sharp rise in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/have-suicides-increased-during-nepal-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">suicides in Nepal</a> since the Covid-19 pandemic in March 2020 and subsequent lockdowns. Nepal Police data shows that in the last 12 months, there have been 7,141 reported deaths due to suicides nationwide, up from 6,252 the year before.Do not shy away from seeking help. If you, or anyone you know, would like to speak to a trained mental health professional, please contact:TUTH Suicide Hotline: 9840021600Transcultural Psychosocial Organisation-Nepal Crisis Hotline: 1660 0102005Mental Health Helpline Nepal: 1660 0133666Centre for Mental Health and Counselling Nepal Toll-free: 16600185080, Hotline: 1145Koshish Toll-free helpline: 166001-22322 (Bagmati Province)Patan Hospital Helpline: 9813476123National Suicide Prevention helpline operated by Mental Hospital Lagankhel and TPO: 1166<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141124/636cfc2e9c7e80680e0a0b74jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="475"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In a survey last year, <a href="http://www.tponepal.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Transcultural Psychosocial Organisation (TPO) Nepal</a> which works with mental health compared five years of suicide data for March-July to see if there was any change during the lockdowns in 2020 and 2021.The results are revealing: suicides have been increasing steadily at an average rate of 8.5% every year, but it spurted to 19.4% in the first four months of the lockdown. Researchers also conducted key informant interviews across Nepal, who reported witnessing an increase in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/suicide-watch/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">suicidal behaviours</a> in the community as well as health facilities.“We now have both quantitative and qualitative evidence that mental health problems have increased following the pandemic,” says TPO Nepal’s executive director Kamal Gautam. “And given that the majority of suicides are caused by psychological problems, we can say that Covid-19 has significantly contributed to its increase.”Mental health professionals have long been warning of an epidemic of psychological disorders following the Covid-19 crisis. They have reported an increase in anxiety, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), hypochondria, obsessive disorders and psychotic symptoms among the general population in the last two years.Economic collapse, job loss and slashed income due to the pandemic as well as <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/in-nepal-lockdown-a-domestic-violence-spike/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">increased domestic and sexual violence</a> and added workload during the lockdowns have all acted as contributing factors. In addition, those afflicted do not have normal social interactions that used to be a safety valve during more normal times.Moreover, many patients on treatment and medication have relapsed due to the limited access to health services, counselling and psychotropic drugs during the pandemic, and in many cases because of Covid phobia.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141124/636cfc319c7e80680e0a0b75jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1052" height="690"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Up to 80% of suicides have mental health disorders as an underlying cause. A significant portion of cases are also a result of impulsive behaviour.Experts agree that the official <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-suicide-rate-vastly-underestimated/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">numbers on suicides are vastly underestimated</a> due to a lack of suicide registry. Official figures are based solely on police data and post-mortems, and because of stigma associated with mental health, many families also often refrain from revealing the actual cause of death.Official records also do not take into account <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/in-the-minds-of-nepals-migrant-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">suicides of Nepali migrant workers overseas</a>, mainly Malaysia and South Korea. Similarly, suicides among those in the LGBTIQ community who have lost their limited sources of livelihood during the pandemic have been largely neglected.“Reported cases alone are not conclusive, but given that we now have a year and a half long trend and data, we have seen a significant increase in mental health disorders, and can assume that pandemic has played a crucial part in the rise in the number of suicides,” adds Rishav Koirala.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/suicide" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">More than 700,000 people die by suicide</a> every year around the world, that is one in every 100 deaths -- more than HIV, malaria, breast cancer, or war and homicide. And for every suicide, there are many more who make attempts to end their lives.Nepal is among the countries with the highest suicide rates in the world and consistently ranks within the WHO’s top 10 list. The Nepal Health Research Council (NHRC)’s <a href="http://nhrc.gov.np/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/Factsheet-Adults-1.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">National Mental Health Survey</a> published earlier this year found the prevalence of suicidality (current suicidal thoughts, lifetime suicidal attempt and future likelihood of suicidal thoughts) to be high at 7.2% among Nepalis.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141124/636cfc339c7e80680e0a0b76jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1464" height="752"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The first of its kind survey in Nepal interviewed 15,088 participants and was carried out before <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/coping-with-anxiety-in-new-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the pandemic</a> from January 2019 to January 2020. The study revealed that 10% of Nepal’s adult population had mental health problems in their lifetime with 4.3% experiencing some disorders at present.Mood disorders and neurotic and stress-related disorders were among the most common <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/tackling-nepals-mental-health-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">psychological problems among Nepalis</a>. The prevalence of lifetime disorders was found the highest in Province 1 (13.9%), in the age group 40-49 years (13.3%) and among males (12.4%). As for current disorders, Bagmati scored the highest (5.9%) as well as those in the age group 40-49 years (6.3%) and females (5.1%).These figures correlate with Nepal’s suicide data of the past five years. Despite fewer attempts, men accounted for 57% of total suicides, against 43% of women. Among minors, however, more girls died by suicide, which experts ascribe to possible victimisation and a higher prevalence of borderline personality disorder among younger females.Suicide deaths are also disproportionately distributed across Nepal with Province 1 recording 65 deaths per 100,000 populations. Lumbini and Gandaki follow closely with 58 and 52 per 100,000 respectively. Traditionally neglected by the state and economically disadvantaged Karnali, Far West and Province 2 regions have lower suicide rates.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141124/636cfc369c7e80680e0a0b77jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2287" height="1816"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>More people are dying of suicides in urban centres such as Kathmandu Valley and Ilam district, which reported 32 and 38 suicide deaths respectively per 100,000 populations last year against Rautahat’s 18 and Humla’s 6.This is in direct contrast with the global trends where 77% of suicides occur in low and middle-income countries. Unemployment and poor economic condition have long been associated with a high risk of suicides, but only up to a certain point, as proven by recent data. Japan, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/dead-end-of-the-korean-dream/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">South Korea</a> and Hungary with their higher per capita GDPs have some of the highest suicide rates in the world.“Poorer nations have weaker education and health systems, which translates into delayed or even lack of diagnosis but poverty is not a sole factor for suicides,” says Kamal Gautam. “Suicide is complex and there are multiple factors at play which means a linear approach to prevention would be incomplete, it needs an integrated approach.”Addressing underlying mental health disorders is the most effective way to prevent suicides. This means increased awareness and education about psychological disorders, which in turn can help <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/all-in-the-family/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">reduce societal stigma</a>. An introduction to and discussion on mental health in the school curriculum can further sensitise the public.In addition to medication and counselling, societal structure and family dynamics is an important support system for individuals suffering from psychosis, trauma and depression. Telemedicine in particular has been essential in preventing self-harm during the pandemic-induced restrictions but mental health services need to be scaled up across the country.On the other hand, a strict regulation must be implemented on the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/suicide-by-pesticide-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">availability of pesticides</a>, an easy means of suicide for many. Access to alcoholic products must also be supervised with Nepalis known to self-medicate to cope with stress and trauma, in turn increasing the risk of self-harm and suicide.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141124/636cfc399c7e80680e0a0b78jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="853"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But most of all, analysing suicide attempts can be a powerful tool for prevention. On average, there are six attempts behind every suicide. Up to 80% of people with suicidal ideation reveal their intention to either a family member, friends or their doctors within a month before their attempt.“We forget that even before the pandemic suicide rates were very high in Nepal and while the pandemic might have added to the problem, the figures alone don’t mean anything if we fail to also study suicide attempts to find a stronger link between the prevalence and the contributing factors,” says Rabi Shakya, psychiatrist and director of Patan Academy of Health Sciences.He adds: “Historically, there have been more suicides after than during the crisis due to the long-term socioeconomic impacts. So we must start preparing for the pandemic of mental health problems including suicides post-Covid. Our health care workers must be trained and fanned out across the country.”Nepalis are not new to mental health problems induced by a crisis. The 10-year-long Maoist insurgency killed 17,000 people but many more continue to suffer from <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-mental-scars-of-violence/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">PTSD, depression, anxiety and distress</a>. A 2017 report published in the journal Lancet found as high as <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/stigma-and-silence-mental-health-nepal,3486" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">37.5% of the general public</a> had some form of psychological disorder.The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/its-all-in-the-mind/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">2015 earthquake</a> further added to Nepal’s epidemic of mental disorders. Survivors who had narrow escapes or lost family members reported increased panic attacks, anxiety and trauma.But <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/the-republic-of-insomnia,3311" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">conflicts, disasters</a> and pandemics have shined a light on mental health with an increased national and foreign investment in prevention and management. With larger chunks of the population impacted, there is now more acceptance and the field is starting to get the priority it warrants.Says Rishav Koirala, WHO focal person for mental health post-2015 earthquake: “The best way to prevent suicides is to address underlying psychological disorders and crises, despite adding to the burden has helped normalise them because many more people can now relate and understand that they are treatable.”

Sonia Awale

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Nepal sees spike in suicides during pandemic

<figure><img width="1500" height="842" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70529c7e80680e060071jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: SONIA AWALE</figcaption></figure>Michael Eddleston is a professor of Clinical Toxicology at the University of Edinburgh with over two decades of experience in suicide by ingesting pesticide. He is also the director of Centre for Pesticide Suicide Prevention and was recently in Nepal as a principal investigator of a research analysing self-poisoning in the country. Excerpts of his conversation with Nepali Times.Nepali Times: What is pesticide suicide?Michael Eddleston: All of us feel suicidal from time to time. Unless you are very depressed or have a mental illness, you survive the feeling and move on with your life. The green revolution brought highly toxic pesticides into homes that people drank in the moment of impulse without a second thought. Suicide rates went up massively in Asia because spontaneous acts of self-harm became lethal. These are accidental suicides, people don’t really want to die, drinking pesticide or a poison in many parts of Asia is an expression of anger or frustration.What is the burden of pesticide suicide in the region?Pesticide suicides have killed some 15 million people, mostly in this region of South and East Asia since the 1960s. The numbers have come down to about 150,000 people a year. China alone used to have 180,000 pesticide suicides per year back in the 1990s and it has come down to 50,000, partly due to mechanisation and restriction of Highly Hazardous Pesticides (HHP). In Nepal, 15-20% of suicides are from ingesting pesticides and about 1,000 people die every year. Read also: <a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/suicide-by-pesticide-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Suicide by pesticide in Nepal</a>, Sonia Awale<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-suicide-rate-vastly-underestimated/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's suicide rate vastly underestimated</a>, Sewa BhattaraiDo not shy away from seeking help. If you, or anyone you know, would like to speak to a trained mental health professional, please contact:TUTH Suicide Hotline: 9840021600Transcultural Psychosocial Organization-Nepal Crisis Hotline: 1660 0102005Mental Health Helpline Nepal: 1660 0133666What can we do about it?Ideally we could move away from all pesticides like Sikkim has done with natural farming. But this might take time so for now the simplest answer is to ban HHPs and replace them with less toxic chemicals. So when people take poison, it’s not toxic and they don’t die. There’s a clear data from Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and South Korea showing that when you ban just a few particular pesticides which people are commonly using for self-harm, the suicide rate falls rapidly and remarkably without affecting agriculture output. Sri Lanka banned Monocrotophos and Methamidophos in 1995 and in the next 20 years there was 70% reduction in all suicides saving around 93,000 lives at a cost of $50 per lives saved. This is one of the most effective public interventions from anywhere in the world. So legislation does work.What are the most toxic pesticides in Nepal? Dichlorvos and 3g tablets of Aluminium phosphide are the most hazardous pesticides in Nepal and the good news is that both of these have been addressed by the government already, they were recently banned. We are also identifying another toxic compound, a combination of Chlorpyrifos and Cypermethrin. What we have seen from case studies elsewhere is that after each ban something new always comes up but we have also found that they always kill less than those prior pesticides. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dy5SX0RnYhA&amp;feature=youtu.beHow can we be sure people won’t go for another method after the ban?Yes, people often argue that pesticide bans don’t work, they will simply do something else. But that something else is often further away. I can walk to a tree to hang myself or to jump off a bridge but by that time I get there I might get bored, meet a friend on the way or get distracted one way of the other. Pesticides have high toxicity because they are hazardous and close by but if you switch to something else it will always be less toxic. And what we have seen in Sri Lanka is that when you ban pesticides, people don’t switch to other things and don’t attempt suicide again because they are not intended to begin with. But are you not treating a symptom rather than a disease, which is mental illness?Yes I accept that we are not dealing with the cause, but with the symptom but I want people to live. If you don’t live, you can’t see your psychiatrist. And it is not purely mental health. It’s also about culture and communication. If I have no other way of telling people how angry or upset I am, then I will stand in front of you and drink a bottle of pesticide to tell you how I feel. It is the same in the UK, Nepal and Sri Lanka. The only difference is the lethality of method. So I can’t stop suicide or self-harm as an individual but I can stop people from dying after self-harm, which means they get a chance to seek help if necessary.It’s a concept of harm minimisation, it’s not stopping people from self-harm because it’s difficult to change human behaviour and how people direct their anger and violence towards themselves or other people but we can make it safe. Which groups are more vulnerable?When we look at the patterns of self-harm, it’s found among young women between 15-20 years of age more than in anybody else. Women are generally sober and take a very small dose of poison. If you get rid of HHPs, these women suicides fall away and that was the case in China and Sri Lanka. Middle-aged men have more deaths because they tend to be intoxicated when they take poison and they take it in a higher dose so even if it’s a less toxic poison, the higher dose is enough to kill them. Suicide is a combination of people harming themselves and lethality of the method. How has the progress been in Nepal so far?Pesticide suicide in Nepal is comparatively smaller but that is also probably due to the number of bans the government has implemented over the last 15 years. Methyl parathion was a huge problem here in the 1990s and 2000s until it was banned and now there are no cases of suicides using this pesticide. It has been replaced more recently by Dichlorvos but that was also recently banned and will be out of shops in couple of years. There has been a remarkable changes going on here in Nepal to remove the most toxic pesticides and replace them with less hazardous alternatives. Tell us about your work here in Nepal.What we are trying to do in Nepal is work with our clinical colleagues, Nepal Public Health Foundation and the police laboratories to identify the most problematic pesticides that are killing people in Nepal and once we identify those, we will take that information to the concerned authorities and see how they want to move with that. Nepal has made a success and has thought about pesticide suicide carefully. What we are doing is bringing the focus on suicide and showing how to get rid of accidental suicides.

Suicide Watch

<figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70369c7e80680e060067jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>A customer buys a bottle of pesticide over a counter in Kathmandu. Photo: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>Of the 25,308 <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/down-and-out,3158" target="_blank" rel="noopener">suicides</a> recorded by the police in Nepal in the past five years, poisoning was the method of choice of 6,213 and pesticides were the most common form of poison used. Suicide by <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17916#.XhbkaVUzaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">pesticides</a> is the easiest, cheapest and the quickest way to kill oneself in Nepal.A <a href="https://bmcpublichealth.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12889-017-4542-y" target="_blank" rel="noopener">2015 study in Chitwan</a> showed that 90% of all poisoning cases resulted from deliberate ingestion of pesticides. Hospital and forensic data over the years reveal that pesticide self-poisoning kills at least 1,000 people in Nepal annually.“Pesticides are in fact a far greater threat than what police records show. There are many people who make the attempt and survive due to insufficient dose or medical treatment,” says Ravi Shakya, a mental health specialist at Patan Hospital. “If we also count attempted suicides, pesticide is the most preferred method of suicide in Nepal.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-suicide-rate-vastly-underestimated/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's suicide rate vastly underestimated, </a>Sewa BhattaraiShailesh Thapa Chhetri of Nepal Police agrees: “Previously, hanging used to be the most common method of suicide, as people had the easiest access to ropes. Now, access to pesticides is even easier. Almost every household has pesticides, whether to kill cockroaches or to spray in the farms.”Do not shy away from seeking help. If you, or anyone you know, would like to speak to a trained mental health professional, please contact:TUTH Suicide Hotline: 9840021600Transcultural Psychosocial Organization-Nepal Crisis Hotline: 1660 0102005Mental Health Helpline Nepal: 1660 0133666And as the import of pesticides increases, the hazardous chemicals will only be more accessible for self-harm. The Ministry of Agriculture and Livestock Development claims that Nepal’s pesticide consumption is 396g per hectare but research by the Netherlands-based Wageningen University shows it to be <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/banned-pesticides-are-widely-used-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">2.9kg per hectare in vegetable patches</a>. “Pesticides that kill people are readily available in the market, they do not need prescriptions and anyone can buy it,” says Dilli Ram Sharma, former Director General of the Department of Agriculture. “To make matters worse, farmers <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/pesticide-laced-vegetables-continue-to-poison,1555" target="_blank" rel="noopener">always go for the most toxic ones</a> that kill all pests at once.”Read also: <a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/suicide-watch/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Suicide watch</a> <figure><img width="1500" height="844" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70399c7e80680e060068jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A <a href="http://www.forensic.gov.np/assets/upload/images/pdf/Trends-of-clinical-toxicology-cases-in-Nepal.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">2014 National Forensic Science Laboratory study</a> that looked at the trends of clinical toxicology cases in Nepal from 2002-2012 showed that of the total poisoning cases due to insecticides, 71% were by ingesting the organophosphorus compounds Metacid (Methyl parathion) and Nuvan (Dichlorovos). Pyrethroid, carbamate and organochlorine were also used. Some of these pesticides are actually banned in Nepal, but available over the counter. A Central Police Forensic Science Laboratory study conducted over the past three years shows organophosphorus compounds and aluminium phosphide as the most common active ingredients in poisoning cases. Data from seven tertiary hospitals across Nepal found Celphos (aluminium phosphide used to kill rodents) as the most common pesticide in those admitted for poisoning. The <a href="https://www.centrepsp.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Centre for Pesticide Suicide Prevention</a> in collaboration with the University of Edinburgh and Nepal Public Health Foundation is collecting three years worth of hospital and forensic data to analyse self-poisoning. Prof Michael Eddleston of the University of Edinburgh is the principal investigator and was recently in Nepal. “I don’t think it’s ever possible to use pesticide safely. You have to make pesticides non-toxic to humans, animals and the environment. We are trying to identify the problematic pesticides that are killing people here and provide that information to the concerned authorities so that they are banned and replaced with safer pesticides,” Eddleston told Nepali Times.The Nepal Public Health Foundation is also organising a two-day national conference (9-10 January) focussed on <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/rooftop-gardens-kathmandu,1415" target="_blank" rel="noopener">healthy farming</a> and reducing pesticide use.Indeed Bangladesh, Korea and Sri Lanka have shown that removing highly hazardous pesticides from <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/heavy-pesticide-use-and-low-consumer-awareness-affecting-public-health,1394" target="_blank" rel="noopener">agricultural practice</a> is key to preventing suicide deaths without affecting agricultural output. The good news is that some of the most toxic pesticides are being banned in Nepal. In 2019, when the Centre for Pesticide Suicide Prevention pinpointed Dichlorvos and 3g tablets of aluminium phosphide as the most common causes of pesticide suicide in Nepal, the Plant Quarantine and Pesticide Management Centre placed a ban on both the pesticides, to be enforced after a grace period of two years for the chemicals already on the market.  Similarly, before Metacid (Methyl parathion) was prohibited in 2006, up to 68% of Nepalis killing themselves were using the chemical. After the ban, this figure came down to 8%.“Prevention is better than cure and that is exactly what pesticide ban does. And this has a double benefit: it reduces suicide death while also bringing down the rampant use of pesticides in agriculture, leading to a decline in pesticide residue,” adds Sharma, who retired after banning the two pesticides.Despite the ban, however, the smuggling of pesticides across the open border with India remains a challenge, and experts call for crossborder cooperation to fight it.  Says Rakesh Ghimire of Teaching Hospital: “Control of pesticides especially in agricultural areas is important, but as important is pesticide information centres and treatment when the poisoning happens.”

Suicide by pesticide in Nepal

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

This is the 75th 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. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.

Things eventually work out

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

In a democracy, governments come and go. But Nepal had become so entangled in the triangular affair between Sher Bahadur Deuba, K P Oli and Pushpa Kamal Dahal that it was becoming impossible to tell who was canoodling with whom.&nbsp;
All three had long since abandoned their party ideologies. Staying in power was all that mattered as they turned Nepal’s democracy into a kleptocracy.&nbsp;
For the past at least 20 years, we have warned them to mend their ways. Democracy had to be rescued from the hands of such kakistocrats. Waiting to pounce were monarchists and anarchists of every ilk, outcast Maoists, and supporters of a leader jailed for fraud. Tycoon Durga Prasai said his rally in March was to restore a Hindu monarchy, but he was just a temporary royalist whom even the ex-king spurned.&nbsp;
All this converged into a perfect storm on 8 September. Commandos shot and killed 19 innocent young people outside Parliament, the anger boiled over into targetted arson and vandalism the next day. The government fell, and Sushila Karki was elected interim prime minister through Discord.&nbsp;
With not just their monopoly on power but also their very lives in danger, the triumvirate was at first in total shock. Then came conspiracy theories and an inability to gauge the rage from decades of misrule.
Nepalis had assumed that after September the old parties would see their folly, and step down to hand over the leadership to a new generation. But 10 weeks later, there is no sign of any act of contrition.
In the NC, Sher Bahadur Deuba has sidelined the caretaker he himself appointed, Purna Bahadur Khadka, and is active again as the party prepares for a showdown in its Convention next month. The UML is proceeding with its own General Convention, where Oli is fully assured of a third term as party boss. Dahal sees no alternative to himself in his newly-forged Nepali Communist Party and is eagerly eyeing becoming prime minister for the fourth time.&nbsp;
The three leaders who everyone had hoped would finally retire have reincarnated. It is obscene for obsolete politicians to still hanker for power after all that has happened.&nbsp;
SHOCK AND AWE
The three leaders who have been prime minister a dozen times between themselves want to cling on, but this is not abnormal if we apply <a href="https://www.bbc.com/audio/play/w3cszmjz" target="_blank">Elisabeth Kübler-Ross</a>’ theory of the five stages of grief. The author of <a href="https://www.google.com.np/books/edition/On_Death_and_Dying/GlSq0AEACAAJ?hl=en" target="_blank">On Death and Dying</a> was analysing how people with terminal illness deal with their situation, but her 5-stage theory may be applicable to the way heads of the NC, UML and NCP are reacting to the shock of being overthrown — first with denial, then anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.&nbsp;
On 9 September, distressed by what had befallen them, the three were in total denial. Then began the stage of anger. Oli ranted in public about a conspiracy to install an ‘unconstitutional’ interim government, blaming the Nepal Army, and vowing not to take part in election even while preparing for it.
The NC has decided to participate in elections, although it has to first sort out its internal power struggle. The NCP and the RSP have united with smaller parties and are actively preparing to campaign. GenZ groups are speaking in different voices, with Sudan Gurung and Miraj Dhungana openly trying to unseat an interim government they themselves installed.&nbsp;
The parties are now in the third stage: bargaining. Instead of asking himself in hindsight what he should have done, Oli wants Parliament restored but has also registered his party for elections. The UML won't allow elections unless the government lifts restrictions on Oli’s movement.
Likewise, GenZ groups are putting up conditions for supporting polls: arrest Oli and others. Karki is single-mindedly focussed on elections, even if it has to be put off by two months. The Army would also like polls on time because it does not want a repeat of September when it had to intervene to form the interim government.
If Karki’s 6-month mandate ends without elections, and if by then the GenZ’s trust in the interim government collapses, then UML and NC could plan to press for an all-party election government, restoration of Parliament which would then dissolve itself to appoint a new prime minister that Karki would also be agreeable to.
The current state of affairs makes it difficult to imagine elections being held on 5 March — mainly because polls would be incomplete without the three main parties taking part, and it is unlikely they would participate in polls that they are certain to lose since they have not reformed themselves. Amidst these ifs and buts, the role of the Army will be critical.&nbsp;
The fourth stage of grief is depression, and that is what will happen to the parties when the reality of their unpopularity finally hits them. Only then will they finally accept their fate, realise that it was all their own doing, and perhaps reinvent themselves.
Kübler-Ross said the five stages did not necessarily have to be in that order, or that sometimes there may only be three phases, which may be applicable to the parties. What is for sure is that the three leaders are in no mood to atone for their sins.
Rabin Giri is an editor with <a href="http://nepalnews.com/" target="_blank">nepalnews.com</a>.&nbsp;