“Did you know this interview was supposed to be in English?” he asked with a smile. I reciprocated, although it was clear that his smile conveyed a sense of pity towards me. My smile, on the other hand, was more an expression of private shame.
I was being interviewed for the position of librarian at a residential English-medium school by the Managing Director. His personality was domineering: tall, well-built, and a pony tail.&nbsp;
I knew some of the questions he asked would be in English, but did not realise that I had to respond entirely in English too. I had some basic English language communication skills, but I was not fluent at the time.&nbsp;
“How are you planning to get by here? You clearly cannot speak the language, and our working language is English,” he said looking me directly in the eye. This interview was starting to scare me.
“म कथा भन्न सक्छु,” I blurted out in Nepali, trying to salvage my job prospect by highlighting my story-telling skills.“Okay. एउटा कथा सुनाउ,” he replied, as if to put me at ease. I immediately launched into a children’s story that had recently been published in Kopila, Kantipur’s school supplement.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/journalism-is-all-about-storytelling-and-money">Journalism is all about storytelling (and money)</a>
The story was about a letter that transformed the life of a girl with low self-esteem. She had felt unappreciated by everyone until the letter arrived from a dentist whom she had earlier helped by giving directions. The letter thanked her for being so helpful, and expressed how proud her mother must be for having such a smart daughter.&nbsp;
Despite my lack of English, the Managing Director must have found the story and my narration compelling. I got the job, but on probation and with condition attached: “You’re on your own. If you can’t connect with the students within a month, you’ll be let go.”&nbsp;
I started my job at the school library in 2006 just as the students were getting ready for their three-week summer break. Excitement and English chatter filled the air, but I could not quite follow what they were saying. They were too preoccupied with their vacation to notice me.&nbsp;
The library itself was a disaster zone. Books were scattered everywhere. And even though I had no prior knowledge of library management, I tried to bring some order into the chaos.&nbsp;
I was a voracious reader, but most of the books were in English and I felt overwhelmed. I dedicated long hours at the library, sometimes working late into the night. My goal was to familiarise myself with every single book in the stacks before the school year began, hoping to impress the students.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/read-and-let-read">Read and let read</a>, Anil Chitrakar
The holidays were coming to an end, and I felt the pressure mounting. Searching for a solution to ensure a smooth start, I came up with what I figured was a brilliant plan to convene a meeting with class captains before opening the library for all students. My reasoning was that if they were on board with enforcing library rules, the rest of the students would follow.
I was working late, and the Managing Director looked in, noticing the lights were still on. He seemed pleased to find the library in perfect condition, the books all organised.&nbsp;
“Don’t work late, a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/nepal-brings-back-the-snow-leopard">leopard</a> may show up,” he said.&nbsp;
“Really? A लियोपार्ड?” I gasped, pronouncing it ‘Leo-Pard’. “Yes, तर लियोपार्ड हैन लेपर्ड चाहिँ आउँछ and they will chew you up,” he said, chuckling, and pronouncing the word leopard properly.Embarrassed, I corrected myself, silently repeating the correct pronunciation of लेपर्ड. I only understood later that he was jokingly referring to children chewing me out, not an actual leopard. This humiliation destroyed my confidence, and I lost the confidence to engage in conversation, even in Nepali.
Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/mai-commin-sir-qfdjg2uw"> "Mai commin, Sir?"</a>, Anbika Giri
The students returned and were informed about their meeting with the new Library Miss. There were two captains each from Class 4-10, and one school captain, totaling 13. I thought I was fully prepared, and it all began well.&nbsp;
But the assertiveness of the students and their fluency in English caught me completely off guard, and I fumbled for English words as my vocabulary vanished. Till this day, I feel the sweat on my forehead.
At first the class captains were taken aback, some attempted to correct my pronunciation, and then their giggling erupted into uncontrollable laughter. I could not bear the failure, and switched to Nepali but my confidence was shattered. I was not getting through at all. They walked away, making fun of my English pronunciation in a loud voice just to make sure I heard them.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/hi-hee-and-haha-hihi">Hi-Hee and Haha-Hihi</a>, Anbika Giri
Deflated, I also felt embarrassed in front of the teachers, fearing that the students may have mocked me. They insisted I speak to them in English. I avoided making eye contact and interacting with the students, I hardly spoke to the teachers, and if I did it was in Nepali.
After two months, Wangdi Sir noticed my silence. He was an English teacher from Kalimpong and was rigorous yet popular among students. He stood out among his colleagues as one of the few who preferred to spend time in the library, engrossed in reading.
One day, he asked me why I was so quiet. I shared my story, unburdening myself. He chuckled initially, but offered practical tutorials about<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepali-students-underperform"> handling students </a>in English with sentences like “Why don’t you try the fiction section?” or “May I help you find your book?”
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-about-teaching">Learning about teaching</a>, Prakriti Kandel
Before Wangdi Sir’s help, whenever a student requested a book I would simply get it and hand it over to them without uttering a single word. Wangdi Sir taught me that recognising weakness was the first step in overcoming it. Steadily, my confidence level improved, and I started to build rapport with students. Whenever I mispronounced something, I would politely ask them to correct me.
My eight-month tenure transitioned from a state of humiliation to a one of humility. This was when my interest in children’s literature blossomed, and the library gave me a deeper understanding of the students’ perspectives and interests.&nbsp;
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Find her previous columns <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi">here</a>.

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From humiliation to humility

When Nepalis are leaving the country in droves, there are unsung heroes providing selfless services in isolated parts of the country. Teachers like Sarala Basnet do not crave wealth or fame but work one day at a time to meet their ideal of bringing up the next generation of motivated and compassionate Nepalis. Sarala, as her name suggests, values simplicty and is guided by a straightforward attitude towards life: integrity, diligence and decency. After working her way up from a small village in Baglung, Sarala, at age 35, is the first female principal of Chandrodaya Secondary School in Abu Khaireni of Tanahu district. Back in Baglung, she was also the first female student to pass SLC from high school two decades ago at a time when very few girls attended school in such far-flung villages. “The mindset was that if the girl is educated, she will contaminate traditional culture,” recalls Basnet. “But I had my heart set from an early age to being an educator.” Her father was in the military, and Basnet was the youngest of many siblings. Luckily, the family valued education and sent her to school, unlike many of her childhood mates. But it was not an easy path. When she raised her young voice against prevailing <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/fatal-discrimination/" target="_blank">gender inequality</a>, neighbours scoffed at her. This only made her more determined to be a teacher. After school, she graduated with a Bachelor of Education from Gorkha Campus, which was an accomplishment on its own at a time when <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/can-nepal-end-child-marriage-by-2030/" target="_blank">families married off their daughters </a>instead of sending them to colleges. She traveled to Butwal for an internship as a maths instructor but seeing the need in her own hometown, returned to Baglung and was a teacher for 17 years. Eight years ago she was transferred to Abu Khaireni and made principal in recognition of her dedication and commitment.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230303050312_84ca4e90b26674b418916f02c7beebf7728cff814e440ad82db72ebf69fbc892.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230303050312_84ca4e90b26674b418916f02c7beebf7728cff814e440ad82db72ebf69fbc892" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Nurture in her nature NT 2"></figure>  During this time, she got married to musician Krishna Prasad Bhatta, who works as a music teacher in Kathmandu. The couple has two children, 13 and 8. Abu Khaireni is a small picturesque farming town mostly inhabited by families whose <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/diary-of-a-nepali-soldier-in-france/" target="_blank">men serve</a> in the British, Indian or Nepali armies. The rest of the young men have migrated for work to the Gulf or Malaysia. There are not a lot of jobs for young people here and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-child-marriages-spike-during-pandemic/" target="_blank">child marriage</a> is common. Which is why one of the first things Sarala did when she became a teacher was to counsel parents about the importance of schooling girls. It used to be the girl students who dropped out in Grade 5 when their parents married them off, but interestingly these days it is the boys who are dropping out. “The boys are leaving to work in the cities or to try to get into the military,” says Sarala. “This is worrying, it is not good for the future of this village.” Schools in rural Nepal have <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality/" target="_blank">insufficient amenities, instruction is impractical and curriculum outdated</a>. During the Covid-19 pandemic, students at Chandrodaya School did not have access to the Internet, and were deprived of online classes for nearly a year. To fill the gap, Basnet organised physical sessions with varying schedules for the students. By the time the second Covid wave hit in 2021, the school was prepared for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/face-to-face-classes-online/" target="_blank">remote classes</a>. Even so, parents still make students complete their household chores before or after school, and there is not much time for the children to play and have fun. Sarala remembers her own childhood and how she had to struggle to balance home work with homework. She had to finish her assignment under the faint light of a kerosene tuki lamp. “We had to walk an hour every day to get to school, the path was steep and through forests with wild animals,” she recalls. All 160 students at Chandrodaya now have access to extracurricular activities including basic computer classes, sports, and other contests, including arts and crafts. It is extraordinary for a government school to have activities that are much better than neighbouring private schools. After having spent over two decades shaping young minds, Basnet believes that age or circumstance should not affect the process of learning. She says: “We should never stop learning, it is a lifelong process. My biggest sense of fulfilment comes from seeing my students do well in life.”

Nurture in her nature

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100128/63bfd2a19c7e80680e0d302ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: PRAKRITI KANDEL</figcaption></figure>In recent years, many scholars, policy makers, and educators have pointed to the abysmal results of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/ministry-of-education-gets-an-f/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s education system</a>, particularly its government schools. Some have noted the persistence of this low performance year after year.According to a 2017 Asian Development Bank (ADB) study of education in South Asia, student learning achievement in Nepal ‘has remained poor over the years’.Because of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/class-differences/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s ineffective educational system</a>, the country as a whole suffers but especially those from rural and marginalised communities -- Dalit, ethnic minorities, and poorer Nepalis of all caste groups. As wealthier students move to private schools, students from marginalised groups increasingly make up most of the students attending public schools.In particular, the ADB places the blame on Nepal’s ineffective and outdated teaching methods: ‘The main issue in Nepal is how to address the weak performance of classroom teachers.’ It emphasised the need for ‘fresh perspectives’ for understanding teaching and teachers.By and large, ever since modern schools arrived in Nepal in the 1950s and 1960s, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/good-fellows/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali teachers</a> have taught the same way: using rote methods with teachers lecturing or reading material straight from the textbook and students listening and later regurgitating.This holds true, with only a few exceptions, from pre-K through college, in both government and private schools. Very few teachers encourage critical thinking, meaningful learning, or practical application.Why is rote so entrenched? Many factors seem to combine including cultural, political, policy, and personal factors. In an influential study, Nepal’s leading anthropologist Dor Bahadur Bista argued that a status-based anti-utilitarian philosophy of education embedded within Nepali religious traditions has long pervaded and undermined Nepal’s ‘modern’ schools.Historically, Bista says, education in Nepal has meant recreating hierarchy, not bringing about meaningful change in the world. The ADB addresses these foundational ideas when it calls for a new role for teachers: ‘It is important to develop teachers as facilitators and not as the sole source of knowledge and influence.’Other scholars have noted how Nepal’s autocratic rule before 1990 promoted narrow education traditions creating a mindset that still drives Nepal’s schools, including the emphasis on rote.In addition, Nepal’s culture of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/teaching-teachers,3126" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">teacher education</a> is broken. Years of pre-service and professional development efforts have made little dent on how Nepali teachers teach.‘Most of the teacher education and training initiatives have failed to transform the classroom teaching and learning process,” the ABD report notes. It adds that this includes not just Nepal’s preservice training but also its in-service teacher education: ‘The opinion of most stakeholders is that in-service programs have been reduced to training halls and leave no impact on the teachers.’That’s worth emphasising: ‘no impact’. What has been the result of years of trainings costing millions of dollars? No impact.The problems with Nepal’s teacher training culture are many. The ABD stresses one key problem: what it calls the ‘approach to delivery of curriculum’. Nepali teacher education programs, it notes, are 'structurally loaded with adequate content … (but) the overall approach and delivery most often remains traditional and fairly weak’.In other words, in Nepal, even ‘expert’ teacher trainers primarily use rote teaching methods. Exactly those trainers charged with showing teachers how to use non-rote methods often themselves rely upon rote methods.They lecture about how teachers should not lecture. In doing so, Nepal’s trainings reproduce the core problems of its educational system: too much regurgitation and not enough higher-level thinking.“Got it?” trainers yell out to teachers after a lengthy rote explanation. “Got it,” respond the teachers, and everyone is happy.Kathmandu University professor Laxman Gnawali has researched the culture of trainings in Nepal, and finds two main problems. The first is methods imported from elsewhere. These methods work in these other places (presumably), and are assumed to work in Nepal, but are actually untested.Gnawali does not conclude that outside methods cannot work, just that they can work only if they are better road-tested and carefully tailored to the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/digital-divide-exposes-class-divide-in-nepal-schools/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">realities of Nepali classrooms</a>. That rarely happens. Instead there is an assumption that they should work.The second problem Gnawali identifies is the many ‘last mile’ barriers to implementation that Nepali teachers face. Student failures in English, he notes, “are often ascribed to teachers' under-performance.”“The plight of the teachers working in under-resourced classrooms,” he points out, “is habitually ignored.” That includes a daunting list of challenges: parents who are not literate, class sizes of 50 to 100 or more, hard-to-manage students, students who don’t speak much Nepali, multigrade classes, students years below grade level, a lack of materials, sometimes even no textbooks, and desks and benches fixed to ground or too crowded to move.Too often, Gnawali says, teacher trainings presume a near perfect teaching setting. Trainings “present to the trainees a picture of idealised classrooms which are well-laid out, materials rich, learner-friendly, within teacher's control and generally conducive to learning.”That’s not the reality real <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-decade-of-work-lost-in-4-months/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali teachers</a> face in real classrooms. Instead, Gnawali says, Nepali schools need more “context-specific” methods.Many reports on Nepali education, including the ADB report, call for new teaching methods often developed in radically different teaching environments, but rarely place the emphasis on context specific appropriateness that Gnawali reminds us of.In addition, no discussion of the problem of teacher trainings would be complete without mention of two core problems. The first is one I have seen over the decades but is rarely commented upon: the problem of paying participants extra stipends on top of their salary and transportation costs to attend trainings."As soon as you say the word ‘training’ to a government teacher,” a teacher once told me, “he'll ask immediately, 'How much allowance is there?'"The extra money may guarantee high attendance – a common metric donors use to assess training ‘success’ -- but usually distorts who actually shows up for trainings and undermines their motivation to learn.And finally, there is little to no accountability for teachers. Teachers in Nepal are protected by political parties. The parties help teachers get hired and protect them when in the position. In effect, the political parties control hiring and firing, not the schools.Even if teachers do something egregious, they are rarely disciplined, much less fired. This almost total lack of accountability lowers performance across the board. It protects bad teaching.Reform efforts must account for these realities if they hope to bring any real change to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s failing public school system</a>. In the meantime, a generation of Nepal’s youth will suffer the consequences.Tom Robertson is a historian and the former director of Fulbright Nepal.

Tom Robertson

Teaching Nepali teachers to teach better

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110121140/636ce3519c7e80680e096647jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Photo: PRATIBHA TULADHAR</figcaption></figure>Jyoti was standing just outside the gate when I stepped out. I walked past her hurriedly, on my way out to work. She caught up with me.Hello, I said.Hello, she smiled.My father is asking if you will tuition me, she asked.Tuition, what? I asked in return. I’m not sure.Oh, if you will teach me.Teach you what? I laughed lightly.Teach me. She smiled again.I said: Okay. Let me think about it. Let’s talk about this later?I smiled and she smiled back.Rushing to work, I kept thinking about how she had beamed when I had said okay. And inside my head I was already starting to plan what I could ‘teach’ her. The opportunity that had presented itself to me drummed an excitement in me. I was being given this chance to influence a young mind and how much I could do to help her discover.I could not stop smiling to myself. Book, books, I thought. I could begin with a book. I rummaged through my bookshelf in my mind. What would an 11-year-old want to read? Maybe stories about birds or dogs? Or about women role models? Or maybe a book of short-stories. Or maybe a comic book?When I was 11, one of my uncles had given me a book. Here, he had said, presenting it to me. Pretty As You Please (365 Recipes for Young Ladies). Read it when your period comes, he had said. And it did come soon after.The book had exactly 365 chapters, beginning with what it means to be a lady. So, a lady was what a woman was not, which introduced the idea of ‘class’.The book had a list of instructions on a number of things: how a young lady should sit, how she must speak, how she must walk. A lady is never supposed to sit like a man, she must sit with her legs together. She must speak with her voice calm and low, and walk in the same manner, calmly. Never run!The book also prescribed the correct way to laugh. Do not open your mouth and laugh like boys do. Laugh softly and wave your hand before you, just so that you can hide your embarrassment a little.Years later, I had retrieved the book from a box of old things and dumped it into the carton going out to trash. i am not a pretty girl. that is not what i do.The book did have a couple of useful tips though -- exercises for menstrual cramp, and on how to ask a male friend not to touch you. But do it politely, it said. I can barely recall what else the book had, but what I do remember is that I had gobbled the book down.At that time, I heard the term ‘act like a lady’ so often in school that I was convinced that was the only way to behave. Never sit with your legs spread out. Be kind, polite and gentle—all very well, but also to male friends who touch you in ways you do not like?So, when a boy punched me, I would say ‘ow’ in pain but never retaliate. When a family friend tripped me on Holi and pinned me down to the marble floor, the cold, hardness of it stinging my back, while he put abir on my face, again, I did not retaliate.When another boy slammed my head with a water-filled balloon and when the balloon fell on the road without bursting, I merely crushed it under my feet so that he would not pick it and use it against me again. I did not pick it and throw it back at him or tell him he was being a jerk. I had to be polite, right? Even in my aggressions. That is what the book said. And I had read the book too many times.In those days, my access to books was limited to the Enid Blytons. And while mysteries were still my genre, Nancy Drew Case Files were still not allowed because she had a boyfriend. And Agatha Christie, you could read a page or two in the library, but not borrow. So yes, I read Pretty as you Please on repeat, until I knew some recipes by heart: A good girl takes care of everyone around her.It was a while before Nancy Drews and other books happened. But it was not until I turned 14 that I met Little Women. I won the book as a prize. Spelling competition. And it was then that my impulse to run was validated. It was possible to be a girl and want to only read and write and not cling to a man, like Jo March -- the girl who changed the lives of millions of young women.Over the years, though, I find myself gravitating towards the idea of Aunt March. I’ve often wished I could have one to whisk me out of certain situations, but now, I want to become one. For Jos. Maybe for Jyoti.I make a mental list of books for her. I imagine explaining books to Jyoti. I plan assignments for her. She will be rewarded with a new book every time she finishes her assignment.Her first assignment will be around A House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. When I hand her the book, I will ask her to open to the chapter, ‘A house of my own’ and ask her to read aloud:Not a flat. Not an apartment in back. Not a man’s houseNot a daddy’s. A house all my own. With my porch and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed. Nobody to shake a stick at. Nobody’s garbage to pick up after. Only a house quiet as a snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.I surmise at Jyoti’s surprise and the sense of familiarity the words might evoke in her as she reads. I imagine she will shut the book and look at me and smile at me in acknowledgement. And I smile to myself.Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in the author’s life.

Pratibha Tuladhar

Write fearlessly, she said

<figure><img width="1500" height="1125" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111124/636cd15b9c7e80680e08f8acjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Changing Stories Nepal Fellow Sangeeta Basnet teaching at Amar Secondary School in Urhari of Dang.</figcaption></figure>When I taught in a Nepali government school, the biggest problem I faced was not poor facilities. Motivated teachers don't need much beyond chalk and a blackboard. The biggest problem was that so many children studied below their grade level. In Nepal, many Grade 6 students read at Grade 3 level. Many Grade 7 students cannot add or subtract, much less multiply or divide. Students lag behind by three or four years, and not just a few students, sometimes half the class may be behind.  This is an enormous problem, made worse by Covid-19. Few schools recognise the issue, or have skills and resources to address it. Public school teachers are too busy dealing with daily challenges. Students are therefore missing the chance to learn. Nepali students fall behind for many reasons. Some come unprepared for Grade 1 or 2, others get pulled out of school temporarily and never catch up. Some attend school irregularly, or struggle. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/seven-years-in-tityang/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Seven Years in Tityang</a>, Sangmin Kim While the problems children face at home are socio-economic, the barriers at school are many: uninspiring and irregular teaching, low teacher expectations, and poor school management. Schools where students fall behind rarely have the skills or resources needed to help them catch up. Some schools give up on them, dismissing the students as not capable instead of investing more time in helping them out. Low expectations become self-fulfilling. Many students lose confidence and drop out. They decide school is not worth the time, and join their parents in earning an income for their families. Or, they stay in school and move from grade to grade, year after year. Lacking a base to build upon, they lag farther and farther behind.  In subjects like Math or English that scaffold skills one on top of another, the students often just go through the motions, copying things but not understanding, and not really learning anything. Students either fail, or they cheat to move along. Cheating is widespread. That is how high school students, despite years of study, can barely read or write in English or Nepali. Many of the students are from diverse backgrounds who speak their mother tongue at home.This is a tragedy, but also a social justice issue. Those who lag behind often come from poor families, often Dalit or ethnic minority communities. Many are girls. The solution would be to catch the problem when the children first fall behind in primary school. At that point they are only a few lessons behind their friends, not years and years, and there would still be time to build a solid base.  "It's never the students’ fault," says Niharika Mainali of Changing Stories Nepal, which was founded in 2018 with an innovative approach that builds from the premise that all students can learn, and that we wrongly blame low performing students instead of admitting we are all responsible for their lack of opportunity.Changing Stories first identifies struggling primary students. At its schools in Hetauda and Dang, it assesses literacy and numeracy to determine the 15 lowest-performing students in grades 3, 4 and 5. Then, for 90 days, the students are tutored with two hours of extra Nepali and Math, either  before or after school. <figure><img width="1365" height="2048" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111124/636cd15f9c7e80680e08f8adjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/good-fellows/">Good fellows</a>, Prakriti KandelThe stress is on actual student learning, and the students are tested during and at the end of the program. Last year in Dang, the program had 20 groups of 15 students each.The remedial classes are taught by ‘Fellows’ of the organisation, who are talented, motivated college students trained by Changing Stories. While giving a helping hand to others, the young adults learn skills and experience and develop a taste for community service. "I was teaching Grade 9 near Janakpur, and found that many didn't know the English alphabet. I realised they needed an intervention long before high school," explains Mainali. "I had a good job in Kathmandu. But I often thought I could be of more service working with public schools. The privileged students I was working with didn't need me." She says schools make quick decisions about who can learn and who cannot, labeling students as incapable from a very young age. "The problem is not with the students. The students can learn, but we like to blame students for everything," she adds.In Dang at the start of the year, only 37% of students could read simple words, and only 18% could read a 4-sentence paragraph. At the program's end, 81% could read words, and 66% could read short sentences.In baseline math tests, only 9% could do two-digit addition problems. After the program, 87% could. Fewer than 1% of students could solve a 2-digit carry-over subtraction problem, or multiply. Afterwards, about half could do both. <figure><img width="1500" height="1125" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111124/636cd1629c7e80680e08f8aejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/digital-divide-exposes-class-divide-in-nepal-schools/">Digital divide exposes class divide in Nepal schools</a>, Nunuta RaiChanging Stories recorded similar progress in Hetauda, and have just started another year in Dang. The program seems like a fantastic bargain: for 90 sessions of 2-hour classes, each Fellow earns Rs14,000.Training costs and staff support add a little. But imagine the benefits, and compare them with the costs: students sitting in classrooms year after year not learning--a lifetime of underachievement.On a visit to Dang last year, I saw for myself why Changing Stories gets results. In a carpeted classroom painted in cheerful colours with student work on display, a Changing Stories Fellow worked with students on subtraction problems.She explained concepts with piles of सिन्का (small bamboo sticks) sitting on the floor next to her students. She smiled, but pushed when necessary. She believed in the children even though many others had abandoned hope.A Grade 4 student told me: "I like this class. Miss teaches well. If I don't understand, she shows me." Another student said, "Before I knew only addition, now I know subtraction. Now it comes easily."  I could see and hear the pride and self-confidence in these children.Tom Robertson, PhD is a historian and creator of the मिठो लेखाइ videos on writing technique. He taught in Nepal’s government schools as a Peace Corps volunteer in Khotang from 1993-1995.

Nepal’s class divide

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101144/636a259f9c7e80680e0439d1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1250" height="783"/><figcaption>Singha Darbar</figcaption></figure>The news that no student went to enroll for graduate studies at the History Department of Tribhuvan University is disturbing. How can anyone not love <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/the-rest-is-history-for-john-whelpton/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">history </a>in a country so steeped in it? All those colourful characters, events, places, plots, wars, treaties, have inspired so much research and books.We have not even begun to scratch the surface of what we can turn our history into. Imagine a tele-serial movie with Jung Bahadur or Tripura Sundari as the main protagonists? How about an animated classic about Bhrikuti or <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-life-and-times-of-arniko/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Arniko </a>and their expeditions and adventures to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/on-a-high-note/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tibet </a>and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/what-china-really-wants/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">China</a>. Perhaps this is the problem: our history text books and teachers are boring, and the exams that rely on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">rote memorization</a> rather than understanding the annals of the past are the last nails on the History Department’s coffin.The future of the new airport at <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/lumbinis-unholy-mess/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Lumbini </a>depends on how well we know and tell the history of Gautam Buddha, his nativity site and the lore surrounding it. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/janakpur-to-janakpur/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Janakpur </a>is going to prosper as the home of Sita and the links to Ram and his birthplace across the border in Ayodhya.Many of the newly created 753 <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/trickledown-corruption/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">local governments</a> could become financially viable by reviving their historical sites, creating the needed infrastructure and services for visitors, and organising annual trips for schools and colleges. Without any students in the History Department where will we get the needed human capital for this work?We are missing out even on Nepal’s recent political history. Who will now conduct research and tell the story of how the Kosi Barrage came to be, and why it was a folly. The story of Nepal’s early attempts at <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Economic-Class/waiting-for-an-industrial-revolution,784" target="_blank" rel="noopener">industrialisation </a>with Biratnagar Jute Mill is worth a museum. And across Nepal are ruins of The Gorkha Conquest and the Ango-Nepal Wars that can be restored and serve as historical landmarks.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/lest-we-forget/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Lest we forget</a>, David SeddonHow many Nepalis are aware that Rana Mukteswar and Bhim Mukteswar in Kathmandu are where King Rana Bahadur Shah and Prime Minister Bhimsen Thapa died? Have you recently been to Hanuman Dhoka and noticed the state of the courtyard where the Kot massacre took place? Will we forget and loose these sites because no one wants to study history anymore?In the absence of academic discourse, the narrative on social media is swayed by emotion and identity. History as it is taught in high school text books is being challenged. What really happened in Kirtipur in 1767? How did Nepal negotiate the 1816 Sugauli Treaty? How did the Mallas come to power and how were the Kirats and Lichavis displaced? Is there a market for a ‘people’s history of Nepal’? Our history books today have no mention of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/remembering-not-to-forget-peoples-war/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">1996-2006 conflict</a>.The time may be right to make the History Department attractive to students by combining it with other related subjects like <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/guiding-nepals-tourism-industry/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">tourism</a>, art and craft, museums, research academies, planning commissions. This will help make history learning the base from which students can branch out to more lucrative jobs. What can’t we teach Japanese and Korean history to those going to these countries for work?Can we teach the history and language of the Gulf states as the new wave of more qualified Nepalis will begin to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/changing-the-headlines-on-migration/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">migrate </a>to the region? We could even run special classes on the war history of Nepal and other parts of the world where Nepali <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nepal-from-war-makers-to-peace-keepers,2565" target="_blank" rel="noopener">peacekeepers </a>will be assigned.  Nepal Army could even pay the History Department for this service.Identity politics is here to stay and the provinces and local governments will have to incorporate a new curriculum that includes the histories of the local people in addition to Nepal’s national narrative. This is a lot of work, and we will need to train teachers and print books. Much of this can happen on-line, which means there is a good future for learning and teaching history.Ward 16 of Patan is organising an art and culture festival on 27-31 March where it hopes to promote the world heritage site, famous temples like the Hiranya Varna Mahavihar (Golden Temple) and the creations of the numerous artists who live and work here. They are looking for historians to help in this task.Anil Chitrakar is President of Siddharthinc

Anil Chitrakar

The end of history

Nepal has shut down dozens of social media platforms in a move that is widely seen as an effort to tax the revenue they generate in the country, and to control content critical of government. The sites were blocked as of midnight on Thursday, 4 September and affects all Meta products including WhatsApp and Messenger, Threads, and others. Although YouTube, Google and X are also on the government’s list, they were still working as of Friday midday.&nbsp; The government says it took the action after repeated warnings to the platforms to open offices in Nepal, a Cabinet decision last month setting a deadline, as well as a 17 August Supreme Court ruling also requiring them to register and pay requisite taxes. However, the Bill cited in the ban, ‘The Operation, Use, and Regulation of Social Media in Nepal’ has not yet been passed by Parliament. Some social media platforms which were already paying taxes in Nepal even though they are not officially registered, have also been blocked. The move is the latest in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/big-beautiful-bills" target="_blank">a slew of draft legislations</a> designed to undermine Nepal’s open society. A Bill amending the Print and Publications Act would allow district bureaucrats to shut down media. Another draft Bill would allow political appointees to head a new Media Council with the power to revoke the licenses of journalists.&nbsp; A counter-intelligence Bill would let just about anyone in government to arbitrarily tap phones, read emails and trail citizens. On Wednesday the government announced new immigration requirements that would allow it to track the movement of all foreigners in the country. Yet another draft Bill has been set to Parliament to dissolve the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10675" target="_blank">Social Welfare Council (SWC)</a> and move registration and monitoring of non-governmental organisations, nonprofits and charities to the Ministry of Social Welfare. Seen in this light, the blockage of social media platforms this week is seen as the latest government attempt to constrict freedom of press. Nepal is one of the few remaining open societies in Asia, and now appears to be drifting towards authoritarianism. The government’s sudden shutdown of social media has been greeted with howls of protest on platforms that still remain open, like Viber and TikTok, as well as in Nepal’s mainstream press. Even senior members of the ruling UML-NC coalition have sharply criticised the move, asking if the government is trying to “turn Nepal into North Korea”.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025090508098_a2ab330e403e8418a7006cd5e915607382628dd6984524332bf7b99c74743656.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2025090508098_a2ab330e403e8418a7006cd5e915607382628dd6984524332bf7b99c74743656" data-rendition-name="original" width="4280" height="5187" loading="lazy" alt="social media ban in Nepal"> </figure>  The Regional Director of the New York-based Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) Beh Lih Yi said in a statement: ‘Nepal’s sweeping ban on social media sets a dangerous precedent for press freedom. Blocking online news platforms vital to journalists will undermine reporting and the public’s right to information. The government must immediately rescind this order and restore access to social media platforms, which are essential tools for exercising press freedom.’ Besides undermining press freedom, blocking social media platforms will also hurt commerce and the economy since so many small and medium business trade through Instagram, Facebook and other platforms. Nepal’s vibrant social media has also been a boost or citizens to assert identity, build solidarity against injustice and play an adversarial role when the mainstream media does not do it. Social media platforms have also become the tenuous link for Nepali families scattered across the world to keep in touch with each other — its importance growing with the increasing size of the diaspora. The government wants social media platforms to register, pay taxes and remove posts on their sites that ‘undermine the national interest and Nepal’s territorial integrity, disturb social and religious harmony’.&nbsp; In response, rights activists have said while there is need for the government to regulate extreme content and hate speech, officials appear to be more intent on clamping down on free speech and trying to force platforms to share the revenue. On Friday, the government had allowed WhatsApp back online, but there were reports that it had instructed the Nepal Telecommunication Authority (NTA) to instruct mobile and internet service providers to block by Friday night all platforms, including Facebook, Instagram, Messenger, WhatsApp, X (Twitter), YouTube, LinkedIn, Reddit, Threads, Snapchat, Pinterest, Signal, Clubhouse, Rumble.&nbsp; Platforms that have registered and are allowed include TikTok, Viber, Nimbuzz, Popo Live, WeTalk, Global Diary and the Nepali portal Hamro Patro. TikTok was banned last year for ‘disturbing social harmony’ and it was lifted after the platform registered its office in Nepal. But even while it was banned, many users simply switched to VPN. Telegram was also banned for ‘financial crimes’ and it has since also been allowed back. NTA officials confirmed that some Asia-Pacific regional offices of platforms, including Meta had been in touch overnight inquiring about the registration process.&nbsp; Nepal is not alone in regulating social media. China bans most Western platforms, Russia and Turkey regulate their and require platforms to locate their data servers in the country. Gulf countries allow social media but keep a tight control on dissent.&nbsp; Experts have said even the government will not dare close down YouTube since so many Nepali individuals and companies make money with posts on that platform, and closing it would also impact on Google and Gmail. Facebook had also just launched a monetisation scheme for videos and reels, and Nepalis uploading content would lose revenue.&nbsp; Blocking the platforms has already hit content creators, influencers and cut small businesses from reaching customers. A survey of social media use in Nepal by Sharecast Initiative showed that 94% of those with smart phones used YouTube, followed by Facebook (92%) while TikTok was in the 50-60% range. X and Instagram were in the single digits. A YouTube ban will also hurt the mainstream media since up to 20% of the revenue of Nepal’s main tv channels came through YouTube. Some 11.1 million Nepalis watch YouTube content every day, the survey showed. ‘For global giants like Meta or Google, Nepal is a small market, and they may not even flinch — but for millions of Nepalis, these platforms are central to daily life, livelihoods, and connections across the world,’ wrote AI consultant Naresh Newar in a LinkedIn post. Some experts said the government’s sweeping ban on social media networks was untenable and the government would be forced to rollback sooner or later. Said editor Shiva Gaunle: “The platforms had given citizens a voice and broken the monopoly of the government, legislators, the courts and journalists over public opinion. This is an effort to reassert that monopoly, but Nepal can never be turned into a North Korea.”

Protest grows against Nepal’s social media ban

It was 30 years ago this month that investment into ‘Baby Arun’, the 201MW first phase of the run-of-river Arun III project, was brought to a screeching halt when the World Bank officially withdrew its support. This brought about profound and fundamental changes in the way Nepal’s power sector subsequently developed. Nepalis suffered debilitating power outages between 2008-2016 due to shortages attributable to the cancellation. At the same time, the gap left by Baby Arun was filled by private sector investment in ways that were not obvious in 1995. It took 30 years, but in many ways Nepal’s power sector is more healthy today than it has ever been, and likely better than if the project was built as planned. At a projected budget of $1.08 billion, Baby Arun would have cost the equivalent of Nepal’s entire annual government expenditure in 1995. It was to be funded by concessional grants and loans from multilateral and bilateral funders, including the World Bank, Asian Development Bank (ADB), KfW, and investment by the government itself. At the time, Nepal’s total electricity generation capacity was only 230MW, and the trajectory of the power sector changed dramatically following the cancellation. In the past 30 years, $5.4 billion has been invested in the power sector led by private investors, and much of it from domestic banks and pension funds (table, right).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250829150840_c13d6f9f34d7163832b3089eabdad6f20d2d5cef3a53039e0432add2be6c32f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250829150840_c13d6f9f34d7163832b3089eabdad6f20d2d5cef3a53039e0432add2be6c32f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="984" height="521" loading="lazy" alt="30 years after Baby Arun"> </figure>  Nearly 70% of the new megawatts generated were by private independent power producers (IPP) in the past 30 years, while the Nepal Electricity Authority (NEA) and its subsidiary companies added 30% of new capacity. Almost 80% of total debt financing came from domestic banks and employee retirement funds. International assistance for power generation dropped dramatically over this time, accounting for only about 15% of investment. Before 1995 new power projects used to be entirely dependent on foreign aid. Since 1995, 63% of new generation came from 171 small hydropower projects with an average capacity of 12MW, while 4% was from 21 solar photovoltaic and biomass projects developed by local IPPs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250829150844_5bc299fc78be90b95ce4727b0b3bdaa4542e17e126718cc8725d136630ffc097.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250829150844_5bc299fc78be90b95ce4727b0b3bdaa4542e17e126718cc8725d136630ffc097" data-rendition-name="original" width="988" height="503" loading="lazy" alt="30 years after Baby Arun"> </figure>  Over three decades, investment in Nepal’s power supply came primarily from new actors that had never before been involved in this sector. The rate of electrification rose from 10% to close to 100% -- sufficient to meet domestic needs during most of the year, and in 2024 made Nepal a net exporter of power to India for the first time in its history. As practically all the new investment in this period went into run-of-river hydro and solar projects, rather than into hydropower reservoirs with seasonal storage, Nepal continues to rely on imports from India during the dry winter months. Surplus electricity generation for export during the monsoon is slated to grow rapidly as another 200 solar and hydro projects are nearing completion of construction, with over 5,000MW of power capacity. Private Power The cancellation of Baby Arun inadvertently accelerated the entry of the private sector into Nepal’s power generation. The government enacted the Electricity Act in 1992 to attract private IPPs and diversify away from total dependence from international aid, but had been struggling for several years to conclude the first agreement with the 60MW Khimti Project. There remained a large gap between the tariff that the government thought was reasonable versus what was demanded by the Norwegian investor Statkraft, and the private sector arms of the World Bank and ADB that were financing the project. The shock of World Bank withdrawal from Baby Arun put tremendous pressure on the government, then led by the UML as it is now. The Bank’s decision to terminate its involvement was ostensibly, at least partially, taken in response to a letter critiquing the project sent by the UML while it was in the opposition.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250829150848_7fb3641d776fe86a09ad60a758f7e16660a409fdb15e541644f13646b0894347.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250829150848_7fb3641d776fe86a09ad60a758f7e16660a409fdb15e541644f13646b0894347" data-rendition-name="original" width="949" height="446" loading="lazy" alt="30 years after Baby Arun"> <figcaption>BAD NEWS: Newspaper clippings from the early 90s on tender announcement ahead of loan approval (left) and secrecy surrounding environmental assessment (centre) of Arun III before its eventual cancellation in August 1995.</figcaption> </figure>  The government was forced to soften its position and agree to the investors’ terms following the cancellation of Baby Arun. It directed NEA to sign a power purchase agreement (PPA) with Khimti. It was concluded in January 1996, and this was followed by a second PPA in July 1996 with Panda Energy, the American developer of the 45MW Upper Bhotekosi project. The expensive USD-denominated agreements to buy power from two international private producers, with price escalation clauses tied to the New York Consumer Price Index, sent alarm bells ringing. There was worry that the country was heading towards unaffordable tariff rates for the consumer and potential bankruptcy for NEA as a result of inevitable future weakening of the Nepali Rupee. The government had strong-armed NEA into signing these agreements, and realised that concessionary financing terms that Nepal was used to receiving for public sector projects such as Baby Arun and Kali Gandaki A, that included below-market interest rates and 40 years repayment period with a 10 year grace period before starting repayment, were not the norm for private sector investors. Nepal’s status as a less than attractive destination for foreign investment meant that the country had few options but to accept expensive dollar PPAs from international developers with the high commercial interest rates and short repayment periods imposed by their banks because of high investment risks. In the end, the government ended up having to additionally provide a sovereign guarantee in order to close the deal at the insistence of the lenders – committing it to repayment in case NEA defaulted on paying the IPPs. It is reasonable to assume that the extraordinarily high political cost of agreeing to the PPA terms would have meant that no government would have willingly agreed to them in 1995 had it not suffered the trauma of the loss of concessionary-financed public sector projects as large as the Baby Arun. It has taken NEA 25 years to consider offering dollar-denominated PPAs again: to cover the foreign exchange portion of the investment in the 216MW Upper Trisuli-1 and 120MW Rasuwa-Bhotekosi Hydropower projects. It seemed unlikely at the time, but it turned out that the dire situation Nepal found itself in 1995 planted the seed to mobilise investment for affordable power from within the country. Double Whammy After the dual shock of first losing investment in Baby Arun and having to sign expensive power purchase agreements with international IPPs, the first proposal for an alternative strategy to mitigate the risk of foreign currency investment into hydropower projects came from a group of engineers within the Arun III team at NEA. Led by <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4900">Deputy Director Damber Bahadur Nepali,</a> engineers convinced the leadership that NEA needed to invest in a subsidiary company to build a series of locally-designed and domestically-financed projects that would have lower cost with rupee-denominated PPAs. They registered the Chilime Hydropower Company Limited (CHCL) in October 1995 with 51% shares from NEA, 25% from its employees, and 24% available for the general public, 10% of which was prioritised for local residents at the project site. The 22.1MW project is in Rasuwa on a tributary of the Trisuli, and mobilised debt financing from the Employee Provident Fund, which manages retirement savings for employees of the government, public enterprises, and private sector institutions. CHCL’s experience showed that NEA employees themselves believed that individual hydropower projects with operational independence from NEA could be developed profitably in Nepal by its own engineers -- and they were willing to put their own money on the line. Chilime also demonstrated that there was money in the country, particularly with retirement funds, looking for opportunities for long-term investments. Following completion of Chilime in 2003, CHCL led the formation of three other NEA subsidiary companies that completed construction in 2023 and 2024, producing 168.3MW using fully rupee-tied investment. NEA’s largest subsidiary, the Upper Tamakosi Hydropower Limited, completed construction of its 456MW plant in 2021.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250829160812_ce9ab8b49c598970db3f5bf0a079061ef52f153b28d9f4ead2bb1b26bfd7c2f3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250829160812_ce9ab8b49c598970db3f5bf0a079061ef52f153b28d9f4ead2bb1b26bfd7c2f3" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="1571" loading="lazy" alt="30 Years after Baby Arun"> <figcaption>DAMNED: The $700 million 456MW Upper Tamakosi built entirely with domestic funds before it was destroyed by the September floods last year. </figcaption> </figure>  There were some delays and cost overruns on this run-of-river project, the largest in the country with a final cost of over $700 million -- all of it sourced domestically. The five subsidiary companies launched by NEA have produced almost two times as much new power as NEA has over the past 30 years. Seven other NEA subsidiaries are currently constructing projects to add another 474MW to the national grid. But even more important than NEA subsidiaries have been local IPPs: Nepali companies which have over the past three decades enthusiastically entered the hydropower sector. From a regulatory perspective, the credit for mobilising domestic private investment to engage in power generation goes to Minister of Water Resources Shailaja Acharya, who in 1998 offered a flat feed-in-tariff of Rs4/kWh for hydropower projects under 10MW. This upfront offer removed a major barrier that early developers had faced of having to spend money to carry out a detailed feasibility study before they could even start tariff negotiations with NEA. She had laid the foundation stone of the Chilime project, and proved to be the champion of opening up the sector for domestic IPPs. The guarantee of a PPA with a fixed tariff, irrespective of project specifications, gave small power developers the confidence to apply for survey licenses and invest in feasibility studies so they could directly approach commercial banks and make a case for their project producing required revenue to repay loans. Domestic IPPs started adding power to the national grid in 2002. Their contribution was initially modest, and first projects were small and commercial lenders who took time to be confident about providing debt financing to a sector which had previously not been considered suitable for private sector investment. While the first 10 years were slow, with less than 10MW being added to the grid each year, this increased twenty fold over the following ten years, resulting in the equivalent of a Baby Arun being added by Nepali IPPs to the grid each year. A total of 84 IPPs added 232MW, 328 MW, 454MW, and 400MW of new generation to the grid in 2021-2024 (graph). There was explosive, exponential growth as domestic developers have surged ahead to account for 76% of the new megawatts added to the grid since 2020, compared to 24% by NEA and its subsidiary companies. The megawatts that IPPs are adding have followed the classic ‘hockey stick curve’ with the ‘breakout point’, signaling the rapid growth phase in 2020. Private producers are expected to accelerate new generation in the coming years with 300 solar and hydropower projects adding 11,000MW. Another 166 hydropower and 96 solar projects are currently in the survey stage, and are in line to add another 11,000MW to the construction pipeline. One major challenge is finding financing required for the projects. Domestic investment will no longer be sufficient to finance this ambitious pipeline of renewable energy projects. Project developers as well as NEA and the Electricity Regulatory Commission will have to leverage their substantial experience accumulated through the construction of over 200 projects to attract regional and international investment and hedge the risks of dollar-denominated PPAs. Following the cancellation of Baby Arun, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/people-power/decentralising-power-in-nepal">Nepal developed a highly distributed power sector</a>. The national electricity grid is currently supplied with power from a remarkably decentralised array of hundreds of hydropower and solar photovoltaic projects spread across 43 districts and all seven provinces.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250829150848_0c3aa66b34bfb08380a624f397bf3ebb4126f4d6b41a26115848b496876f501b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250829150848_0c3aa66b34bfb08380a624f397bf3ebb4126f4d6b41a26115848b496876f501b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1228" height="867" loading="lazy" alt="30 years after Baby Arun"> </figure>  This presents a sharp contrast to the pathway of a few large public sector hydropower projects with a sprinkling of private sector projects that was envisioned as part of NEA’s investment planning when Baby Arun was being considered the front runner for investment. The strategy then was to allow public sector investment in a few large hydropower projects with thermal plants to fill the gap. Knowing what we know now about acceleration of climate change impacts and increased extreme weather events, following this path would have made Nepal’s power sector highly vulnerable. Decentralised generation greatly improves the resilience of Nepal’s power supply as damage to power plants in one part of the country need not affect other areas that have their own generation. Following the investment plan where over two thirds of the country’s power supply would have come from power plants on the Arun River, would have greatly imperiled Nepal’s energy security. All rivers in Nepal are susceptible to flooding from cloudbursts made more frequent by climate change. The Arun River which is fed by glaciers in Tibet is also at risk to glacial lake outburst floods. Bikash Pandey is Director of Clean Energy and Circular Economy at Winrock International. People Power is his regular column in Nepali Times on global energy issues relevant to Nepal. <h2>Decentralised and Diversified</h2> In the 30 years since the cancellation of ‘Baby Arun’: Hydropower projects constructed cover capacities ranging from less than 1MW to 456MW and developed by IPPs from across the country with strong local involvement in purchasing equity shares. Renewable energy sources contributed to the generation mix through solar IPPs that further contribute to climate resilience, and cover shortfalls during low rainfall. The government is committed to solar contributing 10% of the power on the grid. Increasing solar beyond this target and providing incentives to project developers to invest in utility-scale battery storage would further improve resilience. BIG ARUN: The 900MW Arun III project under construction since 2018 at Num in Sankhuwasabha (pictured, below) is a separate initiative by a different project developer using a different financing modality. The ‘Baby Arun’ version of Arun III was cancelled in 1995.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250829150852_df534df5166eb5a9bb4cbe101627bdec7ac1df2a405a9d3988d1c86fcc8ecdeb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20250829150852_df534df5166eb5a9bb4cbe101627bdec7ac1df2a405a9d3988d1c86fcc8ecdeb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1750" height="1312" loading="lazy" alt="30 Years after Baby Arun"> </figure>

30 years after Baby Arun

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2fZXyjsE28" target="_blank">Yog Narendra Malla</a> became king at age 18, and ruled Patan from 1684-1705 — his reign marked by a cultural and architectural renaissance of the city state. He put up a statue of himself in the palace square with a little bronze bird sitting on the guardian serpent above his head. It is said he told his subjects that he would look after their welfare till the day the bird flew off. During<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lessons-not-learned-from-2015-o2etq6zu"> the 2015 earthquake</a>, the pedestal collapsed and the statue was damaged. The bird was lost, only to be located in a pile of debris and reinstated when the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/piece-by-piece-patan-darbar-square-reconstruction,3782" target="_blank">statue was consecrated</a> two years later. <div class="embed-block"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/x2fZXyjsE28?si=jYfIb4p6zCLXYQ1T" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe></div> History remembers Yog Narendra Malla as a wise king, but like most<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/preserving-king-birendra-s-family-home"> royalty of the day</a>, he had a weakness for women. He is supposed to have consorted with 30 queens and numerous concubines. At least 33 of them self-immolated themselves on the king's funeral pyre when he died, adhering to the prevailing <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/Jhola,947">practice of sati</a>. When Yog Narendra Malla’s favourite queen found out that he was carrying on with yet another woman, she got the local community of the Kwelachhi neighbourhood to stage a shadow sex play to quite literally expose his unfaithfulness. Actors enacted the explicit exploits of the king and his mistress, a bright butter lamp projecting the moving shadows of their lovemaking on a thin white drape to entertain those gathered in the square below. The queen made sure that the show was designed to face the home of the king’s paramour to shame them both. She also paid for a group to chant a bhajan with lyrics that ridiculed the king’s extramarital affair. The Jhyalcha Guthi community trust that the queen set up three-and-half century ago is still active to this day, and performs the annual shadow play in the same building in Kwelachhi the day before <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-legend-behind-the-myth-of-indra-jatra">Indra Jatra </a>every year. This year’s show is on Friday evening, 5 September. The opening lines of the chants that accompany the play are the same words approved by the queen all those years ago: “Raja Yog Narendra ya aparadh…” (King Yog Narendra’s crime…) The community leader of the Kwelachhi neighbourhood, 62-year-old Baburaja Awale, explains the importance of the event: “This Jhyalcha is our<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/saving-the-intangible,3303"> intangible heritage</a> and oral history. We do not have a written format, it has been passed down from generation to generation. Every word of the bhajan is the story of King Yog Narendra Malla.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250904070952_249e85b32cbd99bb8515151557e0ec1a65d44a34ef1aacabaaeb469622d12664.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250904070952_249e85b32cbd99bb8515151557e0ec1a65d44a34ef1aacabaaeb469622d12664" data-rendition-name="original" width="1750" height="1167" loading="lazy" alt="Sex and the city of Patan"> <figcaption>The statue of Yog Narendra Malla being reinstated after it toppled in the 2015 earthquake. Photo: GOPEN RAI/ NEPALI TIMES ARCHIVE</figcaption> </figure>  Jhyalcha Pyankha, as the ceremony is called, starts with a puja for the Bhimsen — the god of wealth and prosperity, a popular <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-homecoming-of-nepal-s-gods">deity in Patan</a> who has a temple dedicated just to him in the palace square. This is immediately followed by a bhajan of Bhairab performed with <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Buzz-house,670">traditional Newa musical instruments</a>. Community members serve snacks consisting of samay baji beaten rice, water buffalo chunks, soybean, green veggies, lentils, ginger, garlic and aila liquor. “In the first act of the shadow play, the man initiates the lovemaking, and in the third it is the woman,” says Laxmi Lal Awale, also a member of the trust that organises the show. The shadow action is all uncensored, but interspersed with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/between-the-sacred-and-everyday">scenes of everyday life</a>: the woman is spinning a thread, the king is going about his royal chores, and the two sit down to share sanacha fermented pickle that is popular this time of year. <div class="embed-block"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qZ3twuG1wNQ?si=yRfkoC3A-X9cIl8r" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe></div> “Back then, there was no tv, films or YouTube, and yet we managed to stage the shadow play using our own resourcefulness,” says Baburaja Awale. “It is important to continue the tradition.” The challenge now is to ensure that the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-reign-of-the-god-of-rain"> younger generation takes over</a>, learning the lyrics of the ancient bhajan. The dafa khala group that performs all over Patan during festivals and religious events is now training teenagers to play the musical instruments and act in the shadow play. The Jhyalcha was staged even after the 2015 earthquake when the falcha where the bhajan is performed collapsed and they made-do in a tin shed. The structure was later rebuilt with a grant from the group, Photo Circle. Lalitpur Metropolitan City sets aside a budget of Rs50,000 to organise the Jhyalcha Pyankha every year, but this is not enough and is supplemented by individual donations. The performers including musicians and actors are all volunteers, and take part in it because it is their community duty. The erotic shadow play was way ahead of its time, not just in its graphic content but the use of contemporary local technology as well as improvisation and pure imagination. Says Laxmi Lal: “Whatever its origin in the legend of King Yog Narendra Malla and his queen, Jhyalcha also served as a medium of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lets-talk-about-it">sex education</a>. In the past, women were discouraged from watching the shadow play, but today everyone is welcome, we all watch it together.” Jhyalcha Pyankha Kwelachhi, Chyasal, Patan 7PM onwards Friday, 5 September

Sex and the city of Patan

This is the 72nd episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. My father ran a store and that is where I spent all my time till Grade 6. Doing my homework. Serving customers. I then moved to my maternal grandparents’ house because I used to get along with my cousin who was a year older than me. We did everything together, and were best friends. We took turns studying: I was a night owl, and he was an early riser. Before I went to bed after studying all night, I woke him up. My mother was 44 when I was born, the same year my eldest brother got married. My sister-in-law becoming a part of our family was how my mother referenced my age. I liked making money, and was always a hustler. In Grade 7, I learnt to handle a tractor and helped my brother-in-law to plough, earning Rs10 a day. As I got better, he paid me more. By Grade 9, I was already making Rs500 per day, but had to slow down to prepare for my exams. From an early age I knew I did not want a 9-5 job. There just wasn’t enough money in it. I wanted to get into business, and compared my brother who worked in the post office and what businessmen made. It did not help that my brother was honest, and never took bribes. A friend and I made money selling cheap Chinese phones at a premium to our friends. We blasted music on the phones and pretended that we were giving them a discount. After SLC, I started teaching math and other subjects. I was soon a shareholder in the same school and in the evening I was involved in our family’s floriculture business, growing amaranth and marigold for garlands.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250831020844_1b54b999d67122a50c4c7e6204cc737bcc99bf2a68db6499a4566a7f61a880b4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250831020844_1b54b999d67122a50c4c7e6204cc737bcc99bf2a68db6499a4566a7f61a880b4" data-rendition-name="original" width="955" height="1314" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 72"> </figure>  It was then that a friend suggested we learn the Korean language. We could be earning significantly higher in Korea for similar efforts. I had no plans to go abroad but he convinced me. I did not know anything about Korea, and was scolded at the language institute when I asked someone to point Korea on the map.&nbsp; It was only there that I learnt you had to pass an exam for the Korean Employment Permit System (EPS), and pay for language classes. After a week, I decided it was not for me and dropped out. But my friend convinced me to give it one more try. I did not prepare much for the exam, and it was no surprise that I failed. But it was just by one mark, and people would pity me for failing “just by one mark”. It was a brand of failure. It hurt my ego. I had to turn things around by taking the exams seriously, and locked myself up to study hard.&nbsp; Even when we had visitors, my wife told them I was not home. If I was not in my room learning Korean, I would be with a group of ten of us test-takers comparing notes and practicing late into the night. The exam was difficult, but this time I passed, the only one in my group who did.&nbsp; As someone who never liked the idea of doing a job, I still had my doubts about going to Korea. It did not help that one of my acquaintances had returned a month after he had left, and he discouraged me from migrating given that I was already making good money in Nepal.&nbsp; But my wife suggested that I give it a shot since I had worked so hard for it. And if it really turned out not to be my cup of tea, I could always return. What did I have to lose, I thought, at least I would get to visit Korea. My job there was in an electrical company that made circuit boards. I worked all day, earned good money. In the evenings, I kept myself busy with my real estate business back in Nepal. I had learnt the tricks of the trade from fellow real estate agents back home, but at the time did not have the capital to invest.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250831020848_941e961e2045058f255ad89884b51faa7d2365c68236e5cbe573d63d769ac6c5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250831020848_941e961e2045058f255ad89884b51faa7d2365c68236e5cbe573d63d769ac6c5" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 72"> </figure>  In Korea, it helped that I had salary records that allowed me to get loans from financial institutions both in Korea and in Nepal. Ultimately, I started earning more from my real estate deals in Nepal than from my job in Korea. This was all thanks to my ability to take loans because of the EPS scheme. My wife has been managing the flower business while I was away. My finances grew stronger over the eight years I was in Korea. I paid off the loans that I had borrowed to buy land. But real estate did not satisfy me entirely. I wondered: what is my brand? What will I be known for? What is my contribution to society? Real estate is for wealth, but that is about it. I needed to sell one piece of land and use the revenue to start a venture. I took classes in business, and returned to Nepal six months ago and got back to my family’s ancestral roots in floriculture. In Nepal too, I am continuing the entrepreneurship training I had started in Korea with the Bridge International. Such exposure helps us reflect on our business such as our branding, vision, and proactive aspects like the importance of strong recordkeeping.&nbsp; I am now working to upgrade and expand my floriculture business. With a friend who is still in Korea I am building a cooling room to increase the shelf-life of flowers and other produce and set up a market in my village where others can sell their produce. Floriculture is our primary business, but it is seasonal and earns good money only during festivals like Tihar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250831020848_a008ffeba13896e6918f68ff6e687c8fe11140d86a96f1ec11690547f2bcd415.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250831020848_a008ffeba13896e6918f68ff6e687c8fe11140d86a96f1ec11690547f2bcd415" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 72"> </figure>  So, I grow tomatoes to ensure year-round earnings. I also am engaged in other businesses like real estate and online shopping. I work round the clock in Nepal — a strong work ethic is something I picked up in Korea.&nbsp; My Korean bosses would work alongside us, that motivated us. I work just as hard in Nepal as I did in Korea. People here often ask me why I am pushing myself so hard. But making garlands comes easy to me, it is work my forebears were involved in. My childhood memories are about plucking flowers with my sister. I have a comparative advantage in this work. It comes naturally to me, it is easy and I enjoy it. And sometimes, if there are too many garlands to make, I can multitask while holding meetings. My fingers just fly. I am good at this job, but my wife is even better and faster.&nbsp; When there is too much load, we can also outsource the work. To be known as the flower guy would be great personal branding. The मखमली guy. Or the सयपत्री guy. I decided to come home for just this with a one-way ticket. “अब पासा: जाँदैन ल्हासा!” &nbsp;

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