One Friday night last month, we were swapping stories about Vipassana, a rigorous <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/practicing-mindfulness-in-schools?fbclid=IwAR2X1T9SNG1tWe61UPqMUgHjOWNZ4U1foJyURLJMrjYAsUdr4u_mz1rmC1U">meditation</a> technique of silent observation, over dinner. We spoke of its ten days of noble silence, of respiration, observation, and sensation.&nbsp; I told them about my first retreat in Lumbini last year when my mind kept getting distracted: ‘What is happening in the outside world? Is <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/those-were-the-days-knea0341">K P Oli still prime minister</a>? When I emerged ten days later, he was still PM. During my second Vipassana in February this year, I reassured my mind that nothing dramatic could unfold in ten days. Still, my gut knew this country was always one headline away from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/trial-by-fire">revolution</a>. By my third retreat, I was confident, even cocky.&nbsp; At that dinner, I joked: “What could possibly change? If Oli survived my first two meditation retreats, the world can hold steady for a third.” I should’ve known better. On 1 September, I was back at Shivapuri for the second time, my third retreat, with no expectations — only hope that ten days of noble silence would peel yet another layer from my mind.&nbsp; Vipassana is a paradox: brutally difficult, yet infinitely generous. It is the tool needed to tame and know your unconscious mind, and to know yourself even a little through it is a profound achievement. My room at Z House had the best view of the Kathmandu Valley. I developed a ritual: press my hands against my cheeks and stare down at the city. The city below looks chaotic, but somehow beautiful in its stubbornness, where pollution and pride coexist. From up there, it looked like no one was free, trapped in their egos, pettiness and misery.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250913090920_9e77930ed911289c05a731605157f402c06249347e33964dc59c58d32dc2a6d6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250913090920_9e77930ed911289c05a731605157f402c06249347e33964dc59c58d32dc2a6d6" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="1300" loading="lazy" alt="Vipassana during Nepal revolution"> <figcaption>Those undergoing Vipassana in Sundarijal had no idea of the chaos and mayhem the country was undergoing. Photos: AARSALA ADHIKARI(Photo: Sonia Awale)</figcaption> </figure>  Then, softer thoughts of Metta and compassion would emerge. If only every single person could sit in silence and know their breath, just once. Blessed with ten days of Dhamma teachings on universal law, I imagined our 334 patriarchal parliamentarians and the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/house-of-cards?%2F">Oli, Deuba, Prachanda trinity</a>. UNSEEN CHAOS On the seventh and the eighth days of Vipassana (8–9 September) there was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/kathmandu-burns-despite-pm-resignation">black smoke rising from the Valley </a>below. Why were people burning all that garbage? There was no traffic on the straight road down from Budanilkantha. There were gunshots, and I assumed locals were shooting at marauding monkeys. I mistook the sound of helicopters at night for flights circling after takeoff.&nbsp; On the ninth day and in the morning of the tenth, it rained heavily. I tried to spot Dharara like I did every day, but the city was shrouded in a blanket of thick black smog. Even after two days of heavy rain, the smoke had not been washed down. This did not make sense, but my mind had returned to the safe harbour of my meditation. Nothing to see here. On the morning of 9/11, the tenth day, as we emerged from silence, the hall outside filled with chatter. Many people left, weeping, overwhelmed by the experience of the past ten days. We joked about our hardships and dreamt of delicious food, feeling a wave of accomplishment after a documentary about how Vipassana had transformed Tihar Jail in New Delhi.&nbsp; The hall radiated with inspiration and hope. Then, as the film ended an assistant teacher made an announcement: “There are serious protests going on in the Valley. K P Oli has resigned as prime minister. There are no cabinet ministers. The military has taken over, and a curfew has been imposed.”&nbsp; The news hit like a lightning bolt. Mental tranquility gave way to gasps of “What the f**k?” In the main Dhamma Hall, some women erupted in applause. We had spent ten days cultivating Metta, only to step out and realise the world had erupted into chaos. We huddled, trying to piece together fragments of what was happening. The Valley was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-turmoil-will-hit-tourism">still covered in black smoke</a>, the main road was still quiet. A neighbour turned up the radio, reporting deaths, destruction and curfew.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250913050944_ce09e04207ef5eb72ea55800b76df0c16a9d46a3eea957a4ecb0d67e978c2595.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20250913050944_ce09e04207ef5eb72ea55800b76df0c16a9d46a3eea957a4ecb0d67e978c2595" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="Meme doing the rounds on social media"> <figcaption>Meme doing the rounds on social media. </figcaption> </figure>  A first-time meditator, Shivani Karn, overheard a neighbour from wall cross telling his son that people had been shot and that he should not go to school any more. She had wanted to flee the Centre, but stayed on. Stranded foreigners from Argentina to China were bewildered and terrified. Volunteers debriefed us, recounting the shocking details: buildings burning, ministers’ houses ransacked, Oli fleeing, Deuba and his wife beaten up. The leaders were all in the Shivapuri barracks up the mountain. Over 15,000 inmates had broken out of prison. It was a catastrophe unfolding in real time. The city felt ripped out from a nightmare. In the common space, people complained about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-gen-z-protest-turns-deadly">corruption and the ban on social media</a>. But an understanding emerged: both those in power and those who grant it are bound by the law of cause and effect. Driving down from Shivapuri on the morning of 12 September, my heart sank. The smog I had seen was smoke from still smouldering buildings. It was not garbage burning, but the rage of the people. Those were not people scaring away monkeys, but guns that killed innocent lives. The sound of aircraft were actually helicopters rescuing politicians.&nbsp; We drove past Singha Darbar, a charred ruin. Another Vipassana meditator, Anjali Baidya, shared a chilling memory. She recalled being 12 years old in 1973, watching from her home in Makhan Tole as Singha Durbar first caught fire. History had repeated itself 52 years later.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250910140912_e6bf05bfe95f519e05ab8d9016587211b241340fd23a0f9ae728e74747fc5f29.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250910140912_e6bf05bfe95f519e05ab8d9016587211b241340fd23a0f9ae728e74747fc5f29" data-rendition-name="original" width="8064" height="6048" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal in ashes"> <figcaption>Singha Darba, the seat of the government, set ablaze on 9th September. Photo: KAMAL PRASAI</figcaption> </figure>  One Bhatbhateni supermarket after another were scorched, police stations, government offices, once symbols of everyday life. There were soldiers everywhere, not police. &nbsp;Amidst the devastation, a deeper truth settled in. This, too, was Anicca — impermanence. Anicca teaches us that all things are constantly changing, including our thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations. Political systems, power structures, national crises are all transitory. This understanding is crucial for healing. When we cling to the idea that a leader, political system or ourselves are permanent, we set ourselves up for disappointment and anger when it inevitably changes. The Dhamma teaches that responsibility is shared. The anger and fear on the streets are similar to feelings many carry inside. We Nepalis have intergenerational trauma. What I saw was not an abstraction: the gunshots and chaos echoed the terrifying nights of 1 February 2005 in Panauti, a grim replay of the fear I knew as a child at Malpi school, huddling with friends for safety.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/what-next-nepal">What next, Nepal?</a>, Shristi Karki Our national history is a series of ruptures that become personal landmarks. I was nine years old at my aunt’s birthday party on 1 June 2001, when the celebration was abruptly called off and we were sent home into the silent shock of a royal massacre.&nbsp; This pattern must be broken, and it starts now. The path to national healing must begin with individual healing. We can learn from the story of Angulimala, a violent figure who was transformed by the Buddha’s compassion. The Buddha walked steadily toward him and said, “I have stopped, Angulimala. You must stop too.” Angulimala realised the truth, renounced violence, and was enlightened. Cycles of anger and conflict can be softened and transformed. Nepal’s long-term well-being depends on our ability to approach the Dhamma as a pragmatic tool. Inner calm can help us process collective trauma. By cultivating forgiveness and compassion, we can create a stability that begins within. True healing begins when we stop externalising our pain or intellectualising our emotions, and start nurturing our own inner peace. As the dust settles, the true noise begins: the roar within. We are left with a stark choice: remain trapped in this endless loop of rage, or we can deliberately choose to stop. The Dhamma is not some philosophy for a meditation centre; it is the raw truth of our applied wisdom. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/madam-prime-minister-of-nepal">Sushila Karki, Nepal’s first female prime minister</a>, may have emerged as a new ‘messiah’ but we must begin to take responsibility and accountability. Change cannot come from chaos, it is a conscious effort we must make precisely when it feels most impossible.&nbsp; The path forward is not through the streets, but inward — into the ruins of our own self-righteousness. The disparity and deep-seated grudges are the quiet kindling that have brought this new revolution. The rage on the streets is about suppressed dignity, and a burning hunger for justice.&nbsp; It is time to check the recesses of our minds and hearts, sit down, breathe, and to ask: “When do we stop running, and when do we start healing?”&nbsp; Alisha Sijapati is a writer specialising in cultural heritage, and a former Nepali Times correspondent.

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Vipassana during a revolution

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4ee49c7e80680e04fcddjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>Photos: Himalayan Hermitage</figcaption></figure>Whenever tourism in Nepal suffers a slump, it is young westerners seeking enlightenment that compensate for fewer visitor numbers.After every political upheaval, like the <a href="https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/three-kings-in-four-days-nepal-massacre" target="_blank" rel="noopener">2001 royal massacre</a> or the decade-long conflict, or disasters like the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2015/05/27/a-month-that-felt-like-a-year/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">2015 earthquake</a>, meditation students kept Nepal’s tourism economy afloat.Tourists seeking spiritual upliftment and detox from the stress of modern life and materialism, have flocked to Nepal ever since the <a href="https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/feeling-groovy" target="_blank" rel="noopener">hippie days</a>. But lately, there are monasteries and temples that cater specifically to customers who come to Nepal to learn meditation techniques like <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Vipassana-meditation-technique-for-post-disaster-psychological-recovery%20,2472" target="_blank" rel="noopener">vipassana,</a> take intensive yoga classes, or to seek solitude and communion with nature.Indeed, the word gompa is derived from the Tibetan word for meditation, and it is where devotees go to pray, train their mind to concentrate on a positive mental attitude,  and attain a blissful state. Meditation allows people to gain mindfulness, consciousness, and detoxify their desires and negative thoughts like jealousy, anger and greed.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4ee89c7e80680e04fcdejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050">As global headlines about the coming climate apocalypse, wars and political unraveling bombard people every minute of every day through the social web and the mass media, people need to take time off to be with their inner selves.“This is the path to regain mental equilibrium and restore one's healthy mental state as meditation pushes out feelings of jealousy, anger and greed,” explains Geshe Lobsang Sherap at <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19805#.XScX_uszbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Kopan Monastery</a> near Kathmandu, one of the pioneers of meditation tourism in Nepal. (See box.)There are now customised meditation tours and packages, spiritual and spa trekking that combine yoga for the purification of both the body and mind. After all, the Himalaya is where Hindu and Buddhist sages have gone for millennia to meditate, cleanse their souls and even attain nirvana.Himalayan Hermitage is one agency working with local partners to facilitate meditation tours and pilgrims inside Kathmandu and around various sacred places in the Himalaya.Alex d’Artois and Sisse Budolfsen started Himalayan Hermitage after spending many years in Nepal studying Buddhism, philosophy and meditation, and found many blessings during their stay here.“Meditation is all about mind practice, cultivating sanity, becoming better human beings, attaining innate compassion and wisdom,” explains d’Artois. "It is not about trying to be something or someone. It is cleaning up our mess, and connecting with reality. Nepal is the perfect place for meditation because life here is less hurried and people are simple, relaxed and at peace.”<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4eeb9c7e80680e04fcdfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1098"><a href="https://himalayanhermitage.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Himalayan Hermitage</a> works with local partners to facilitate meditation pilgrimages in Nepal, India, Bhutan with spiritual journeys into sacred valleys like Tsum, Solu Khumbu, Dolpo, Mustang and Manang where they practice mediation amidst sublime scenery.“These sacred valleys of the beyul have a sanctity that is hard to explain, they have healing properties,” adds d’Artois, a Canadian who has studied Buddhist philosophy.Himalayan Hermitage combines western and eastern perspectives, and prefers to call its Nepal package ‘pilgrimage’ and the tourists ‘pilgrims’, explaining that the idea of a pilgrimage is non-religious and an inclination of self-introspection that allows pilgrims from around the world to immerse into the culture of Himalaya.“If I do not meditate, I feel like something is missing, I do not feel fully cleansed and taken care of. A feeling that I didn’t take time for myself,” explains Sisse Budolfsen, who is from Denmark and has been travelling to Nepal and Tibet ever since she first came to Kopan at the age of 20.According to airport arrival figures, 17% of tourists visiting Nepal last year (some 65,850) said they were here for meditation and spiritual tourism.“We have specifically prioritised meditation tourism since this is a new concept and a trend,” shares Kabitra Bhatt at Nepal Tourism Board (NTB).<h2>Kopan’s Russian-Hollywood connection</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4ef09c7e80680e04fce0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1250" height="1119">One of the first centres to popularise meditation tourism in Kathmandu Valley is Kopan Monastery which now gets more than 1,500 students every year for its 10-15 day classes.The history of Kopan is closely tied to the legendary daughter of Russian émigré Zina Rachevsky, whose family fled Russia during the communist revolution, became a Hollywood actress, and arrived in Nepal with the hippies in the 1960s to seek enlightenment.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4ef39c7e80680e04fce1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1250" height="973">In 1968, the Russian-French- American socialite became Anila Thubten Chub Palmo (above, left) and was ordained in Dharmashala by Trijang Rimpoche. She bought the land on which Kopan Monastery now stands in Kathmandu Valley for the Nepal Mahayana Gompa Retreat that she set up with Lama Yeshe, (above, right) whom Rachevsky met in Darjeeling.“Kopan became a refuge for those fleeing materialism and artificial modern lifestyles,” explains Geshe Lobsang Sherap. “Among them was Zina. She  met our gurus, Lama Yeshe and Lama Zopa Rinpoche and became their first disciple in 1968.”The first of 15 American tourists came to Kopan in 1968 to attend a medication course taught by Jamyang Wangmo. Zina Rachevsky died of cholera while on a meditation retreat in Thame in Khumbu in 1973 at the age of 42.

To make up for monsoon slack, Nepal opts for spiritual tourism

Shantanu Dhakal wakes up to a cold misty dawn, dons his college uniform and fastens his tie, tightening it carefully so as not to dislodge the tracheostomy tube protruding from his throat.
Gingerly, he brushes his teeth, mindful not to hurt the wound on his left cheek, where a bullet tore through during the GenZ protests on 8 September in the highway town of Itahari in eastern Nepal.&nbsp;
Dhakal, 18, came home from college that day three months ago and then took the bus to Itahari to join some friends who were protesting in front of the sub-metropolitan city office. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowd was chanting anti-corruption slogans and holding up placards.
Like most young Nepalis, Dhakal and his friends had been angered by videos on social media of the offspring of Nepal’s rich and powerful flaunting their lavish lifestyles.&nbsp;
"That was the trigger for me to join the protest, it opened my eyes to just how widespread nepotism and corruption was," Dhakal told Nepali Times.&nbsp;
The police arrested a few students, angering the crowd even more. They massed at the gate of a nearby police station to demand their friends be released. &nbsp;
Dhakal was standing across the street from the police station when the first shots rang out. The crowd scattered. As he ran for cover, there was a searing pain in his left jaw. Blood was streaming and it took some time for him to realise he had been shot.&nbsp;
“I was bleeding profusely and couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, there was a ringing in my ears,” Dhakal recalls. “I collected myself and continued to run, fearing that I would be shot a second time.”
Dhakal collapsed some distance away, and a fellow protestor took him to a nearby hospital, where doctors bandaged his jaw. He was referred to Birat Medical Teaching Hospital, where surgeons immediately performed an emergency operation. &nbsp;
The bullet had torn through his left jaw, shattering the bone, teeth, and soft tissue. Blood had rushed into his throat, obstructing the airway so doctors first performed a tracheostomy, installing a tube in his throat to help him keep breathing. A week later, the doctors reconstructed his jaw with metallic plates, grafting skin from his chest and transplanting it to the lower left side of his face.&nbsp;
Dhakal spent three weeks in hospital before being discharged. But the relief of being home was marred by disturbing thoughts. He says, “Just sitting there doing nothing began to take a toll on my mental health.” &nbsp;
Since he was always interested in content creation and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@docsbyshantanu">producing short documentaries</a>, he decided to document online his near-death experience and post-protest life.&nbsp;
Shantanu Dhakal’s Instagram and TikTok <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shantanu__dhakal/">posts are simple, short videos</a> every other day about his treatment process, dressing his wound and cleaning his tracheostomy tube, attending events with others injured during the protests, and scenes from everyday life in his family farm.&nbsp;
The comment section has Nepalis and people from around the world reaching out to ask how he is doing and keeping his spirits up. Dhakal now has a caring social media community, and he uses the platforms to keep in touch with other injured protestors across the country.&nbsp;
Life is returning to a new normal. This week, he returned to college to resume classes after more than two months and is making up for lost time. He has adjusted to speaking and eating with the tube, although the pain never quite goes away.&nbsp;
“I can eat mostly fine, but it is still difficult to speak,” he says. Soon, he will go to hospital for his fortnightly follow-up, and doctors will determine when his tracheostomy tube can be removed.
Like other young Nepalis, Dhakal is now even more politically engaged and actively reads the news of the interim government installed after the GenZ protests.&nbsp;
With the 5 March elections only three months away, young Nepalis like Dhakal hope that the elections will throw out the old and bring in the new. He is among the more than 800,000 new voters who have registered.&nbsp;
“The most important thing is that we have stable government,” he says. “As far as candidates go, an ideal one for me would be a person who prioritises health and education. But if the candidates in my constituency are not up to mark, I may not vote.”
Dhakal along with other injured protesters and relatives of those killed met &nbsp;Energy Minister Kulman Ghising, who has launched his own Ujyalo Nepal Party, and he is cautiously optimistic about the work of the current leadership. &nbsp;
It is a different story in Kathmandu, where Prime Minister Sushila Karki is struggling to manage the expectations of various youth collectives while trying to convince the old parties to participate in elections.&nbsp;
While the UML and NC are actively trying to delegitimise Karki’s government as they prepare to hold their respective general conventions, they are also preparing to give out tickets for elections.&nbsp;
Self-proclaimed GenZ leaders who used Discord to elect Karki prime minister are putting up their own conditions for the polls, even demanding her resignation for failing to meet their demands. This is in sharp contrast to the feelings of many of those injured during the protests who want elections so the nation can heal, and move on.

A new normal

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

This is the 76th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. We did not have a whole lot, but did not grow up in scarcity either. When I was in Grade 7, my father migrated to Malaysia but returned just after 18 days and was heavily in debt. It is the interest and not the principal from loan sharks that ruins borrowers. As we grew up, family expenses rose and my father migrated again to Qatar, determined to make it work this time. I used to watch him via IMO in buildings under construction eating rice out of plastic bags. There was no AC, no oven, no shade. Those images are etched into my memory.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251208081244_3f46ccdd1fab8f85ccce9fc8bec677cb7466a1b9556f36d0f92d19c6478369b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="600" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Family picture from 2014 sent to Anil's father who was working in Qatar.</figcaption> </figure>  After Grade 10, I was encouraged to take up computers in +2 as I was a bright student. I did not have access to a computer, and the 30 minutes we got weekly at the computer lab was just not enough. My parents could not afford to buy a computer, but a friend had both a desktop and laptop at home.&nbsp; I did his homework in exchange for using his computer. When my father in Qatar, found out he bought me a laptop. Today, a decade later, I am still using it. Maybe I valued the computer more because it was bought with my father’s sweat. The laptop reminds me of how he toiled overseas.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251208081240_2b3dc0b903d0b01caf875b5f50c22053aa28097b405cf14f36c6324a93f5dfef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil still uses the laptop his father bought him ten years ago.</figcaption> </figure>  The money he sent home did help with household expenses. My mother did tailoring, although the income was not stable. After my father returned from Qatar, we he bought a three-wheeler which he still uses in Makwanpur. After completing Grade 12, I came to college in Kathmandu to study IT. It cost Rs20,000 a month in tuition, rent and food just to survive. I could not complete my bachelor’s. Although my father kept saying, “Don’t worry, I am here,” he just did not have the money to pay for me. So, I took up a data entry job which helped cover living expenses. The pandemic meant my father could not earn money from his auto-rickshaw. We had no savings and had outstanding loans. Migration was the only way to get us out of the rut. I told my father that both of us should go abroad to earn some money. He could return earlier and I would stay on.&nbsp; My father agreed, and I visited recruiting agencies with both our passports. After reviewing our CVs, they said it was easy to find jobs for my father but not for me, given my educational background and my experience in software. “How can we send you for jobs as a cleaner or security guard?” they asked. I finally found a job in Romania, and decided to have my father stay back because going to Europe would have doubled the cost. My mother and sister came to see me off at Kathmandu airport. It felt just like my father leaving for Qatar many years ago. Perhaps some day, my brother would also leave in a similar manner, I thought.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251208081240_c1a00b70223f048e994e1cab7c0e6cd6944c4a2f3f7740b0a8e76921da9d23f0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's sister hugging him at the airport before he left for Romania.</figcaption> </figure>  In Romania, I work in a factory making car seat belts. It is not physically demanding and it is indoors. Even though I did not share it with my family, the initial period was difficult as I had no experience standing and working for so many hours at a time. Once, when I was tired at work, I wondered how my father managed in Qatar in a much more physically taxing job. Here I was not carrying heavy loads, my work was not outdoors. I was so emotional, I wrote a ghazal in my head. The words “खाडीको तातो घाम” kept repeating in my head. After work, I jotted down the verse in my diary:&nbsp; बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot become like you कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot imagine how hard it is म मान्छे हेर्दा मात्रै ठूलो I only look like a grown man बानी अझै बच्चै छ But I am still childish किनकि जता त्यतै जान मन लाग्छ I feel like roaming around जे देख्यो त्यो खान मन लाग्छ Eat whatever I see. न पैसा बच्छ I cannot save. न खाएको कुरा सबै पच्छ The food doesn’t agree with me&nbsp; कहिले काहीँ त मलाई म्याकडोनाल्डको बर्गर पनि पच्दैन Not even a burger at McDonalds तर प्लास्टिकमा पोको परेको त्यो चिसो भात But how did my father eat that cold rice खाडीको त्यो तातो घाममा सेक्दै खाँदा मेरो बुवालाई कसरी पच्छ? Under the hot Gulf sun? मेरो पेटले यस्तो पचाउन सक्दै सक्दैन I would not be able to eat that. बुवा, तपाई जस्तो बन्न म सक्दै सक्दिनँ Father, I cannot be like you. कति गाह्रो छ, म भन्नै सक्दिनँ I cannot say how difficult it is.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251208081240_51eb68a130750f1c79ab1046406a5b940c780ebd87cfff5ff6861d3287bd69c0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil Gole's diary entry of his ghazal compares his migration with his father’s journey.</figcaption> </figure>  I posted it online, and it went viral. But more importantly, people found the words relatable and engaging. My sister first saw it on Tiktok and shared it with my mother. It moved them to tears while my father kept watching it on repeat, deep in thought. Even though my birth father decided to leave my mother when I was less than a year old, my step father never made me feel the absence of anything. My friend from Grade 6 in Makwanpur, Sharan, introduced me to ghazal. He was six years older because he had to pause his studies during the Maoist conflict. He worked in a brick factory in Kathmandu, saved money, and returned to school. He was very talented and we became friends through the school children’s club.&nbsp; Sharan and I spent most of our time together, sharing meals to save money and even skipping classes. One day, in Grade 9 when our teacher was absent, he wrote a ghazal on the spot and explained the form, the rhyme, the meter. I listened half-heartedly as it was not of interest. We left it at that. Shortly after, Sharan was diagnosed with leukemia and he could not finish exam. Because he was a sharp student, the teachers decided to not hold him back. He died just before Grade 10. I cried. I do not have any pictures of Sharan. He had small ears, and I used to tease him that people with small ears do not live long. That still haunts me. <div class="embed-block"><div style="max-width: 56vh;"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 177.7778%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutube.com%2Fshorts%2FLpizGQWTbMs%3Ffeature%3Dshare&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div> At the school assembly at the start of the new year, we were asked to share a talent. I did not know what to do, but I wrote a ghazal just as Sharan had taught me and dedicated it to him. Halfway through, I started crying and the principal took me to his office and calmed me down.&nbsp; I do not write much poetry except a few posts on social media here and there. But a video of me reciting went viral on TikTok and that encouraged me to write more. That made me feel validated, and I began writing more about real life experiences. It has been three years in Romania. My brother will also be joining me soon. Things have improved for us financially, but we are not where we want to be. We will get there. When we do, I will resume my studies. I’m interested in programming, especially back-end development and working with databases. It is on hold right now.&nbsp; I do not have big dreams, I just want to make sure my parents get what they deserve. It is okay if I get delayed if my parents are able to access what they had scarified for us when they were of my age. For now, my family is my priority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251208081240_9e8d3cad3b505d3ec5adcea94ed05b2ea9de1d2cd8507335eec86c2659a11b34" data-rendition-name="original" width="2016" height="1512" loading="lazy" alt="Diaspora Diaries 76"> <figcaption>Anil's family.</figcaption> </figure>

My father’s son

The second season of the Nepal Premier League (NPL) is a prettier and more mature product. The Tribhuvan University International Cricket Stadium has new flood lights, colourful seats, and more of them from which fans watch not just sixers soaring into the evening sky but also spectacular sunsets over the mountains.&nbsp; Tuesday’s match was a double header with matches 20 and 21 of the season. The early game was Chitwan Rhinos vs Janakpur Bolts, and in the evening Karnali Yaks played Pokhara Avengers. These were teams towards the bottom of the table, with plenty to play for.&nbsp; Things looked fluorescent with the high-vis vests of security, bright pink jerseys of the Bolts, vivid orange Rhinos and the neon green inDrive logo. Security is tight, and between buying tickets and getting to seats viewers are patted down four times, their ticket stubbed twice. The seats are divided into zones, set out by fan base, and they are full and loud throughout.&nbsp; The biggest name in NPL 1.0 last year was probably Shikhar Dhawan, but the second season has brought in internationals who have played at the highest levels: Jason Roy, Faf du Plessis, Imran Tahir, Wayne Parnell, Sohail Tanvir, Martin Guptill. &nbsp; Although they are now in the 35-40 age range and well past their athletic prime, they have been valuable as sources of experience and technique for young Nepali teammates who are preparing for the T20 World Cup in February. They are seeing firsthand the work that goes into being an international level professional.&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_0" data-image-id="20251205041256_e96211da042ec3043940f2feca4cd59dd00351af41a4ca029169871f69f51957" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> <figcaption>Photos: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  NPL 2.0 is also much more commercial. Boundary ropes and zones have logos on them, KFC and Asian Paints have their anamorphic logos designed for angle on the field, there is an electric vehicle on display, and the digital scoreboard shows ads in between balls and action on the field.&nbsp; Sponsors and advertisers have allowed the organisers to pull out all the stops to put up the month-long tournament. Maybe the next season will be broadcast with virtual advertising with digital overlay.&nbsp; Cricket is a much faster and more dynamic game in person with the whole field in view, while still being relaxing to watch due to its stop start nature, the winter sun and enchanting sunset views.&nbsp; In the morning game Janakpur bowled first. The defending champions had a defence failure with five losses out of five. They could not break the opening partnership of the Rhinos, who were cruising at about nine runs an over.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251205041256_280bea0db1d097c88d478f5ba7197b5e2faa05623ebf9c0438af46d85bdb891e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1366" height="911" loading="lazy" alt="Cricket carnival NT"> </figure>  Thirteen overs into the Rhinos’ inning, they are 109 for zero. English batsman David Malan, 38, is on 59 off 42, and his opening partner Arjun Saud, 22 from Dhangadi, is on 50 off 37. The message from the dug out is clear: there are wickets in hand, so hit some sixes.&nbsp; Namibian leg spinner Nicol Loftie-Eaton was bowling for the Bolts, and the batsman went after him. They got off twice, with Rupesh Singh losing an easy catch in the sun, and then putting down a much harder chance running to his left.&nbsp; American Sanjay Krishnamurthi took a fantastic catch diving forward in the very next ball. The rest of Chitwan’s batting order got out regularly while still scoring at a decent clip. The Rhinos ended up posting 174, a big score of course, but not the 200+ that their strong start suggested.&nbsp; In the last over, young left-handed national team batsman Kushal Malla lofted a six on the off-side. The ball scored a direct hit on a cheerleader’s face, she crumpled to the ground, and was rushed on a stretcher to an ambulance. Meanwhile, Mr Gaida, the one-horned Chitwan mascot, stole the show as he roamed the boundary, swaying to the wide mix of DJ songs. The crowd cheered.&nbsp;  <figure> <video controls src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251206071236_63033e071dcdf7e9c6382f889e72f438318faed63d9a3c52d4ba6c10a6e357f6.mp4" alt="" width="100%" height="100%"></video> <figcaption>Mr Gaida, the one-horned Chitwan mascot, stole the show as he roamed the boundary, swaying to the wide mix of DJ songs. Vidoe: VISHAD RAJ ONTA</figcaption> </figure>  As the Bolts started batting, popular Irish commentator Andrew Leonard came down from the press box to check on cheerleaders. Three cheerleaders were reduced to one, but a male breakdancer had joined her.&nbsp; Janakpur were never in any real trouble as they chased. Young Pakistani all-rounder Maaz Sadaqat’s 63 off 30, and Anil Sah’s 61 of 36 propelled the Bolts to the target with two and a half overs to spare.&nbsp; At dusk, the floodlights come on, adding to the atmosphere. There is smoggy Kathmandu below and Langtang glowing pink on the horizon as the second match began.&nbsp; Karnali Yaks captain Sompal Kami won the toss and chose to bowl, but Adam Rossington’s 108 off 58 and Jason Roy’s 46 of 34 meant that Pokhara set up a target of 202. &nbsp; The Yaks started well, and were still very much in the game at over 10 with 95/3. But they lost wickets and slowed down. The pressure of the rising run rate got to the batting order, and soon they were all out for 167.&nbsp; In between innings and games, there is plenty for viewers to do in the carnival-like atmosphere outside. Asian Paints offers free face-painting. Ncell has a stall where viewers can pick up free new sims and play against a bowling machine to win t-shirts. KFC is the only food option around. Red Bulls are Rs150 per can. “Why do you think they’re dancing so hard out there?” asks the vendor of the caffeine-rich energy drink. “Red Bull.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025120412128_06edd8e6713c1e76c39364d3efb8ea54d4f7c3d8d2bf0d90933c993fdcfeba74.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025120412128_06edd8e6713c1e76c39364d3efb8ea54d4f7c3d8d2bf0d90933c993fdcfeba74" data-rendition-name="original" width="934" height="656" loading="lazy" alt="NPL fixtures NT"> </figure>  <h2>Starting a new innings</h2> Tek Raj Kharel had just dropped off his inDrive customer near Zone 3 and had been following the tournament, watching games in between rides. He thinks the NPL is more than a game, it is a carnival. “This festival is more for women than men,” says Kharel. How so? “They go to be seen on the digital screen and take selfies, and the men go to see the women.”&nbsp; This week both male and female fans on the stands were certainly dancing hard, and they did not seem to care much about which team was winning. They cheered both when batsmen hit boundaries, and when a wicket fell. They were there to have fun, cricket was just an excuse. A pair of friends were not having as much fun, and were obviously not too much into cricket. The youngsters exited early, with one telling the other to never invite him to something as boring again. Many other couples seemed to be on dates.&nbsp; There were also many dads with their young kids, both generations enjoying themselves. There are not too many other events in Nepal that the family can go to like this.&nbsp; “Any match you watch here is pretty entertaining,” says an older fan. “I didn’t really know much about cricket before but now it has become a habit.”&nbsp; Thanks to new Youth and Sports minister, 26-year old Bablu Gupta, at the end of day’s games, fans get a free ride on shuttle buses to Kalanki, Swayambhu, Bhaktapur and elsewhere in the Valley.&nbsp; There is a lot that is very good with the NPL, and not much that is bad. A few things need quick fixes.&nbsp; While the stadium itself is all right, outside where the stalls are, the ground is dusty and resembles a construction site with litter everywhere. There are no actual bathrooms. Siddhartha Bank has set up a few small makeshift steel sheds, where fans stand shoulder to shoulder to relieve themselves. &nbsp; The pricing system has to be rethought. Tickets started at Rs300 last year, and the stadium was packed. Tickets cost Rs500 now, and on weekdays many seats are empty. A new system where tickets get discounted depending on booking time would improve the atmosphere with bigger crowds. &nbsp; Even so, the NPL is a breath of fresh air in post-GenZ protest Nepal with the hope that the country is starting a new innings.&nbsp; Tickets on Khalti.