<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141148/636d01189c7e80680e0a3610jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2672" height="3563"/><figcaption>Photo: PRATIBHA TULADHAR</figcaption></figure>Fr K was every girl’s heart-throb. Yes. Heart-throb. We used the word for guys who made our heart beat quicken. Sometimes for girls. So, Fr K Heart-throb.We saw him once a year during the annual retreat. And girls waited all year with bated breath for the ‘retreat’. The retreat was calendared for that time of the year when all the students except one batch went on their holiday. So, it would mostly be a particular batch and Fr K, the only other person on the sprawling campus being Chaukidar Daju.Every day of the three-day retreat, the girls made an effort to look nice. Do your hair a certain way, wear your best blouse, and make sure to get a seat in the first row. Although, Fr K always made sure to reshuffle the seats eventually into a circle, with him standing in the centre.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/no-direction/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">No direction</a>, Pratibha TuladharLeaning in his very dark navy blue contemporary habit, a hint of white popping out on the collar, he stood there for three full days of the retreat, talking, charming his listeners. What did he really do to work his charm? Not much.But thrown into a classroom of 17-year-old girls, he did not have to do much. His competition were 60-year-old Mr Chaurdhary who taught Economics and Chaukidar Daju, who walked about with betel nut tucked between his teeth.I suppose the only thing different Fr K did was smile. He smiled and laughed softly a lot between talking. And every time he did that, the scar from a sewn-up upper cleft lip showed itself off, adding something striking to his demeanour.There were rumours about Fr K. They said that in his hill-town, women fell for him every time they heard him speak during church. And there were other rumours that made the girls blush. But there he was, standing amidst us, talking about ethics and love for all living beings.Just as the bell rang after lunch break, I shoved my bag into Rosy’s arms saying, “I need to use the loo”. I ran in as I always did and stopped suddenly at the main door of the lavatory.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/vagina-conversations/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Vagina conversations</a>, Pratibha TuladharThe door to the cubicle in the centre was open, partly showing off the dark navy blue attire. Facing away from me was Fr K, relieving himself. When he heard the steps, he tilted his head, looked at me and said, “Oh, hello.” And continued at what he had been doing.I felt like my face was on fire. Why was he in the students’ toilet instead of the GENTS in the staff room building? Had no one briefed him about the toilet rules in an all-girls’ institution? I turned away and left, the startling sound of shower softly hitting the toilet pan ringing in my ears.Back in the classroom, Rosy asked me why I look so flustered. I said it was nothing. I said, I was glad the retreat would be over in a few hours. She looked at me like she couldn’t believe her ears.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/sita/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Sita</a>, Pratibha Tuladhar…I make my way to the toilets, a short walk from the hall at the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-and-international-literature-festival/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">literature festival</a> venue. The door to one of the toilets is open. A man stands inside, relieving himself. He is wearing loose clothing. His linen shirt collar is met at the nape by peppery curls. A cotton bag is slung on one shoulder. “Sorry,” he says.When I go back to my seat, I see this man again. He is now seated on the stage alongside other speakers. The moderator introduces him as the writer of a book which is named after a certain exploding fruit. Later, I would try to read the book and never be able to finish it.…“I’m your fan,” I say to the politician, as he walks into the studio, preparing for a live interview. As the studio producers help him with the lapel mic and framing, I make small talk.“I disagree with your thoughts regarding <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Analysis/how-decentralised-is-federalism,776" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">federalism</a>, but I have always been impressed by how clearly you make your argument on why we don’t need it.”“That’s all right, Nanu,” he says. “In a democracy, we’re all allowed to disagree.”The interview is over and it is my turn to go on the air, before which I always use the toilet. I walk towards the row of restrooms. The first one on the floor has its door flung open and our guest’s <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/from-heads-to-toes/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">colourful Dhaka</a> topi stands out in the semi-darkness of the cubicle.“La!”“Eh…” he says.…Past 6PM is always time for your last cup of tea. I ’m standing by the lift, waiting, when he absentmindedly walks past me towards the toilet, muttering a casual hi. Given the short distance between the lift and the toilet, a strong smell would sometimes hover in the lobby.“When are you going to turn your feature in?” he yells at me from the toilet.“Sorry?” I turn my head towards his voice. The door to the Men’s is open.…As always, I hate having to use the toilet at Nepal Tourism Board. In there, I’ve always wondered how one was expected to use a space so small. I tend to get apprehensive even before I enter it.I open the main door and standing before the mirror, is <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/sexual-minorities-reeling-under-the-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">them</a>, towering over the basin. They’re doing some last-minute fixing, standing taller than anyone I have met in my life, poised gracefully in a peach silk gown, with floral patterns.“I love your blog post about massage. I’ve often wondered what that kind of pain actually brings,” I say.“Thanks,” they say and continue to get busy by the mirror. It was the first time I was speaking to someone who uses ‘they’ as a pronoun. I carry on into one of the cubicles, where it feels like the walls are about to crush me. I wonder how they might have used a space so tiny. I also think of how we had coexisted for a few minutes in a tight space and how, unlike similar encounters with men, I had not felt threatened.Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people (with some names changed) in Pratibha’s life.

Pratibha Tuladhar

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Toilet encounters

<h4>As Nepal reaches the goal of sanitation for all, the next health challenge is to make latrines hygienic</h4>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeOw-x3Sp_E&amp;t=3sTill recently, across many parts of Nepal, where people defecated was a matter of life or death.Sidewalks and trails strewn with human excrement spread disease and contaminated drinking water. The main killer of children in Nepal used to be diarrhoeal dehydration.But in the past decade, the rapid spread of household latrines in Nepal is an internationally recognised success story. And it has saved the lives of many thousands of children who would otherwise have fallen victims to water-borne diseases like diarrhoea, typhoid and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/%20jajarkot-open-defecation-free,2023" target="_blank" rel="noopener">cholera</a>.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/getting-our-shit-together/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Getting our shit together</a>, EditorialThere is an inverse correlation between the increase in the proportion of households with toilets and the decrease in child mortality. In 1980 only 2% of homes had toilets, that figure has jumped to 97% today. In the same period, Nepal’s under-five child mortality dived from 209 per 1,000 live births to below 35 today.“The achievement in health outcomes of household toilets, especially in reducing diarrhoea incidence in the last five years, has been dramatic,” said Siddhi Shrestha of UNICEF.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2b29c7e80680e033341jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="655"/>However, experts say just declaring a district open defection free does not mean it is -- access to water supply plays a critical role. In addition, the toilets need to be cleaned regularly to keep them hygienic. An evaluation found many latrines of substandard construction, not child or girl-friendly, many were located next to water sources, or were contaminating ground water. Open pits were buzzing with flies, which spread disease.Toilets in many schools and households were so dirty many students and villagers preferred to go out into the open.“Having a toilet in every household and declaring a district open defecation free is a major achievement. But having a toilet is different from using a toilet,” explained UN-HABITAT’s Bhushan Tuladhar.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/where-to-take-a-dump/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Where to take a dump?</a>, Bhushan TuladharBut as Nepal inches closer to the 100% household toilet target, another danger has already manifested itself: management of excreta that is overflowing out of pit latrines and septic tanks. There are only a handful of functioning faecal sludge treatment plants, even though emptying the sewage has become a booming business.“It is now time to think beyond the toilets,” said Bipin Dangol of Environment and Public Health Organisation (ENPHO). “Unless waste water and human excreta are safely disposed, we will continue to face health risks. The next step is to spread awareness about proper disposal of waste.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nature-calls/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nature calls</a>, Sonia Awale<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2b49c7e80680e033342jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="750" height="442">Toilets are now being thought of as part of a value chain system, starting from user interface, containment and transportation of the waste, followed by its treatment, disposal and safe reuse.The current toilet technology that involves flush tanks using drinking water is resource intensive, especially in Nepal’s cities which suffer a chronic water shortage. Engineers worldwide are experimenting with the next generation of toilet designs that allow excreta to be burnt and converted into valuable energy source. They also want the new prototypes to be affordable, work off-grid so that the poorest communities have access to safe sanitation solutions (read story below).Sanitation expert Doulaye Kone of the the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation was in Kathmandu recently for a meeting to approve a new standard ISO 30500 that set requirements for toilets of the future. They have to meet many criteria: destroy waste and kill pathogens, not use water or electricity, generate energy and water, cost less than Rs5 per use, and be easy to install and maintain.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vm_K5NvFpok“A new toilet that meets these standards will be a super vaccine,” he told Nepali Times in an interview. “A toilet is a health product so that people won’t have to suffer or die due to the lack of safe sanitation anymore.”A working model for a future breakthrough in Nepal's sanitation movement could be a new facility at an orphanage in Lubhu, which treats household effluent, turning it into methane gas, fertiliser and water for the kitchen and vegetable garden.Sanitation engineer Reetu Rajbhandari (pictured below at the Lubhu treatment plant) at ENPHO says the system is still expensive, and there are challenges of location.But she added: “This is an ideal solution for waste collection, disposal, treatment and recycling when everyone has a toilet. Future research needs to go into making it more affordable.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2b69c7e80680e033343jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="789"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><h2>Waste not, want not</h2>Nepal solved one problem, and created another. After a successful campaign against open defecation, 97% of households in Nepal now have latrines. But what to do with the waste that has accumulated in the pits and sewage?To solve the growing problem, the Ministry of Water Supply and Sanitation passed the Faecal Sludge Management (FSM) framework for the collection, transport, treatment and disposal of waste in urban areas. For Kathmandu Valley, this will go hand-in-hand with the government’s plan to free the Bagmati of sewage by 2020.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2b99c7e80680e033344jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="802"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A first-of-its-kind project at an orphanage in Lubhu (pictured above) outside Lalitpur gives a glimpse of how it would work. Septic tank waste is collected from households that pay for the service, transported to the treatment plant to be turned into fertiliser, methane gas and water.The plant (right) was originally set up to treat waste at shelters after the 2015 earthquake by the German organisation BORDA, Environment and Public Health Organisation (ENPHO), and Saligram Bal Griha. A similar faecal sludge treatment plant has been built in Bardia.The system treats six cubic metres of sewage per week, with separate solid and liquid units. It takes three days for the sludge to be treated and the water reused for irrigation. The rest flows into a digester to generate biogas, and the effluent takes 12 days to dry into odourless fertiliser.Vegetables thrive in the nutrient-rich waste, and are enough to feed all 42 children and staff in the orphanage. Extra greens are sold in the market.“We didn’t have sufficient water to farm in the past, now we can grow our own food, and cook in gas from treated human waste,” says caretaker Surya Prasad Ghimire. With a price tag of Rs7 million, the only downside for now is the cost, but that is because it is a prototype.When biogas first spread in Nepal 40 years ago, users were squeamish about allowing latrine waste to flow into the digester along with cowdung. By now there are 400,000 household biogas plants in Nepal, and nearly a third of them process both animal and human waste. In addition, 100 Police stations, Army bases and jails use human waste to generate gas for their kitchens.Explains Prakash Aryal of the Alternative Energy Promotion Centre (AEPC): “There used to be a taboo about linking toilets with biogas, but it is now easier to convince people due to the rise in awareness.”<h2>Here come the smart toilets</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2bc9c7e80680e033345jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="400"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In the last 200 years, humans have sent rockets to Jupiter, the Internet has transformed communication, the Human Genome Project has mapped the chromosomes. Yet in that time, toilets have remained the same.Social taboos about defecation have stymied toilet technology from evolving beyond the ceramic water closet that allowed loos to be located inside homes. Aside from some automation and digital spray control, toilet technology has remained unchanged for two centuries.Finally in 2011, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation launched the Reinvent the Toilet Challenge to provide safe and affordable sanitation solutions to 2.5 billion people worldwide who don’t have access to toilets. The idea was to stop open defecation with a cheap alternative that would also prevent the spread of infections.The Foundation’s specification was to re-invent the toilet that would destroy the pathogens in human waste, convert it into energy, and not need to be connected to the sewage, water, or electricity grids. And, oh yes, it should also cost less than $0.5 cents per user per day and be suitable for urban poor and rural settings.Many companies have joined the competition with ideas like: a solar-powered toilet that generates hydrogen and electricity, sanitation systems that convert human waste into biological charcoal, fuel gas, minerals and clean water. The challenge has gained momentum in India and China where engineers are coming up with innovative new technologies.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2be9c7e80680e033346jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="429"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Last week, 120 experts from 33 countries were in Kathmandu (pictured above) to brainstorm on sustainable non-sewered sanitation systems, and approved a new standard ISO 30500 that set the requirement for toilets for the Third World that are safe, cheap and don’t need water.“Toilets today do not work. We need a system that kills pathogens, runs off the grid, and is affordable. A structure that can operate without existing infrastructure and reach marginalised communities,” explained Doulaye Kone (pictured below), sanitation expert at the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.The Challenge is literally a challenge. What engineers have come up with so far are contraptions ranging from what look like mini nuclear reactors to glorified pit latrines.Kone says what the Foundation is looking for are appliances that will outwardly appear no different from existing toilets, but will be standalone structures with no sewers, and can convert waste into clean water and energy. Cost, maintenance and social acceptance will be the main hurdles to be overcome.Manufacturers are ready to bring some of the new inventions into the market, but the ones so far are still expensive. Kone argues that while the prototypes may be expensive and will target urban dwellers, mass production of a viable business model will eventually take it to the poorest.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2c19c7e80680e033347jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="578"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“This is innovative technology that allows for on-site treatment and produces minimum waste, while producing pathogen free water,” says Bipin Dangol of Environment and Public Health Organisation (ENPHO). “Its capital investment might be large, but we have a good financial mechanism and social marketing. We just need to convince people that this system will be good for the health of their families.”

Sonia Awale

Toilet trained

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

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

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

The Himalaya is not fragile

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

Kangchenjunga in winter

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

toilets

Toilet encounters

Toilet trained

Lumbini gets the lion’s share

The Himalaya is not fragile

Kangchenjunga in winter

The war between people