<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058c39c7e80680e0ce1bcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>All photos: RABIN NGHEMA LAMA</figcaption></figure>Sameer Gurung, 30, who goes by the alias Green Brain, believes in the uniting power of football, and will be watching the matches in the 2022 FIFA World Cup in Qatar with the rest of the world. But knowing about the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/pay-qatars-world-cup-workers-2/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">abuse and death of migrant workers</a>, including from Nepal, the artist in him was bursting to come out.Gurung felt that a world infatuated with ‘beautiful game’ does not know enough of what went on behind the scenes in building the stadiums in the desert.“The 90 minutes of a matchbreaks barriers, brings players from various backgrounds, nationalities, race and ethnicity together on the same field, playing for the same goal,” explains Gurung. “But people have no idea of what it took to have those games. We pretend not to notice and go on with our lives.”Gurung expresses this frustration through gigantic wall murals in Kathmandu under the title Chyatiyeko Yatartha ('torn reality') in which the artist uses torn clippings, with song lyrics and three-storey high messages addressing government apathy. It is at once discomforting and revealing."The abuse faced by migrant workers is intolerable, but I am neither a public speaker, nor do I protest in the streets," he says. "All I have as a medium of expression is art and, this way, sitting in my room, I can give voice to my discontent."<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058c79c7e80680e0ce1bdjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="6000" height="3375">Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/human-rights-referees-blow-whistle-on-world-cup-fouls/">Rights referees blow whistle on World Cup fouls</a>, Kunda DixitChyatiyeko Yatartha is Green Brain's second solo project. With it, he wanted to raise the concern through gigantic street graffiti to reach the public, especially Nepal’s youth.His first series, Buda Paka, in February drew attention to preserving the heritage and culture of Nepal. Drawn on the wall of a building in Asan, the artwork showed a man carrying a kharpan on his shoulders as he walks through an old street as brick walls, carved windows, doors and shop fronts curve before him. The idea here was to remind the youth to preserve and promote the hard work of the older generation, so that the culture and heritage may survive into the future.His affinity to layers of meanings, that viewers slowly unravel one at a time, is reflected also in his chosen name, which he picked in 2017. For him, green is more than just the colour of nature. "Green is life and positivity which I relate to," he explains. A fluorescent green hue is present in all his work, which also relate to the local heritage, culture and activism."As for the Brain in my name," he adds, "that's because I am fascinated by people's thoughts, and how we become our thought."<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058cc9c7e80680e0ce1bejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3895" height="5842">Gurung's love for art goes all the way back to Grade 2 in school when he would draw patterns on the margins of notebooks, often competing with friends to see who would draw better, faster."I always had an inkling for art," he recalls, and when he completed his SLC, he went to a tattoo artist to see if he could train under them for three months before +2 classes kicked in."But the artist said I was a little too young then," Gurung adds, "saying I should wait until I had completed high school."He realised he was not made for jobs, and entertained the idea of leaving Nepal. His brothers are based in France and he has a few friends in Australia, and he thought he ought to do the same. Go somewhere, just anywhere.But because he did not have the grades, he did not want to limit himself to menial jobs just for survival abroad. So he returned to open a tattoo shop with a friend. At first he practiced on close friends who allowed him to gain some practice on their skin.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058d09c7e80680e0ce1bfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000">When his friend left for Australia two years later, Gurung closed the shop and started teaching himself other different forms of art, including digital."I did not want to rush overseas because it was evident that I would not get the space and freedom to be creative, as I would have to worry about working hard just for survival," he explains. "At least here in Nepal I have my family for support. More importantly, Nepal is quite magical, so I threw myself into art."He participated in various commercial art projects in this time, including the work of French-Tunisian artist eL Seed, who is famous for championing the art of ‘calligraffiti’, a mixture of Arabic calligraphy and graffiti. Titled 'Like Her', the project in Giranchaur in Sindhupalchok was unveiled in 2021 and depicted the words of Yogmaya Neupane (“There is nothing between us, nothing at all. Your eyes have tears, just like my own.”), a pioneer poet and revolutionary who spoke against the Rana regime and committed jal-samadhi by jumping together with 67 disciples into the Arun River in 1941.'Like Her' explored the role of women in rebuilding villages destroyed by the 2015 earthquake. The 170m long installation covered the rooftops and connected each house to another, linking the voices of the women, sharing their wisdom, strength and resilience.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058d49c7e80680e0ce1c0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1149">Chyatiyeko Yatartha too is richly detailed, and a call to attention. The centre-piece is the World Cup trophy and Lusail Stadium, where the final match will take place on 18 December. They drip at one corner under the scorching desert heat, like beads of sweat and tears of the tens of thousands of migrant workers who toiled to build them."The Government also hopefully will take this more seriously and ensure their protection such that abuses are minimised in the future," he adds. "If we don’t raise our voices for our fellow citizens, what incentive will there be for the host country governments to act?"While Human Rights Watch (HRW) and other activist groups launched a global campaign #PayUpFIFA in May, calling on FIFA to compensate migrant workers involved in building stadiums and other infrastructure and to avoid the legacy of what they call a ‘World Cup of Shame’, Qatari Labour Minister on 2 November rejected such calls, calling them publicity stunts and accusing Qatar’s critics of racism.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/qatar-refuses-payoffs-to-world-cup-stadium-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Qatar refuses payoffs to World Cup</a> <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/qatar-refuses-payoffs-to-world-cup-stadium-workers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">workers</a><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058d79c7e80680e0ce1c1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="6000" height="4000">Chyatiyeko Yathartha is Gurung’s way of protesting abuse and deaths of workers in Qatar and how the families are still not compensated, and he is working with a Scottish colleague on a 8x10m art piece that has taken six months to complete.He says, "This is how we channel our rage. What has happened cannot be undone, but in the future, hopefully, migrant workers can have a better experience abroad."The project was not without hiccups. Gurung had initially wanted to set up the artwork at the busy Sorha Khutte junction near Thamel. But the neighbor of a multi-storeyed building refused the graffiti to be painted. A friend in Lalitpur offered the wall of their house.A <a href="https://youtu.be/6IC22EfiQFw" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">documentary on the painting</a> process will take the mural to a wider audience and raise awareness of the reality of migrant workers, and was launched on Green Brain’s YouTube channel on 18 November."Imagine if a worker from the West had died in Qatar, the outrage it would spark, the investigations that would take place,” says Gurung. "So many Asians have died over the years in Qatar but no one cares. I am not sure what my art will do, but at least I did my small bit.”Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/labour-rights-legacy-of-the-fifa-world-cup/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> Labour rights legacy of the FIFA World Cup</a>, Meenakshi Ganguly and Mohna Ansari

Ashish Dhakal

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Art as a call to action

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a47229c7e80680e04d416jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2436" height="1624"/><figcaption>Photo: Sworup Ranjit</figcaption></figure>Boston-based Nepali artist Sneha Shrestha once laid out an installation on the floor so that people could walk all over it. She did not want her art to be unapproachable.Now, she is taken on the most democratic art form of them all: graffiti, for which the whole city is a gallery, is free for everyone. What makes Shrestha's graffiti stand out is that she creates Devnagari calligraphy using the walls and sides of 10-storey buildings as her canvas.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-mandal-in-manhattan/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal Mandal in Manhattan</a>, Kanak Mani Dixithttps://vimeo.com/274748954During a summer break in Kathmandu this week, Shrestha admitted that she never intended to become an artist, but she grew up loving art. Her mother, an educator, used to convert English children's books into Nepali, and also illustrate them.  Shrestha used to watch her mother enjoy that process of creation, and actively started sketching herself.When she went to college in Gettysburg University, she studied humanities, but also took art classes and by the time she graduated she had taken enough art classes to be a double major. She then joined the non-profit Artists for Humanity, and did photography. Her principal subject was the work of her colleague and graffiti artist Rob Gibbs.Shrestha saw Gibbs' work, and started experimenting with Devnagari calligraphy. "I liked that you don't have to pay to see graffiti. It's a public form of art which is available to anyone who wants to see it, unlike exclusive galleries. I realised that calligraphy in Nepali could be beautiful, and I started painting a Devanagari style which is completely my own."<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a47259c7e80680e04d417jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1500"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a47279c7e80680e04d418jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Shrestha's works now adorn walls and buildings in Boston, are currently being exhibited at Museum of Fine Arts there, and she has done work for Facebook and Reebok. She writes down letters, words, and poems in Nepali and Sanskrit, and her favourite one is a mural at an MIT  (Massachusetts Institute of Technology) building where she quotes Laxmi Prasad Devkota: Manis thulo dilale hunchha, jatale hundaina (a person's greatness is defined by  his heart, not by his caste.)"There are so many ways I could relate to that line, and it was relevant at that particular space," explains Shrestha. "MIT is one of the most selective institutions in the whole world, who defines what success means in that context? In a meritocratic world that values high earning, what is the success rating of someone like me, an artist? I think you define your own success, and it is not defined by where you come from."Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-craft-of-art/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The craft of art</a>, Sewa BhattaraiShrestha imbues her art with Nepalis aesthetics using a lot of orange and blue. "The orange comes from marigolds which are so intrinsic to Nepal. It reminds me of my favourite festival tihar," says Shrestha, who needs a lot of equipment to realise her artistic vision - painting materials that she lugs around on big backpacks, ladders, and sometimes even a cherry-picker that raises her high up on the sides of buildings.She is proud of doing all the physically rigorous work herself, even getting a license to operate the crane. When she is not creating art, she engages in helping other artists at the Lakshmi Mittal and Family South Asia Institute at Harvard University which gives fellowships to South Asian artists.Shrestha opened Nepal's first children's  art museum back in 2013, and is engaged in it whenever she is back in Nepal. Other times, her mother and other staff take care of business as usual, curating artworks appropriate for children, holding art workshops, and letting children experiment with art.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a472a9c7e80680e04d419jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>"I never had that space growing up, where I could experiment with fun learning. So I would like to create that for children, where they can be creative and develop self confidence. Here, art is not seen as a skill but a medium of self expression," she says.Shrestha also creates her iconic graffiti here in Kathmandu when she can, but it is not as easy as in the US. "When I started making murals in 2013, I was harassed because I was a woman. There were many questions and even more catcalls," she remembers. "I understand the limitations, but I also wish there were more women doing street art in Nepal."Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/art-of-everyday-living/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Art of everyday living</a>, Reeti KChttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Yyfu3dcVLEAfter all, Shrestha herself is inspired by a woman: her mother. She uses her mother's name Kalpana (which means imagination) as her own artistic pseudonym.She adds: "In my artwork I sign my name as Imagine. It is a way for me to honour my mother, and remember all that she inspired me to achieve."<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a472d9c7e80680e04d41ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Sneha's work can be viewed on instagram @imagine876Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-art-going-places/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepali art going places</a>, Kunda Dixit

Nepali calligrapher at large

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

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

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

The Himalaya is not fragile

The Kangchenjunga Trek in far-eastern Nepal is a remote and less-crowded adventure that offers raw wilderness, diverse cultures, and breathtaking terrain below the world’s third highest mountain. Kangchenjunga (8,586m) grabbed the world’s attention before Mt Everest ever did because its imposing rampart dominated the northern horizon from Darjeeling, the summer refuge for the British in India. The Kangchenjunga massif is more a mountain range rather than a peak, its high ridge stretching 25km from Nepal to Sikkim.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251211111236_1f51f10becbb6bd01248f5845c6055479201365b1357fbbc6479b6724ea2185c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251211111236_1f51f10becbb6bd01248f5845c6055479201365b1357fbbc6479b6724ea2185c" data-rendition-name="original" width="938" height="726" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga trail map"></figure>  Sikkim considers the mountain sacred, and has banned mountaineering expeditions. But the various prominences of Kangchenjunga are increasingly popular for climbers via the north face in Nepal. For non-mountaineers, even the Kangchenjunga trek can be arduous, especially in winter. It is one of the last pure wilderness areas in Nepal, traversing sparsely populated valleys that are rich in biodiversity because of the high annual rainfall. Even when Nepal was a forbidden land, among the first foreign visitors was British botanist J D Hooker who explored the Nepal side of Kangchenjunga in 1850 to collect plant samples. The peak was first climbed in 1955, two years after the first ascent of Mt Everest.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251215071228_7dd4ddc943554012654df0a2f5065ed364b8349c31888ac8cbe175b4540d1dfd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251215071228_7dd4ddc943554012654df0a2f5065ed364b8349c31888ac8cbe175b4540d1dfd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_a857e5e9cfc7fea2f5f0b060b8f6e9f6582abc1ac1fd1a60abad90a9d55adbff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025121509128_a857e5e9cfc7fea2f5f0b060b8f6e9f6582abc1ac1fd1a60abad90a9d55adbff" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  The establishment of Kangchenjunga Conservation Area in September 2006 was accompanied by tragedy when 24 people, including Nepal’s nature preservation pioneers were killed in a helicopter crash. The Conservation Area is now the only one managed completely by the local indigenous people. It has 70 varieties of orchids, 30 rhododendron types, and 15 out of 28 endemic plants of Nepal. Kangchenjunga still gets very few of the 200,000 foreign trekkers who visit Nepal every year, but improved road access in recent years is making it more popular. Trekkers have a choice of exploring the North Base Camp (Pangpema) or the South Base Camp (Yalung Glacier), or combine both for the full Kangchenjunga Circuit (map). This trek is considered strenuous, with long walking days, high altitude, and tea house accommodation that is much more basic than the Everest or Annapurna regions. Trekkers have to be fit and with prior hiking experience. Most teams take tents and camp, and carry most of their food.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_895ccc1d918f88c255dbeccea19c990bcaa792f384750559cb7257b99f177be7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025121509128_895ccc1d918f88c255dbeccea19c990bcaa792f384750559cb7257b99f177be7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  FULL CIRCUIT Because the region is restricted, trekkers must obtain a permit and be accompanied by a licensed guide. A full circuit can take three weeks, while doing only the North or South Base Camps will take two weeks, including flying from Kathmandu to Bhadrapur and jeep to Taplejung or a rough trail to Hellok. The lower forested stretches are teeming with wildlife, and this is red panda and snow leopard country. The streams and ponds have amphibians and reptiles, some of which have not yet even been classified. The route also passes the homelands of the Limbu, Rai and Tibetan communities with the local culture and architecture more intact than in most other mountain areas of Nepal.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_90c129a639376621ece0aa067a601573f8b06d934c089a0fa929a7ce9c12018b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2025121509128_90c129a639376621ece0aa067a601573f8b06d934c089a0fa929a7ce9c12018b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="597" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>   <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025121509128_f51e595e5a18d573365cc611dbf1a49cfb19b2b8ee40164ed500179e2a2b04f8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2025121509128_f51e595e5a18d573365cc611dbf1a49cfb19b2b8ee40164ed500179e2a2b04f8" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kangchenjunga in winter NT"></figure>  The best seasons to trek are spring (March–May) and autumn (September–November). There are fewer trekkers and climbers in winter, and many of the birds and wildlife have migrated down to warmer climes. Despite its beauty, trekkers should be prepared for challenges like long distances between villages, unpredictable weather, and limited emergency rescue options due to the remoteness of the area — all even more challenging in winter. Norbu Lama is an international hiking guide with www.dolpocaravantreks.com and just returned after leading a trek to Kangchenjunga Base Camps.

Kangchenjunga in winter

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

street-art

Art as a call to action

Nepali calligrapher at large

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

The Himalaya is not fragile

Kangchenjunga in winter

The war between people