A small Tarai town is not the first place one would expect a fashion designer establishing a thriving business.&nbsp; But Keshar Kala Thapa is a proof that with determination all Nepalis can design their own successful careers. Growing up in Rupandehi district in the central plains of Nepal, Keshar Kala was obsessed with clothing and fabrics from a young age. She turned the pages of fashion magazines, fascinated by what the models wore.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/strength-in-numbers-for-female-farmers">Strength in numbers for female farmers,</a> Sahina Shrestha In a household with five children, Keshar Kala’s mother purposely did not buy a television set because it would hamper their studies. But for Keshar Kala, this meant more time to devour the fashion magazines.&nbsp; After her mother finally relented and brought a tv when she was in the tenth grade, the program that Keshar Kala would be glued to would be the Miss Nepal contest.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091148_563024b8afe5e4a5a3eb68f972d9ee573604706b3b546066f687527804ca818d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20231123091148_563024b8afe5e4a5a3eb68f972d9ee573604706b3b546066f687527804ca818d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Keshar Kala"> </figure>  “On magazines and on tv, I was spellbound by the clothes people wore, the ramp they walked on. I did not want to dress like them, but wanted to create something even more elegant for others to wear,” recalls Keshar Kala. The family had a small sewing machine in which her mother sewed shirts and skirts, tailoring all their school uniforms herself. Sometimes all five siblings would have to wear the same matching clothes that their mother stitched. &nbsp;&nbsp; “I did not like our matching outfits, I felt like I was a sheep in a flock and yearned to wear more original clothing,” remembers Keshar Kala. After high school, Keshar Kala found out that fashion designing could actually be a viable profession. She begged her mother to enroll her in an institute in Butwal, and even attended classes for a month but had to discontinue due to financial constraints.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091132_f5ee3242b02d2f3a4767f5a8ce6138116da2e3788bef9633d4f2db1fbeb8c2f1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231123091132_f5ee3242b02d2f3a4767f5a8ce6138116da2e3788bef9633d4f2db1fbeb8c2f1" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="1859" loading="lazy" alt="Keshar kala 2"> </figure>  She went back to school and graduated with a business degree. Then she gave fashion one more try. She went to fashion school, trained as an apprentice, and then branched out to open her own boutique. Four years ago she registered her training institute. “My friends and family were a bit wary about my decision at first. They couldn’t understand why I would sew clothes when I have a college degree,” says Keshar Kala. “People still do not understand that this can be a viable profession.” &nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/weaving-the-fabric-of-a-new-life">Weaving the fabric of a new life</a>, Sahina Shrestha Keshar Kala now wants to use her skills to train other women to make them financially independent so that fashion is more accessible to Nepali women. She owns and operates Saffron Boutique and Training Center with her husband, Tej Bahadur Kala in Tilottama. “Every designer wants celebrities to wear their clothes and that would always be an honour, but what I find really fulfilling is designing for everyday women,” she says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091136_b7045e1377f9b2eac480d4d0562c201c6df78ae9ee249ca79e5ceb2134a3094e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20231123091136_b7045e1377f9b2eac480d4d0562c201c6df78ae9ee249ca79e5ceb2134a3094e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1636" height="1046" loading="lazy" alt="Keshar kala 3"> </figure>  At the training center, students enroll for six months at a fraction of the price of many other institutes in the area. The couple makes sure each student has their own sewing machine so that they do not have to waste time waiting for their turn working on fabric. &nbsp; “The environment here is different,” says Aashu Thakuriee, who completed her training from Saffron two years ago and has been working with Keshar Kala. “I like the way she approaches teaching. She creates a comfortable environment for students.”&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/honey-money?s=08">Honey = Money,</a> Sahina Shrestha While Keshar Kala is busy instructing the students, Tej Bahadur takes care of their son, picking him up from school and preparing dinner. He is also in charge of all the social media handles of the business and coordinates all the client orders and deliveries.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091136_7654547be5dbde82f28db99e223eff7d080c7789773c8c699a736408ea1a7ec1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20231123091136_7654547be5dbde82f28db99e223eff7d080c7789773c8c699a736408ea1a7ec1" data-rendition-name="original" width="3426" height="2160" loading="lazy" alt="keshar kala 4"> </figure>  Tej Bahadur went to South Korea in 2015 as a migrant worker and saw how people of all ages embraced fashion and how quickly the trends changed. He recognised the opportunity in Nepal and when his contract was up in 2020, instead of looking for ways to stay on in Korea, he returned to help his wife in the business. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/multimedia/staying-home-to-create-jobs">Staying home to create jobs</a>, Sahina Shrestha Keshar Kala’s business degree has been helpful in managing the venture, she makes calculated risks when investing in fabrics and sourcing them, keeping track of inventory and accounting. The couple go to Sunauli in India, source locally in Butwal or make a trip to Kathmandu to buy their own cloth, but Keshar Kala says that finding good quality materials are still difficult.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231123091136_8e7e080da1bfef63a312e88e231e90c847bb6044f66a4e230744e98dd7b4ac12.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20231123091136_8e7e080da1bfef63a312e88e231e90c847bb6044f66a4e230744e98dd7b4ac12" data-rendition-name="original" width="3357" height="2120" loading="lazy" alt="Keshar kala 5"> </figure>  The couple now wants to expand the business and create clothes that can compete with the imports from other countries. They also want to ensure employment for trainees who cannot afford to set up their own business and make designer wears available for women locally.&nbsp; Says Keshar Kala, “Fashion enhances the inner beauty of people. And everyone from housewives to professionals deserve to feel beautiful.”

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A designer by design

Collectivisation may have earned a bad reputation because of Stalin’s policies in the 1930s that led to widespread famine in the Soviet Union, but in Nepal today it is becoming a way for <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Recharging-the-mountains,3465">women farmers to work together to make up for the absence of men</a>.&nbsp; Sumitra Karki had been observing the worrying trend of young men moving to the cities or abroad, and in the absence of farmhands more terrace fields were fallow. In recent years, even the women had started leaving to take care of their grandchildren in the cities.&nbsp; Baglung in the lap of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/power-to-the-periphery">Mt Dhaulagiri in central Nepal</a> is the district with one of the highest proportion of out-migration of young men. In the scenic village of Galkot, tucked amidst forested mountains in the back of beyond, women like Karki who stayed behind have taken over farming.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041028_b461d5de822910754893904e0af877fed6d492f4fa5db816e97ae9445a9ff979.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231007041028_b461d5de822910754893904e0af877fed6d492f4fa5db816e97ae9445a9ff979" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="973" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  The <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/women-and-water">feminisation of farming in Nepal </a>is an example of necessity being the mother of invention, so that women who barely grew enough to feed their families now make up the shortfall with money sent home by their husbands abroad.&nbsp; “Farming was not productive at all,” says Karki. “The women had to wait for the menfolk to send home money even to buy and wear bangles. What kind of a life was that?” But Sumitra Karki had other ideas. During a visit to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/weaving-the-fabric-of-a-new-life">Palpa</a>, she had seen women engaged collectively in agriculture to grow more food and cash crops by putting fallow fields to good use. On return, she put forth the idea at a mothers' group meeting, but the other women did not quite grasp the concept.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041024_46bb7e5e8d1150cf582ec86200d4251f356f8c3a5d65970701f310c715430e27.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20231007041024_46bb7e5e8d1150cf582ec86200d4251f356f8c3a5d65970701f310c715430e27" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="976" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  “They had not seen what I had seen. There is a difference between seeing with our own eyes and listening to someone describe it,” she explains.&nbsp; But Karki did not give up, and a few years later the mothers' group applied for a government grant to grow vegetables and onions. The women realised the power of working collectively, where two and two became more than four. Encouraged, the women formed the Melmilap Ekikrit Krishak Samuha collective farmer’s group in 2019 with eleven members and Karki as president. Today, the women of the Dudilabhati settlement of Galkot who were once confined to household chores and dependent on remittances, are growing valuable vegetables, including unseasonal ones in greenhouses.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/access-to-water-changes-the-face-of-rural-nepal">Access to water changes the fac of rural Nepal</a>, Anita Bhetwal “It is easier to work in a group,” says collective member Nirmala Gurung. “We get to learn from each other and it also makes the work more fun when there are more of us.” For Nirmala, there is another reason to be happy: seeing her income rise, her husband has returned from the Gulf.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041028_0c8f1db51ac2c35a3f6eee625f19e92fa8555612683531f05913ef917eb1d349.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20231007041028_0c8f1db51ac2c35a3f6eee625f19e92fa8555612683531f05913ef917eb1d349" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="980" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  Nita Gurung is also happy she joined: “The collective farm has given us a sense of collective security. Sumitra has been a good guide and coordinator.”&nbsp; Besides vegetables, the women also leased 5,000 sq m to grow millet this season, a native crop which is falling out of favour because it is more labour intensive and has been displaced by rice and wheat. But Karki wants to make this a model farm for the revival of the nutritious and climate-hardy indigenous crop. “We want to give priority to what was traditionally grown here and make an income from that,” she says.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041028_2e9e160febce9226a1d13373e646d0ed56ef6fa20b49cfb412f6ce02a5aa4926.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20231007041028_2e9e160febce9226a1d13373e646d0ed56ef6fa20b49cfb412f6ce02a5aa4926" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="931" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  Agriculture in Galkot used to be subsistence, with low yield on steep terrace farms, dependence on rain, limited market, risk of natural disasters and wild animal raids. All these factors have been exacerbated by the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-change-is-a-disaster-in-the-nepal-himalaya">impact of climate breakdown in the Himalaya</a>. The first major challenge for the women’s collective was Covid. All members of the group tested positive, the market closed down and lots of vegetables went waste. Not one to give up, Karki took charge as soon as she recovered and started posting photos of vegetables on her Facebook page during the lockdown.&nbsp; The group no longer sells vegetables through social media posts, but has developed contacts in the municipality to take their produce to market.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/agroecology-nepal-s-answer-to-climate-change">Agroecology, Nepal's answer to climate change</a>, Zachery Barton Growing up, Karki never thought she would ever be a farmer-entrepreneur. She had wanted to be a staff nurse. But when she was in Grade 9 at the age of 17, she was married. A year later, her oldest son was born.&nbsp; “Although my in-laws and husband were supportive, I couldn’t go back to school because I wanted to bring up my son myself,” says Karki who missed going to school. When her oldest was in Grade 4 and the younger boy was pre-school, she joined private classes and passed the school exam.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231007041032_82f1f0457fda1c8561b9397c800811b21ccaf01d039a3f1a375199b7e4529a4d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20231007041032_82f1f0457fda1c8561b9397c800811b21ccaf01d039a3f1a375199b7e4529a4d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="986" loading="lazy" alt="Community farming in Nepal"> </figure>  In those days, her husband Padam tried his hand in farming, running a rice mill, poultry and running a shop, Sumitra was always by his side, learning the ropes. There was just one thing she wanted to change: society knew her as someone’s wife, daughter-in-law, sister. But she wanted to carve her own identity. “Setting up a collective farming group has given me my own identity,” she says. “Now people know me as Sumitra Karki,” she says with visible pride. The seven women in the group work together in the fields, dividing time between their own plots and the group’s collective farm. The men come in as consultants and help with physical labour when needed. Profits are equally divided between the women, with some amount going into a savings account to buy seeds, or lease more land. &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/back-to-the-future-of-farming">Back to the future of farming</a>, Anil Chitrakar Karki is aware that running a successful business needs time, but making an agro-business work takes even more effort because of prices, weather, and other changing variables. But the women find their strength in numbers, and this cushions them from hurdles along the way.&nbsp; “Women are often left behind in our society. But when we gain financial independence our voices are heard in the family and larger community,” explains Karki. “So my dream is to add more women to the collective and make them financially independent. For farmers like us, there is no better way.”&nbsp;

Strength in numbers for female farmers

Palpa is famous for its Dhaka weaves, but Pabi Sara Rajali did not know this when she first ran away from home to come here more than 20 years ago. From a Magar household, she did not even speak Nepali.&nbsp; She had grown up in the mountains, herding livestock, fetching firewood, doing household chores. She often wondered what the outside world looked like and wanted to earn money to escape her little village. A cousin worked as a weaver in Tansen and proposed to take Pabi Sara with her. Her parents opposed the idea, so she ran away.&nbsp; Life in the bustling market town was different from her mountain village. She not only had to learn to weave, but also a new language. But with her cousin’s help, she quickly picked up both. “It wasn’t an easy job, but at least I had some money of my own,” remembers Pabi Sara. “In my village, I didn't even get to see money, here I could wear what I wanted and eat what I wanted.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/multimedia/staying-home-to-create-jobs">Staying home to create jobs</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230721200744_917427d1a45990a3646f2fa68a49586ca0f8bcb2fdc66c50cfe67595d6eca496.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230721200744_917427d1a45990a3646f2fa68a49586ca0f8bcb2fdc66c50cfe67595d6eca496" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1265" loading="lazy" alt="Weaving the fabric of a new life  NT"> <figcaption>All photos: GOPEN RAI</figcaption> </figure>  Pabi Sara met Chandra Bahadur Rajali, who worked as a technician at the weaving centre. He had come from Gulmi at the age of 12 to spin threads and worked his way up to weave and fix machines. They got married in 1999, and a year later, their first daughter was born. But their combined salaries were not enough to provide for the family of three. So, while Pabi Sara continued weaving, Chandra Bahadur took up a construction job. But that did not pay well either, and they opened a butcher shop in the bazar. Even that did not work out. So, Chandra Bahadur decided to try his luck abroad. He took a loan and went to Dubai. The earnings there were not as good as expected, and the work in the desert was hard. In three years there, Chandra Bahadur saved just enough to pay back the loan to his recruiter. “I thought that I’d be able to make the same money at home while living with my family, so I came back,” he says. In Palpa, he went back to working at the dhaka factory again. He realised that because so many young men had migrated for work, there was a labour shortage and wages had improved. The fabric that had been a part of Nepal’s national dress had started gaining popularity and the demand for Palpali dhaka had surged. Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/milking-every-opportunity">Milking every opportunity</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230721200744_52229a8d9ac98b115b1eb0a062d1796b0e25620bcc2135e1930ee100dc4a844f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20230721200744_52229a8d9ac98b115b1eb0a062d1796b0e25620bcc2135e1930ee100dc4a844f" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1433" loading="lazy" alt="Weaving the fabric of a new life  NT"> </figure>  Dhaka fabric originated in southeast Asia and came to Nepal through then East Bengal during the British days, which is why it is still called ‘dhaka’. Experts have traced the patterns and colours of Nepali dhaka to Bangladeshi jamdani dhakai. The dhaka tradition in Palpa can be traced to the late 1950s when Ganesh Man Maharjan traveled to Dhaka where he saw saris made from the muslin. He learned the process and set up the first factory in Tansen. The fabric became emblematic of the country’s identity when King Mahendra made it mandatory in the 1960s for government officials to wear dhaka topi.&nbsp; After 17 years of weaving dhaka for others, the couple decided to strike off on their own. Today, Pabi Sara and Chandra Bahadur's New Sangharsha Dhaka Udhyog is one of the 32 small-scale dhaka businesses in Palpa. They borrowed money, bought a plot of land, and struck a deal with a factory owner who was closing down and bought five of his jacquard looms. “Getting the looms was not enough, we needed stands, threads, and that too added to the cost,” says Pabi Sara. They named their company Sangarsha Dhaka Udhyog, a nod to the many struggles they had in life. But the struggle was not over: while both had the weaving and mechanical skills, they did not know enough about management.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/life-in-a-pickle/" target="_blank">Life in a pickle</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230721200744_b917b152bf28b262ac1adef0e22782165f945a9df1b9d64981602b57e38d71b4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230721200744_b917b152bf28b262ac1adef0e22782165f945a9df1b9d64981602b57e38d71b4" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="1462" loading="lazy" alt="Weaving the fabric of a new life  NT"> </figure>  In 2016, Pabi Sara got selected for the Women Rural Enterprise Acceleration Project where she learnt the basics of running a business and was among the top five entrepreneurs in the district. Things were slowly starting to look up for the couple. Before the pandemic hit, they expanded to 11 looms and even set up a showroom in the bazar. But the factory remained closed during the lockdowns, so did the showroom and they faced severe losses. Then a landslide damaged a part of the factory and four of the looms.&nbsp; “It felt like our backs gave out,” recalls Pabi Sara. The couple did not have the money to pay interest on their loans or taxes to the government. They decided to shut down for good. “We went around asking for help from the municipality and government offices but maybe because we are small people with no political connections no one listened to us,” says Chandra Bahadur. Desperate, the couple sold corn and other vegetables by the highway, carrying the sacks on their backs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230722030732_395843c7b6e8d30db91d8cae34af1612bc891572b36695e16d01a7930c124f78.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20230722030732_395843c7b6e8d30db91d8cae34af1612bc891572b36695e16d01a7930c124f78" data-rendition-name="original" width="926" height="535" loading="lazy" alt="Tansen"> </figure>  When the world started getting back to normal in 2021, they renovated the shed and registered the company again. Things seem to be finally falling into place, and they now employ seven women on six looms and sell everything they produce from the factory itself. On average, the company has a turnover of Rs200,000 a month. “There is a huge demand for dhaka in the market but we have not been able to meet it,” says Chandra Bahadur. “We don’t have enough space to add more looms. But we do not have the capital to expand either, and there are loans to pay off.” Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/money-grows-on-trees-here/" target="_blank">Money grows on trees here</a>, Sahina Shrestha  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230721200744_bfd8c3dfbd37278b891a82366c9a5985bdd382363173f210cecb53fe5af1e983.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20230721200744_bfd8c3dfbd37278b891a82366c9a5985bdd382363173f210cecb53fe5af1e983" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="1860" loading="lazy" alt="Weaving the fabric of a new life  NT"> </figure>  While uncertain about financing, the couple is confident about the quality of their weaves. The thinner and tighter the threads, the better the design and quality of the fabrics, and Pabi Sara makes sure the weavers all hit hard to make firm knots. Since they have risen up the ranks themselves, they know that happy workers make better products, and take good care of the staff. Rambha Devi Saru was one of the first women to join the company ten years ago. She learned to weave from Pabi Sara herself, and has been working with the couple ever since. Her husband worked in Malaysia and is now in Saudi Arabia. “I was just wasting my time at home. But since I started working here, I feel like I am contributing to the household as well. It makes me happy,” says Rambha. Pabi Sara empathises with that and is pleased she can help other women gain financial independence. “If I had just turned to my husband to provide for me, I wouldn’t be where I am today. So I encourage them to join us. We want to help them in any way we can,” she says. She adds, “We want to scale up and hopefully create a sustainable business. If one day, our daughters decide that they don’t want to work for someone else, I want them to at least have this business to fall back on.” Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/pigs-fly-and-fish-climb-trees">Pigs fly and fish climb trees</a>, Sahina Shrestha

Weaving the fabric of a new life

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d0a9c7e80680e0c964fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"/><figcaption>PHOTOS: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>Karna Maya Pun could have been anything in her life: a landowner, a migrant worker in Korea, or an emigrant to the UK.Perhaps even a nurse, or a teacher. Instead, she is a farmer in Nepal and has no regrets.With her husband Jag Bahadur Paija, she runs the Garar Ekikrit Pashupankshi Tatha Krishi Farm in Tilottama, carving out a niche rearing organic fish and running a modern pig farm.“It would have been easy for me to sell a plot of land or live abroad, but that isn’t a life for me,” says Karna Maya. “I want my children to learn that people should live by virtue of their own hard work, and the best way for them to do that is by seeing us do it.”Every morning, rain or shine, the couple wakes up at 4AM to tend to the 100 pigs in the farm and the three fish ponds. They have to clean the pig sty, fill troughs with leftovers, aerate the ponds, and feed the fish. Then, they check the fry in the fish nursery.By the time all these chores are done, it is usually early afternoon. But for Karna Maya and Jag Bahadur, the workday is just beginning.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/dont-give-up-on-nepal-it-has-lots-to-offer/">Don’t give up on Nepal, it has lots to offer</a>, Sahina Shrestha<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d0d9c7e80680e0c9650jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d109c7e80680e0c9651jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d129c7e80680e0c9652jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d169c7e80680e0c9653jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1075" height="640">“I started tilling the soil at a very young age, and for a long time that is all I knew how to do,” says Jag Bahadur, whose parents thought his time was better utilised in the field than in the classroom, so he never really studied seriously at school. For him, farming is a return to his roots.Following the footsteps of the men in his family, he tried for the Indian army. And, although he was selected, he dropped out after finding the environment oppressive. “We had to obey orders and agree to everything, even if they said pigs can fly and fish climb trees. That was not the life for me, so I quit,” he recalls.In 1995, like many others from his village, he went to Qatar to seek his fortune. For the young man from the mountains of Myagdi, working outdoors in 48°C heat was difficult. He did not know the language, and it was hard to deal with management. He broke stones outdoors all day with his calloused hands.One day, he found someone’s folder with a wallet and documents. He took it to the office, where the staff was impressed by his honesty. He got a reward and was given an opportunity to train as a driver for the managers.“I was the only one who had two jobs in the company: an office boy and a driver. It was easier than having to do physical labour out in the heat,” says Jag Bahadur.After five years in Qatar, he returned to Nepal and married Karna Maya. Thirty-five days after the wedding, he was on a plane again. This time to Korea.Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/life-in-a-pickle/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Life in a pickle</a>, Sahina Shrestha<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d189c7e80680e0c9654jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="587" height="391"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d199c7e80680e0c9655jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="657" height="420">Karna Maya and Jag Bahadur in 2006. Photo courtesy: Karna Maya PunKarna Maya also had a difficult childhood in Myagdi. There was no school in her village, no road and no hospital. Collecting fodder for the animals would take the whole day as she had to walk hours to fetch water.“All we knew in the village was that men either went abroad to work or took the livestock up to high pastures in summer,” recalls Karna Maya. “There wasn’t much to do there.”One evening, Karna Maya’s mother was returning home with a load of grass on her back when she fell off a cliff. By the time the villagers rescued and brought her home, she was dead. Her father who worked in the Indian Army came home, collected the five children, and took them to India where he enrolled them in school.Karna Maya had never attended class and, even though she was older than most other students, she tried to learn what she could. After retiring from the army, Maya's father left again for Sikkim for work. She completed high school from Jhansi in India and returned to Nepal hoping to enroll in nursing school. But her Indian certificate was not recognised: so, she started teaching.Then, one day, she saw a stranger with a thick mustache in her village. She remembers joking about his looks with her cousins. Soon, that man became her husband and nine months later their daughter was born.Karna Maya’s in-laws wanted her to stay home and look after the family, but money was tight. So, in 1997, she flew to Korea for work. At Seoul airport, Nepali migrant workers were collected and taken to a warehouse, where representatives from their companies picked them up. “I cried when I saw this. It felt like the goat market where people came and picked up animals for slaughter,” she remembers. “Some left in cars, others were silently led off by their employers.”Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/money-grows-on-trees-here/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Money grows on trees here</a>, Sahina ShresthaAlthough she was in the same country as her husband, the couple lived and worked in different cities. Jag Bahadur was undocumented, so it was not possible for them to meet frequently. Karna Maya worked in Korea for four years before returning to Nepal. Two years later, Jag Bahadur followed suit.“In Korea, I realised Nepalis went on a ‘D3 visa’, dirty, difficult and dangerous, especially if they were working illegally,” says Karna Maya.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d1b9c7e80680e0c9656jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="960">Jag Bahadur’s father, a retired British Army Gurkha, and mother were preparing to settle in the UK. But the couple refused to go with them. “We are not well-educated and the most we could expect to do once we got there was wash dishes or work in someone’s house. I felt like we could do better if we stayed back,” says Karna Maya.But having lived abroad for so long, they did not know anyone in Nepal and did not have enough capital or skill to start a business. Jag Bahadur once again went abroad, this time to Abu Dhabi. His salary of Rs30,000 was barely enough to cover expenses at home.Karna Maya opened a clothing store but, since she had to take care of the house and children, her shop remained closed during the peak hours. She called her husband back to Nepal and the two discussed their next move.Jag Bahadur wanted to buy a twelve-wheeler truck and drive it around the country. Karna Maya and the family opposed the idea.“There was a time when we did not even have Rs500 in our pockets. People looked at our house and land and refused to believe we did not have money for daily expenses. Those were the most difficult days,” says Jag Bahadur. Meanwhile, Jag Bahadur’s parents in the UK kept asking the couple to relocate too. “They called me mad for staying on in Nepal, and accused me of making my husband lose his mind as well,” says Karna Maya.Out of work and in desperate need of money, the two decided to use the land they had. Sitting idly at home was not an option, neither was selling land because they thought that would make them lazy. After considering the options, they dived into farming.The first year they invested Rs100,000 to grow wheat and maize but after a whole year of working in the fields they made just Rs10,000 in profit. They decided to start fish farming, but, since they couldn’t afford to hire workers, they dug the ponds and ferried pipes themselves.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/proud-to-give-back-to-nepal/">Proud to give back to Nepal</a>, Nepali Times<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d1e9c7e80680e0c9657jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111414114/63723d219c7e80680e0c9658jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="166" height="168">Without experience they suffered initial setbacks, but today they earn Rs70,000 a month selling fish to markets in Bhairawa, Parasi and locally. Earlier this year, they added pigs to their farm and constructed a modern sty that ensures a cleaner environment and healthier animals. They have extrapolated a yearly income of Rs500,000 once the pigs are ready.There are big plans: a biogas plant that uses pig slurry and farm waste, and buying a vehicle to ferry produce to market. They are also focusing on their children’s education.In August, their daughter Linda left to pursue higher education in the UK. And, while not busy with school, they involve their 10-year-old son Linus in the business so that he feels ownership of the farm and aquires skills to fall back on.“Our previous generations taught us that our only option was to go abroad, but we want to teach our children that there are many opportunities here in Nepal,” says Karna Maya. “I will only go abroad for my daughter’s graduation."Jag Bahadur says from nearby, “I won't go even then. It’s too busy here on the farm.”Read more: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/saving-to-save-my-sisters-life/">Saving to save my sister</a>, Nepali Times

Pigs fly and fish climb trees

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221e39c7e80680e0c02ddjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2851" height="1901"/><figcaption>All photos: AMIT MACHAMASI</figcaption></figure>The mountains of Palpa in central Nepal are famous for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/from-heads-to-toes/">dhaka weaves</a>. Besides the colourful handcrafted fabric, Palpa is now also the centre of lemon cultivation in the country, thanks to an enterprising couple.Goma Bhandari with her husband Hum Nath run the Bhandari Lemon Farm in Kutedanda of Tinau Rural Municipality which does not just supply lemons to surrounding market towns, but grows saplings to encourage others to switch to this cash crop.Over the years, the two have cultivated a piece of land that was considered too arid for farming, and made money grow on trees.“If you are disciplined, have a support system and the drive to continue pushing forward, nothing is impossible,” says Goma, who is fondly known in the area as ‘Kagati Didi'.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QgKeNuFA1IFor someone who did not even know the ABCs of farming till the age of 19, Goma has come a long way to carve a niche in Palpa’s booming <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19349#.YqNa845BxpQ">agro-business</a>. She was raised in a family that valued education, even for girls.Busy with school, Goma never had to work in the fields. At her maternal home in Riddhikot, she was the youngest of the three siblings and her father, a schoolteacher, made sure she completed high school.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221e69c7e80680e0c02dejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="166" height="168">Over 20 years ago, she married Hum Nath, who was a teacher in a local government school. His salary was not enough to support the new family with two children. Goma wanted to find a salaried job but with ageing in-laws much of the household chores fell on her shoulders.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221e79c7e80680e0c02dfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2738" height="1826">She would help her father-in-law in the fields, as he patiently taught her the basics of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/back-to-the-future-of-farming/">farming</a>. In the terraced farm at the edge of a hill near their home, the two would work the soil to grow maize, millet, buckwheat as well as vegetables.When her first son was born a year after marriage, Goma knew she had to do something to augment the family income. By now, she had enough confidence to know that farming was the way forward.“I asked my father-in-law what if we planted two saplings instead of one. He laughed and said that it wasn’t about the number but the care we give to it that yields fruits,” recalls Goma.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221eb9c7e80680e0c02e0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2497" height="1665">Taking all she had learned from her father-in-law, she tried her hand in commercial farming, producing vegetables like cauliflowers and tomatoes and fruits like litchi and mangoes.This brought in decent earnings, but it was hard work. There was no irrigation, and the monkeys would raid the crops by day, and rabbits and deer would destroy it at night.“I often thought what the use was of working so hard for months only for all of it to be eaten by wild animals. We had to look for alternatives,” Goma says.There was an old lemon tree at the edge of their field that her father-in-law had planted decades ago. It did not need much water, nor did they need to tend to as carefully as the other crops. Yet, the tree would yield enough lemons to earn up to Rs10,000 every season.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221ef9c7e80680e0c02e1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2707" height="1805">Goma and Hum Nath studied the lemon market and did some back-of-the-envelope calculations. “We found out there was a huge demand, but Nepal imports millions of rupees worth of lemons every year from India." The couple was sure they could meet at least a part of the demand locally.So, in early 2013 they planted ten saplings along with the other vegetables. The acidity and sourness in the fruit and the thorns in the plant meant that the animals would not destroy it. It also did not require much care or water which made it perfect, explained Hum Nath.Neighbours laughed at them, and the family was not happy with the decision. They all expected the couple to fail.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221f69c7e80680e0c02e2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3162" height="2108">But Goma added more lemon saplings, and by the third year, they were selling their first harvest in the market in Dumre and Butwal. Today, her lemons go to Chitwan, Kathmandu, Pokhara and further afield.“No one believed me at first. My in-laws were very worried. As a woman it was difficult navigating the market. But the quality of my produce spoke for itself,” says Goma. “And once things started picking up, our parents were very proud. I am happy they got to see us succeed before they passed away.”And now, people who once mocked the Bhandaris have started planting lemon themselves. Goma has sold over 10,000 lemon saplings. Annual sales of lemons have crossed 9 tonnes, giving Goma’s company a profit of over Rs1.2 million two years ago.They also sold 150 litres of concentrated lemon juice to test the market, and they want to add that and lemon pickle to the range of value-added products on offer.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111412118/637221fa9c7e80680e0c02e3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2075" height="1383">“Farming is not easy but if you work hard there are good returns,” assures Hum Nath. The couple’s oldest son has enrolled in a Bachelor of Science in Agriculture on a full scholarship in Bhairawa. Their younger one is also majoring in science.When she is not busy on her farm, Goma spends time in community work. She has served as the chair for a local women’s agricultural cooperative, as well as in the management committee of two local schools.“For the society to progress it is important that women come out of their homes and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/women-hold-up-more-than-half-the-sky/">take ownership of the space around them</a>,” says Goma. “This can only happen when they are financially independent and develop leadership skills.”She worries about cheaper saplings and lemon from India, but the couple is confident that with economies of scale they can compete. Goma says much of her success is due to her husband and family.Adds Palpa’s famous Kagati Didi: “If my in-laws and husband were not supportive, I would not be where I am today.”This is the first in the series Striking Roots, where we feature the stories of entrepreneurs from across the country. If you know someone whose story needs to be shared, email us as editors@nepalitimes.com

Sahina Shrestha

Money grows on trees here

One smoggy winter morning in February 2019, Ekta regretted coming to her sculpture class. It was the first day of her period, and the 19-year-old wished she was home, curled up in bed with a hot water bag to soothe her cramps.
Her class was at Kalapremi Ceramic Studio, a dark room on the ground floor of a house in Maharajganj, and Ekta’s teacher was the artist Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’, a noted sculptor.
Two other students were already there, using all their muscle strength to knead the sculpting clay. Ekta, now 24, recalls how Kalapremi asked her if she was feeling all right. She avoided him, as she did not want everyone to know she was menstruating.
Kalapremi repeatedly asked Ekta what was wrong. She finally muttered that she was having her period, after which he grabbed her hand and led her to a partitioned corner of the studio and sat her on a chair. Before she could stop him, he slid his hand under her dress, and started massaging her abdomen.
“I was horrified,” Ekta recalls. “I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen, asking me not to be shy, saying he knew how to relieve my pain. He stopped only after I protested furiously.”&nbsp;
The art tutor then said, “You’re like my daughter. I’m doing it out of love to make you feel better, but you’re so stubborn.”&nbsp;
“Instead of saying sorry he acted like I was the one having crazy thoughts,” remembers Ekta, adding that from April 2016 to August 2020 beginning the time she was 16, the artist sexually abused and harassed her on several occasions. &nbsp;
Now, Ekta and the artist’s other former students are finally sharing their experiences and some are pressing legal charges against him, hoping that others do not have to endure what they did.&nbsp;
Award-winning artist and teacher Gopal Das Shrestha ‘Kalapremi’ (the name means ‘Art Lover’) is known for his ceramic art, sculpture, and contemporary pottery. He was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-house-of-kalapremi">profiled in Nepali Times after a collaborative exhibition</a>, ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ at the Siddhartha Art Gallery three years ago.&nbsp;
His pieces, titled Gaalis, featured sculpted female figures with the heads of dogs, sheep, and donkeys (pictured) to depict derogatory terms for women. Some critics said the collection was a satire on feminists.
Kalapremi started his artistic and teaching career in 1983 and over the years taught at Bhanubhakta School, Kathmandu University School of Arts, Lalitkala Campus and at his private Kalapremi Ceramic Studio. He has also lectured at Jeonju University in South Korea and recently at Tabor Academy in the United States.
Seven of Kalapremi’s former students were interviewed for this story. Five female students said he touched them inappropriately in his studio or at Kathmandu University. Two male students said they witnessed him abuse and harass the women. In all cases, the students struggled to recognise the abuse when it occurred, and the lack of reporting systems left them to cope on their own for years.&nbsp;
Earlier this year, students shared a social media post hinting at Kalapremi’s history of abusive behaviour following which more students of the artist reached out sharing similar experiences. Some students spoke of abuse that happened as long as 20 years ago.
Kalapremi, 60, has denied the allegations. He told Nepali Times: “Some years ago, there was a movement encouraging people to hug and kiss. I used to do it purely out of friendship and love. But after seeing posts on social media last year calling out my behaviour, I realised my actions may have hurt some people. I understand now that I should have been more mindful.”
He added: “I am also an auxiliary health worker, so I know the exact points to massage to relieve menstrual pain. It’s not just menstruation, I take anyone who is ill to the hospital.”
Sexual abuse is much more rampant than reported given how difficult it is to prove it in court. The law defines sexual abuse as occuring when someone touches another’s private parts, coerces them into touching theirs, uses vulgar language, shows degrading images, or behaves indecently towards them without consent.&nbsp;
Ekta and her fellow students are consulting lawyer Suneeta Regmi Pokhrel, who says they know that even if the court decides in their favour, it is difficult to survive after speaking up, and influential men defend themselves saying they are being framed.&nbsp;
“They are in a lot of pain and weep when recalling how he abused them,” Regmi Pokhrel told us. “They are angry and have filed a case against him, but they are also terrified. They know he is a powerful man and they have seen how our society treats women who speak up against abusers. Unless people speak up, perpetrators will be emboldened.”
Art and academia in Nepal simply reflect the power imbalances in society where people with intersecting identities experience worse forms of abuse. Theatre actors Raj Kumar Pudasaini, Rajan Khatiwada, and Sunil Pokhrel were called out during the #MeToo movement in the Nepali theatre scene in 2019. Even after the allegations Pokhrel went on to receive national awards, while others continued to work without repercussions.
“If you speak up against abusers, you gradually get sidelined from projects,” explained a theatre artist who wished anonymity fearing professional setbacks. “The theatre scene in Nepal is quite small, you just have to make peace with the perpetrators and work with them if you want to sustain yourself.”&nbsp;
In academia there is a history of faculty members sexually harassing students and getting away with it. After Tribhuvan University (TU) lecturer Krishna Bhattachan was accused of harassing women students, the university said it would follow Nepal’s sexual harassment law and set up a reporting mechanism. But nothing happened to the professor, who had already retired. Instead, he counter-accused the students of 'attacking the indigenous people’s movement with baseless allegations' as <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/letters/2019/01/29/bhattachan-responds">he told the Kathmandu Post in 2019</a>. He continues to be featured as a prominent speaker including at TU.
Other faculty members previously accused of sexual harassment include Jagadish Murti Koirala from TU, Bishnu Prasad Acharya from Ratna Rajya Campus, and Bodha Raj Tripathee from Lalitpur Madhyamik Vidhyalaya. A woman staff member from TU also filed a sexual abuse complaint against Dambar Chemjong from TU.
Prominent figures like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-rise-and-fall-of-nims-purja">mountaineer Nims Purja</a> have been <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/sports/mountaineering-sexual-harassment-abuse-nims-purja.html">accused of sexual assault</a>, and cricketer Sandeep Lamichhane, actor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/celebrity-rape-case-spotlights-nepal-laws">Paul Shah</a>, and former speaker of Parliament <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mahara-arrested">Krishna Bahadur Mahara</a> have been accused of rape, but society-at-large has let off the alleged perpetrators amdist a larger debate about justice for survivors and punishment of perpetrators.&nbsp;
‘Gaushala-26’ is the court name given to the 18-year-old who accused Sandeep Lamichhane, former captain of Nepal’s national cricket team and skipper of Biratnagar Kings in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/here-comes-the-nepal-premier-league">ongoing Nepal Premier League</a>, of rape. She left the country citing society questioning her character affecting her mental health while Lamichhane got an outpouring of support. In May, the Patan High Court overturned a prior verdict that found Lamichhane guilty of rape and had sentenced him to eight years in prison. During the 23-month legal battle to pursue justice, Gaushala-26 faced threats of gang rape and acid attacks.&nbsp;
Exhausted by the struggle, Gaushala-26 sought to “move to a new world” where she could live free without hiding her identity.
Actress Samragyee Rajya Laxmi Shah in an Instagram video now deleted detailed the harassment she faced from a filmmaker during a movie shoot. She did not name any name but veteran actor Bhuwan KC filed a defamation case against Rana, but the court ruled that the charge lacked sufficient evidence.&nbsp;
Former Kathmandu mayor <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo">Keshav Sthapit also mocked the #MeToo movement</a>, calling accusations against him by journalists Rashmila Prajapati and Ujjwala Maharjan “a rape of men’s rights”.
Serial Abuse
Back at the Kalapremi Ceramics studio, another former student, 24-year-old Rajiv, says he felt the need to speak out after seeing his female classmates being abused.&nbsp;
“He frequently kissed them on their cheeks,” he told Nepali Times. “Whenever they walked into the studio he flailed his arms like a child asking for a hug. They awkwardly hugged him from the side, but he pulled them closer, held their chin, and kissed their cheeks.”&nbsp;
Rajiv says he also saw Kalapremi pull the women’s bra straps, touch their breasts, and slap their buttocks. The young students would freeze, not knowing how to react, and if they protested, he would say it was “normal in art”. Rajiv, 19 at the time like his classmates, remembers thinking perhaps the well-respected artist was right after all.
Another student, Luna, who took lessons at Kalapremi’s studio from 2020 to 2022 did try to confront the tutor after he made an obscene proposal to her. She recalls: “One day when the other students had left the studio and it was just the two of us, he told me that God had given him special artistic talent and he could transfer those powers to me. But to do that both of us will have to be naked, inside a dark room, and have sex.”
Luna, who was 18 then, was livid and told him she did not want any of his powers, but she says he laughed at her as if he was joking. She did not tell her family about the incident because she thought no one would believe her.&nbsp;
“They were all in awe of this famous artist and felt I should be grateful that to be learning sculpting from him,” she says. “I was scared to be alone with him in case he talked about sex again. My coping mechanism was to be rude so he wouldn’t try to come close to me.”
Seeing how some classmates were standing up to Kalapremi, Ekta too tried to push back against his advances, but she said he found ways to coerce her. Since Ekta, Rajiv, and Luna could not afford Kalapremi’s Rs30,000 monthly fee for lessons, he had offered them all a stipend to assist him in the studio.
“He had spondylosis and took me to his therapy sessions to learn massage techniques, then he often made me and other students massage him,” says Ekta. Whenever she refused, he would feign pain to make her feel sorry for him. “He would insist that I put my hands under his shirt so that I could massage him better,” she adds.
The art tutor often tried to “seduce sympathy” from Ekta by sharing how he had never been loved as a child and was “sexually frustrated” as an adult.&nbsp;
“At 7PM, he would pour himself Signature whiskey and immediately go off again about how he was sex-starved. I didn’t know how to respond. It took me time to realise alcohol was just an excuse to talk about sex,” Ekta says.
If convicted, Kalapremi could face financial penalty and/or a prison sentence of up to three years according to Section 224 of National Penal (Code) Act 2017.&nbsp;
Data suggests that victims of child sexual abuse on average take nearly 24 years to tell someone about their trauma, and some may never disclose it at all.&nbsp;
“In our culture, children are rarely taught about boundaries. They often react, show anger when adults pinch their cheeks. But adults insist they did it out of love, and force the children to accept it,” says Sita Lama, a psychotherapist at Manka Kura. “And even when someone touches them inappropriately they struggle to identify and verbalise it.”
When perpetrators claim to be “acting out of love”, Lama says survivors are likely to perceive it as something safe, rather than recognising it as abuse.&nbsp;
“It may take years for them to realise they were abused,” she explains. "And even when they become aware, the power imbalance with the abuser and the associated shame often prevents survivors from speaking up."
Other former students from the School of Art at Kathmandu University have also come forward years later, saying Kalapremi sexually abused them. As young adults, they felt his behaviour was off but were uncertain if it was inappropriate, illegal, or they did not know how to respond. After having understood that it was indeed abuse, they say they are speaking out now to protect others.&nbsp;
Amina Singh, a visiting faculty member at Kathmandu University, says there is no clause against sexual abuse in contracts of teachers, and there is no formal grievance handling mechanism for the students.&nbsp;
“So the only way students can to deal with sexual abuse is approach someone they trust,” she says.
Eight other former art students of Lalit Kala Campus and Srijana College of Fine Arts of Tribhuvan University and other private art studios in Kathmandu say they were also sexually abused by their art teachers. Three faculty members interviewed from these institutions said they saw the abuse, but felt it was futile to report it given how powerful the teachers were.
In the absence of a formal system, some longtime women artists warned each other about “problematic” artists. They shared &nbsp;a “heads-up” to be more cautious when collaborating with them, and avoided responding to their calls and texts after work hours.
To ensure art institutions are safe for all, galleries, museums, artist studios, and smaller art spaces need to develop policies on sexual harassment. This would include a code of conduct or studio policies that hold the leadership accountable and outline the principles of professional ethics.&nbsp;
Students and employees should inquire about accountability mechanisms for raising concerns, both formally and informally, advocates say.
Three years after Ekta left the ceramics studio, she learnt that Kalapremi had harassed many other women. Still trying to get a footing in the art industry, she attended a workshop in Kathmandu where women artists discussed ways to stay safe in the art sector.&nbsp;
Since it was a close-knit group Ekta opened up about how she felt violated and realised she was not alone, he had been abusing underprivileged students for years, and this was common knowledge among artists in Nepal.
Ekta says that even after she quit, Kalapremi continued sending her text messages like ‘I am thinking of you’, ‘Why have you stopped speaking with me’, or ‘I am waiting for your call’.&nbsp;
But what really forced her to act was when Ekta found out that he was sending similar texts to her younger sister.&nbsp;
“I’ve had enough,” she told us. “He abused me all these years but I won’t let him abuse my sister.” &nbsp;
Ekta, Rajiv and Luna are not the real names of the students.&nbsp;

‘Art Lover’ accused of sexual abuse

It was 8:15 in the evening of 25 March 1968 when everyone in the village of Batulechaur near Pokhara heard a deafening sound like thunder as a bright flashing object hurtled down to land in a field.&nbsp; That field belonged to Kul Timilsina, and the next morning he retrieved a sheet of metal about 2m by 1m and carried it home with the help of a few others, thinking it would be useful for his buffalo shed.&nbsp; Before he died at age 83 three years ago, Timilsina had told photo archivist Sunil Ulak that the black metal sheet was not rectangular and had rounded corners. There are a few witnesses still alive who have a clear recollection of the object that fell from the sky that night.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2024120707128_75cc85aac56b9cc4a77366471f058d7b3eb6868776811b0923845c2d0a61f014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="601" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>The field in Batulechaur belonging to Kul Timilsina where fragments of a flying object fell from the sky in 1968.</figcaption> </figure>  One of them is Timilsina’s wife Gyanu, who was 22 at the time. She had been at home, and remembers hearing the big bang and the sky becoming very bright. “We saw the thing in the field in the morning,” she told us. “It looked like a lid, a covering of some sort. The way it was stuck in the ground, it must have fallen from the sky. We thought we could use it to dry clothes on, and took it home.”&nbsp; Another witness is Kul Narayan Paudel. “I was only eight then. We ran to the field to see what had fallen. It was a four-sided metal sheet. The elders took it away, and I don't know what happened to it.” &nbsp; Ram Bahadur Baniya, a teacher at the local school, says he had heard the sheet had been brought to the school, and later handed over to the Zonal Commissioner at the time, Nanda Prasad Malla. “But that is all hearsay,” he says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2024120707128_0bf207a12063fb8155b3c8d9a00a94887b126380c9e0627527c84cf5e1101f54" data-rendition-name="original" width="1170" height="610" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Gyanu Timilsina, wife of Kul Timilsina.</figcaption> </figure>  There are two versions of what happened to Kul Timilsina’s metal sheet. One is that an American Peace Corp Volunteer teaching at the nearby Bindyabasini School took it, and another is that it was handed over to the government. Recently declassified Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and US State Department documents from the time say that the US Embassy in Kathmandu tracked down the object two years later and had it shipped back to the US. A telegram from the Department of State and Department of Defense tagged as ‘MOON DUST / Space Fragments’ dated 1 March 1972 stated: ‘1. Restored space fragment will be on board Embassy support flight 115 arriving Kathmandu on or about March 10. Fragment is packed in shipping crate (cargo no. 72-33365) marked in care of DAO.&nbsp; 2. State and Defense representatives examined fragments prior to shipment finding restoration acceptable.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241207071212_929d903ee06d41baa4f6040e981cd7c7d7bd75cc9c37c9b617d307fc8538d2df" data-rendition-name="original" width="856" height="568" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> <figcaption>Declassified CIA documents about the investigation into the object sighted in Pokhara. </figcaption> </figure>  The documents show that the US government, military and intelligence agencies investigated this incident thoroughly when it occurred, and have continued to revisit it ever since, as recently as five years ago. What is even more intriguing is that the object that fell in Pokhara was not the only unidentified space object that fell to earth that year. There were similar sightings of objects falling from the sky in Ladakh, Sikkim and Bhutan between 19 February and 25 March 1968.&nbsp; These mysteries were the subject of a CIA investigation in 1968 titled ‘<a href="https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP81R00560R000100070007-8.pdf">Sighting of Unidentified Flying Objects in Ladakh, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan</a>’, and the report is part of the recent online declassification of 800,000 top-secret documents from the period.&nbsp; &nbsp;Although unidentified flying objects (UFOs) have a connotation now of being alien craft, it could be pieces of satellite, missile, rocket or even aircraft. The CIA report documents six sightings in 1968 and quotes local sources as describing all of them having similar characteristics: bright blue or red streaks in the sky accompanied by loud sounds like lightning and thunder and objects falling to the ground. Aside from the metallic object that was found in Batlechaur, there were other items also found nearby in Tallakot, Tureypasal, Armalakot and Maidan. Whatever the object was, it seems to have disintegrated even before it hit the ground.&nbsp; The CIA report records the first sighting on 19 February 1968 in various parts of Sikkim and Olangchung Gola and Ghunsa in eastern Nepal. The light was said to be ‘long and thin’ and giving out ‘green and red light’. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241207071212_c3c825027d966a2aedc846970390eebe063957503c7eacc8e01e0517843f9bbb" data-rendition-name="original" width="892" height="596" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara "> </figure>  Two days later on 21 February, a soundless blue object was seen traveling fast across the sky above Thimphu in Bhutan. Then on 4 March there were multiple daytime sightings or white streaks in the sky at Chang La Pass, Fukche and Koyul in Ladakh. There were more sightings in Ladakh on the very day fragments fell near Pokhara on 25 March 1968.&nbsp; After the sightings in Pokhara, rumours started flying in Kathmandu that these were aliens trying to land on Earth, it could be Russian or Chinese spy planes or satellites, and some even say it as a sign from heaven that the end of the world was near. This was at the height of the Cold War. The Russians and Americans were testing their thermonuclear devices as well as intercontinental ballistic missile delivery systems. The Washington-Beijing rapprochement had not yet happened, and China was making quick progress testing atomic bombs. Within two years after its first atomic test, in 1966 China exploded its first hydrogen bomb at the Lop Nur site in Xinjiang, 3,000km to the north from Nepal. After neary six decades, what is still intriguing is that all the sightings within a few months of each other in 1968 were along the Himalayan arc bordering Tibet: from Bhutan, Sikkim Nepal, to Ladakh. The US military intelligence seems to have concluded that this was not a coincidence and there were frequent research trips to the site in Pokhara by American officials in the months after the incident. With the help of the Royal Nepal Army, the region north of Pokhara was thoroughly searched.&nbsp; A confidential memo dated 25 June 1968 by Jerry C Trippy to a ‘Mr Farley’ mentions that the US Air Force’s Foreign Technology Division had decided that the debris could be important because it may be related to a Chinese missile test or a Soviet ‘Vehicle Venik’ rocket.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20241207071216_feb5425692dc36b20187de4e4fcc2ce9fd12b6d9e1b8724398e50bcdbf9032fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  On 28 August 1968 the US Embassy in Kathmandu sent a letter to Washington DC saying that the object could be of Soviet origin, possibly from when the rocket carrying the ‘Kosmos 208’ satellite re-entered the atmosphere. But why were the fragments falling to earth several weeks apart, and in the same region? No one knows where the metal sheet that Kul Timilsina recovered is now. It was definitely packed in a crate and taken to the US, and although it is rumoured that it was returned that is not very likely. Archivist Sunil Ulak heard from the Timilsina family that CIA officials had returned to the site five years ago. &nbsp; Interest in UFOs peaked in the US in the 1950s, with the Cold War space race and tests of atomic weapons and delivery rockets. CIA and scientists were being sent to investigate sightings, both publicly and privately. Could the Pokhara fragments as well as the sightings in Ladakh and Bhutan actually be alien craft falling to earth? The renewal in interest in space travel in large part due to Elon Musk’s SpaceX, UFOs and sightings are again subjects of public interest.&nbsp; Even 57 years later, even if there was definitive proof about whether the Batlechaur fragment was from a Chinese missile or a soviet rocket, it has not been made public in documents declassified so far. We may never know.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241207071216_b6938795f40731e7657fd6dcbb3cf460a326186a15eb11d4f832f602201ff598" data-rendition-name="original" width="642" height="320" loading="lazy" alt="UFO over Pokhara"> </figure>  Sunil Ulak speculates if the debris actually came from an American aircraft, perhaps on an intel mission upon China. “Which could explain why they were so thorough in collecting the fragments in Pokhara,” he says. But that still does not explain the multiple sightings weeks apart in 1968.&nbsp; Indeed, US military aircraft were at that time flying frequent night-time missions from air force bases in India to supply weapons to Khampa guerrilla camps in Nepal located north of Pokhara in Mustang. It could very well be that the Chinese shot down one such aircraft. The other sightings could have been contrails of US spy planes, or Chinese anti-aircraft missiles.&nbsp; There were quite a few developments regarding UFOs in 2024. In a US congressional hearing in July, former intelligence officer David Grusch claimed that the government had long been involved in a program to investigate and retrieve non-human craft crashes, and then try to reverse engineer them. However Grusch did not show any evidence.&nbsp; The UAP Disclosure Act of 2024 was signed into law by Joe Biden in December 2023. It plans to oversee the public disclosure of UFO information. However, there is a clause in it that prevents disclosure if it would cause threats to military defense, intelligence operations or foreign relations.&nbsp; It is unlikely that the declassified documents about sightings in the Himalayan will cause any real surprise about definite evidence of alien life even if it was found. It seems humanity will continue, at least for now, to wonder about curious lights in the sky and whether there is anybody out there.&nbsp;

UFO over Pokhara

When Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) president Rabi Lamichhane was arrested in October on charges of defrauding depositors of cooperatives, the party’s vice president Swarnim Wagle gifted him Fareed Zakaria’s book, Age of Revolutions.
Since then, Lamichhane has been shunted around from Kathmandu to Pokhara to Chitwan and back to Pokhara to attend police investigations and court proceedings. He was being flown to Birganj via Kathmandu on Buddha Air on Monday. There is another pending case in Janakpur.
Human rights groups and civil society have criticised the government for hounding Lamichhane with inhumane treatment that borders on physical torture. The two parties in the coalition, Nepali Congress (NC) and the UML, see Lamichhane’s RSP as a potentially formidable challenge to their power.
Even if the fraud charges against Lamichhane are true, the Nepali public is increasingly looking at the government’s actions through the police and courts as political vendetta.
Despite all the travelling, sometimes by plane and often by road at night, Lamichhane appears to be in high spirits, waving to supporters who often gather if they know he is going to be driven around. A social media video shows him giving high fives to fellow passengers on a recent flight to Pokhara.&nbsp;
In the past weeks, streets in Pokhara have erupted with parallel protests by Lamichhane’s supporters as well as depositors of cooperatives who lost their savings to the scam.&nbsp;
Although family visits are allowed, prison officials in Pokhara told Nepali Times that not many people visit Lamichhane these days. He added, “When he does get visitors, he asks them to bring him books.”
Lamichhane is currently Nepal’s most high-profile public figure in custody, and highlights the stark difference between how influential prisoners are treated compared to ordinary inmates.
There are six prison cells at Kaski District Police Office’s two-story detention centre, three on each floor. And while authorities pack prisoners into already overcrowded cells, Lamichhane has an entire room on the second floor to himself.&nbsp;
He has also been allowed to call his family every few days. Other prisoners are not permitted phone calls except for emergencies.
Meanwhile, Lamichhane’s former business partner Chhabilal Joshi, an ex-Deputy Inspector General of Police with whom he established his Gorkha Media Network, is in custody under the same charges in the prison cell next to him.
Lamichhane is accused of siphoning off depositors' money to the tv network in which he was part-owner and anchor. &nbsp;
Both Lamichhane and Joshi are able to buy food from the police canteen instead of being served the regular meal like other prisoners. Joshi has also given his statement to authorities in Rupandehi and Kathmandu for his alleged role in the scam. Lamichhane is yet to be presented in Kathmandu for questioning.
While he was in custody at the Kathmandu District Police Complex, Joshi expressed his desire to sleep in a police officer’s office, reportedly assuring authorities that he would not run away and he was entitled to certain facilities as a former officer of the law.
“He seemed to be under the impression that he is still a police officer,” says a source at the Kathmandu District Police. “We made it clear to him that as someone accused of a crime, he was not entitled to special treatment.”
Former ministers Balkrishna Khand and Top Bahadur Rayamajhi, and ex-home secretary Tek Narayan Pandey, who were arrested in connection with the fake refugee scam last year, were similarly housed in the offices of law enforcement officials instead of prison cells. Khand has since been released after six months in jail.
While there is no legal provision to keep high-ranking officials in separate detention centres when they are arrested, authorities granting them special facilities is not uncommon. Law enforcement officials say VIP detainees expect preferential treatment while in police custody.
Among those is former Kosi Province minister Lila Ballav Adhikari, who was arrested from Biratnagar on 10 November over his alleged involvement in human trafficking and brought to Kathmandu. Adhikari had flown to Japan without government approval with three individuals on 29 October to attend a cultural conference, but had been sent back to Nepal from Narita.&nbsp;
His three companions were arrested at Kathmandu airport upon their arrival, but Adhikari was able to exit unscathed from the VIP lounge. Adhikari had resigned as the Kosi Province Minister for Internal Affairs and Law when it became public that his companions had been taken into custody, and was himself arrested shortly after. He has since been cleared by the courts.
Throughout his detention, Adhikari was kept separately from other inmates. Senior Superintendent of Police (SSP) Basant Rajouri, head of the Bhadrakali complex, says that while there is no separate detention area for VIPs, some detainees are kept separately depending on the nature of their crime.
However, sources say that arrangements were made for retired judges and others to visit Adhikari frequently worked at the office of a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) during his time in custody.&nbsp;
“He used to constantly pester the authorities to let him sit outside in the sun, and to be able to use the police officer’s shower area,” added an officer.
Adhikari was released on 25 November after the government prosecutor’s office decided not to charge him in a move that was seen to expose the government’s double standards.
Over at Kathmandu’s Dilli Bazar Prison, former Kist Bank CEO Kamal Gyawali emerges from his prison cell into the courtyard of the prison’s ‘Ka (क)’ block every morning with a thick book in his hands, ready to give his daily sermon.
With his long beard, Gyawali, who is serving a prison sentence for banking fraud, looks the part of a religious guru as he implores his rapt listeners to “walk the right path, abandon bad thoughts and turn to scripture and spirituality”.&nbsp;
Afterward, the attendees gather to discuss politics and current affairs. Inmates at his daily sermons at the prison include other high-profile detainees, including former MP Ichchha Raj Tamang, who is in jail for money laundering and cooperatives fraud, former joint secretary Chudamani Sharma, who was convicted of corruption, as well as NC leader Chandra Bahadur Lama and Krishna Bahadur Upreti of the UML both of whom are on trial for embezzling billions of rupees.
Victims of the cooperatives scam that former lawmaker Tamang was involved in have made trips to the prison and requested visits, but he has refused to meet with any of them.
“Tamang often complains that the state has prevented him from returning the money to the victims by locking him up,” says a police officer at the Dili Bazar jail.
“All you hear every day from the VIP prisoners is that they have been framed,” adds the officer. “No one admits that they were involved in misdeeds.”
But while most high-profile prisoners complain about prison conditions, one exception is former provincial lawmaker Deepak Manange, who is serving a sentence at Dilli Bazar Jail for attempted murder.
“He is the happiest prisoner here,” says a warden. “Unlike the others, he doesn’t claim to have been framed, in fact he doesn’t seem to care that he is in prison.”
Manange is detained in the ‘Kha (ख)’ block of the prison complex, which he renovated at his own expense. The block previously housed female prisoners, but Manange used his influence to transfer them elsewhere. He faces no shortage of visitors, who range from political leaders to people from the underworld.
Along with Manange, other well-known prisoners in this block include Nepal Telecom Managing Director Sunil Poudel, and former executive director of the Surakshan Printing Centre Bikal Poudel, who are serving time for corruption.
Former prisoners at Dilli Bazar prison include ex-ministers Khum Bahadur Khadka and Shyam Sundar Gupta, NC leader Ganesh Lama, Maoist MP Balkrishna Dhungel, Nagarik Unmukti Party leader Resham Chaudhary, as well as former IGs Ramesh Chand Thakuri, Om Bikram Rana, and Hem Bahadur Gurung.
Section 54 of Nepal’s Prison Act assigns each prison’s internal administration the
responsibility of governing its prisoners, which means the more favourable the jail management is, the more comfortable it is for prisoners.
Dilli Bazar prison has been the prison of choice for many high-ranking prisoners, especially those convicted of white collar crimes, due to its more accommodating administrators. The prison, which has the capacity to house 700 inmates, is also less crowded than other jails.
Anuj Bhattarai, spokesperson of the Department of Prison Management, says that there is no legal classification in Nepal for felons to be assigned prisons based on the nature of their crimes.
“That Dilli Bazar Jail has a higher number of prisoners convicted of crimes like corruption is most likely a coincidence,” says Bhattarai. “There is no provision for influential people to be able to choose where they will be incarcerated.”&nbsp;
Translated by Shristi Karki from the Nepali original published in himalkhabar.com

What Nepal’s VIP prisoners do in jail

As soon as she milks her cow, 52-year-old Punam B K is off, pedaling her bicycle furiously along the highway with a blue milk can in the front basket.&nbsp; By the time she arrives at the Jaya Shiva Ganesh Dairy Producers Cooperative in Gopalganj village, others are already there, their bicycles parked on the roadside. The farmers are all holding on to their blue milk cans, and are chatting away.&nbsp; “We keep what is needed for the family, and sell whatever remains here at the cooperative,” says B K, as the volume, fat and non-fat solid content of her milk is measured. It is then poured into a bigger vat to be mixed with milk from other farmers. B K collects her receipt with the value of her milk, and prepares to head home. The farmers are reimbursed on a quarterly basis.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/a-family-that-works-together-stays-together">A family that works together stays together</a>, Sahina Shrestha “Everyone around here has at least a cow or buffalo to provide milk for the family, the cowdung is used for fertiliser, and we can bring whatever is left over to the cooperative,” says B K who, like the others, brings her milk by bicycle twice a day, once in the morning and again in the evening.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241210081232_0df32c0f6a572aef83eca02dc7a86f75ea5dbc88dc6c2390d42a44ab3cc93395.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20241210081232_0df32c0f6a572aef83eca02dc7a86f75ea5dbc88dc6c2390d42a44ab3cc93395" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1275" loading="lazy" alt="dairy farmers in Chitwan"> </figure>  All this may seem like nothing special, just an ordinary farmer selling her milk. But it has to be seen in the context of dairy farmers overcoming subsistence and increasing household income. Nearly 200,000 dairy farmers from over 1,200 cooperatives have not been paid by the government-run DDC for their milk for a year or more.&nbsp; The DDC has fixed a quota for buying milk from cooperatives that limits production even during the peak winter months. Farmers in Chitwan are so fed up, they have staged demonstrations in Kathmandu and even poured milk on the East-West Highway in protest.&nbsp; Punam B K’s milk ends up in Bhawani Dairy, a milk processing plant in Chitwan that buys milk from various cooperatives in the district. It was established six years ago by three entrepreneur cousins Devrath Baral, Drishya Baral and Subash Paudel and is now being supported by the Commercial Agriculture for Smallholders and Agribusiness (CASA) project.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241210081232_4e3c65390b9c5345f807b10cbb8c36b006ef6d3cb972e07b5067f4b2db2be32e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20241210081232_4e3c65390b9c5345f807b10cbb8c36b006ef6d3cb972e07b5067f4b2db2be32e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1102" loading="lazy" alt="dairy farmers in Chitwan"> </figure>  This UK-funded project implemented by Swisscontact in Nepal has been supporting agro-businesses in 23 countries in Asia and Africa. They focus on improving the capacity of private dairy and vegetable farmers to find markets and build a sustainable supply chain for their produce. It helps dairies like the one in Chitwan with branding and marketing, as well to track business through a Dairy Management System (DMS) digital database.&nbsp; Bhawani Dairy also got support to conduct orientation for cooperative farmers to learn about new ways to boost productivity with breeding, cowshed management and hygiene maintenance. Many commercial farmers in Chitwan, some with up to 60 cows and buffaloes, have benefited.&nbsp; B K says she only has six cows, so not everything she hears at the orientation about increasing cowshed area is applicable. “We are just happy our milk is not wasted, and we can earn some cash from the surplus,” she says.&nbsp; Bhawani Dairy’s clientele is based entirely in Chitwan and in towns along the East-West Highway. But building on its success here, the company is looking to expand nationwide and target the Kathmandu market. Being a perishable product, the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/nepal-s-milk-heartland-rebounds">diary business is challenging</a>. Businesses also need investment and technical support to diversify into value-added milk products like cheese, yoghurt, ice cream or powdered milk.&nbsp; “For now, the best thing we as a dairy business can do for farmers is to buy their milk at a decent price and pay them in time,” says Drishya Baral of Bhawani Dairy.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241210081232_6c06efb5674dbcd8679015af543bfda87030755383a13c9269e272af28e85953.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20241210081232_6c06efb5674dbcd8679015af543bfda87030755383a13c9269e272af28e85953" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1275" loading="lazy" alt="dairy farmers in Chitwan"> </figure>  Another agro-industry supported by CASA since 2018 is Himalayan Supervores, a venture that sources farm produce to supply vegetables and other foods to restaurants and hotels in the city, and even export Halal-certified produce to Gulf countries.&nbsp; CASA helped with cold chain management system to keep vegetable produce fresh so that the products earn trust about quality in the national and international market. Himalayan Supervores is already exporting to UAE and Qatar, and is targeting other Gulf countries next. “The guidance provided by the international expert was invaluable, we could not have bought that knowledge even with money,” says Nelson Shrestha of Himalayan Supervores. “It was not about fancy hardware, but how to minimise wastage, increase productivity, save time and money.”&nbsp; Though Himalayan Supervores collects vegetables from vegetable cooperatives, it indirectly works with a network of thousands of cooperative farmers. Its catchment area therefore is enormous, and it has enhanced their knowledge about organic farming methods, bio-pesticides, and the right way to handle and package vegetables. CASA’s most recent tie-up is with Pokhara-based Poshilo Foods, which specialises in increasing the shelf-life of local nutritional food items. During the Covid lockdown <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p3bparajuli/">Prithwi Kallyan Parajuli</a> saw an opportunity to supply nutritional foods that stayed longer, and set up Poshilo.&nbsp; It took traditional satu flour made from dry-roasted pulse, added more nutrients, and packaged it. Four flavours of satu with nutrient values differentiated for various age groups now line the shelves of supermarket chains like KK Mart, Saleways. Poshilo is now exploring the export market in India.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20241210081232_a8dbea8c8d45ac4eff6c37fb47da7ff461989c662ba86d207a008381101acdcf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20241210081232_a8dbea8c8d45ac4eff6c37fb47da7ff461989c662ba86d207a008381101acdcf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1700" height="1275" loading="lazy" alt="dairy farmers in Chitwan"> </figure>  In the five years of helping Nepali agribusinesses, CASA has already teamed up with 35 established companies. Parajuli heaps fulsome praise on the catalytic support and guidance he got early on, not just for product design, but to explore market viability, branding and marketing.&nbsp; He has participated in government-led programs before, but says those are one-off and focus only on technical solutions and do not pay much attention to the important back-end work with management and sales.&nbsp; Says Devrath Baral of Bhawani Dairy in Chitwan: “We would probably have eventually got to where we are now, but it would have taken years longer without CASA. And now we can share our experience with other agribusinesses in Nepal.”

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