It is a privilege to be able to read, understand and appreciate the depth of women’s writing and the expanse of their ideas. But it was several years before I would understand the bias against women’s writing— and in extension, their characters. A popular bookstore raised an outcry when it shared how men are quick to admit they do not read books by women, and research revealed a price disparity in men’s and women’s books of up to 45 %.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7979c7e80680e092deajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="126" height="150"/>It is not only dry data. In conversation, male acquaintances are quick to defend themselves and say they read and like books by women. Yet, why is it that their book recommendations and references are dominated by men, and names of women do not flow from the tongue as smoothly as the men’s?We never feel the need to categorise men’s writing, but how quickly books by women are tied to the limitations of ‘romance’, ‘feminist’, or ‘women-centric.’So often, women’s writing is casually dismissed as confessional and emotional, as though it were not the most difficult thing in the world to be honest and arouse feelings – which is only a fraction of what writing by women achieves. While ‘women’s writing’ is itself a term fraught with several connotations, not all of them appreciative, it has become more crucial than ever to read, talk about, widely share and appreciate the fabulous works of these writers.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Vindication-Rights-Woman-Thrift-Editions/dp/0486290360" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">A Vindication of the Rights of Woman</a>, Mary Wollstonecraft“I do not wish (women) to have power over men; but over themselves,” said Wollstonecraft 230 years ago. When I read this piece, I was astounded at how fiercely a woman had rebelled during such oppressive times, and saddened by how little has changed in the lives of women. It is the collective voice of an entire generation, fueled by the accumulated rage of several centuries. While some ideas in the essay seem misogynistic today, Wollstonecraft’s powerful roar still resonates within many of us. This angst with the world is also duplicated in The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, while Chimamanda Adichie harnesses Wollstonecraft’s urgent call for transformation in her treatise ‘We Should All Be Feminists.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7989c7e80680e092debjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="459"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7999c7e80680e092decjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="607"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Beloved-Toni-Morrison/dp/1400033411" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Beloved</a>,Toni MorrisonIt is difficult to decide what is more touching in Beloved - style or content. It is an anguish against racism and rage against lopsided history, told through the unforgettable story of a family of slaves. It is also a story of strong mothers and stronger daughters who leave their dreams, voyages and poetry scattered on each page. It is traumatic in content and enviable in style, just like Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing, published more recently in 2016.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.in/Unbound-Years-Indian-Womens-Writing/dp/9382277668" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Unbound: 2,000 Years of Indian Women’s Writing</a>, Anne ZaidiAnne Zaidi has done the unthinkable with this volume that attempts to capture two millennia of women’s writing in the vast literary world of India. Rather than consider it an all-exhaustive anthology, Zaidi thoughtfully terms it a tribute to the sisterhood that wrote steadfastly amidst all odds, and was rarely given space in major literary collections. This is a prototype, a diverse read and a labor of love that other countries would do well to follow.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79a9c7e80680e092dedjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="943"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79d9c7e80680e092deejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="264" height="419"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Kim-Jiyoung-Born-1982-Nam-Joo-ebook/dp/B07LFL9V9Z" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982</a>,Cho Nam-JooWhy are women so angry all the time, a lot of men like to ask. Why have women become so ‘radical’ and ‘fierce’? Kim Jiyoung, now nearly 40 years old, will tell you why. As she navigates childhood, adolescence, marriage and childbirth, she talks artlessly but passionately of the injustices she and her sisters undergo each day. This is the book that abetted the #MeToo movement in Korea, and resonated with millions of women around the world who felt the writer was recounting their own memoir.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/All-us-our-own-lives/dp/9382277374" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">All of Us in Our Own Lives</a>,Manjushree ThapaThis is an ordinary tale of normal people connecting with each other in unexpected ways – but it contains a tiny microcosm of Nepal within itself. All the characters that we watch on television or read about in papers or write a case study about, Thapa manages to bring into the same story. The novel is a critical analysis of Nepal as a failed state, a farce on its development aid, a study of its exclusionary norms and practices, and a celebration of the ordinary joys of life amongst this wretchedness. It is Nepal as we know, love, and hate.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79e9c7e80680e092defjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="318" height="475"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a09c7e80680e092df0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="332" height="500"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Difficult-Women-Roxane-Gay/dp/1543622941" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Difficult Women</a>, Roxane GayRoxane Gay writes stories, but they are not imaginary – they are as true as our lives. In Difficult Women, she brings together all those women that society finds tiresome or troublesome. These women might crave money and power, or nurse a kink, or worship their bodies. They are all given a safe space, they are all lent voices to speak up. Read this to experience the convergence of the most unapologetic and ferocious women in your lives, which might include yourself.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Wild-Swans-Three-Daughters-China/dp/0743246985" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China</a>, Jung ChangThree women, all in the twentieth century, but detailing incredibly different experiences. The grandmother behaves like a dainty queen as a warlord’s concubine, the daughter does not stop toiling while pregnant, lest she be considered a burden to the ‘party’, and the granddaughter has to forgo her studies to serve the nation. It is a critical look at Mao’s China, and the impacts his dictates had on citizens, particularly women. It is a true story, but with far more unbelievable twists and turns than fiction.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a19c7e80680e092df1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="976"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a49c7e80680e092df2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="1008"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Poisonwood-Bible-Novel-Barbara-Kingsolver/dp/0060786507" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Poisonwood Bible</a>,Barbara KingsolverThe sheer canvas of this novel will take your breath away. It fiercely mocks every single thing that imperialism prides itself in. It is a love letter to the beautiful and prosperous land of Congo (then Zaire), and a satire on the white savior complex. It is basically a topsy-turvy account of a missionary family’s struggle in Congo, but is an analysis and commentary on so much more: racism, materialism, gender norms, religion, fanaticism, matrimony and relationships. It is, most bitingly, a revolt against white supremacy, and the exploitation of Africa by the West. The novel deserves to be read for an example of an impassioned, critical, and intelligent display of wisdom and justice.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Song-Sun-God-Shankari-Chandran/dp/9558897280" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Song of the Sun God</a>,Shankari ChandranThis underrated gem is an engrossing account of the devastating aftereffect of the civil war in Sri Lanka. In a searing tone that stays with you long after the novel is finished, Chandran traces the lives of three generations that are led astray by the struggle for power and identity. Her attempt is to recreate the war as a more objective, balanced, nuanced history, with careful observation of socio-cultural and state-inflicted inequalities that led to the eventual deadly eruption. It is a difficult work to read, and a tad dramatic, but an important and absorbing one. Another remarkable novel along the same theme is Madhuri Vijay’s ‘The Far Field.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a79c7e80680e092df3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="225" height="225"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a89c7e80680e092df4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="311" height="475"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Wayward-Daughter-Kathmandu-Story/dp/9388326083" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Wayward Daughter</a>,Shradha GhaleThis is a coming-of-age novel of the quintessential middle-class Kathmandu girl. It is clever in its use of language, unerring in its imitation of the mundane nature of everyday life, and interesting in its fresh approach to a novel. Tangled with the girl’s lives are so many other tales: that of her migrating grandparents and hardworking parents. It exposes the insecurities and contradictions and duplicities within all of us, and brings us so much closer to the land. If you read only one book in this list, read this – because it is the present and future of Nepali women’s writing.

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About women by women

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171148/636937829c7e80680e03fe3ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>Bikram Rai</figcaption></figure>The struggle with kerosene stoves, the relief when you move up to propane. The steady stream of uninvited guests from remote parts of the country, who live for months as they try to get a foothold in the capital. The graduation from outdoor squatting toilets to indoor commodes.Shradha Ghale’s novel The Wayward Daughter portrays a world familiar to many first generation migrants into Kathmandu, and much of it is autobiographical.“I took a lot of material from the experiences of my near and dear ones, however, none of the characters exist in real life as they do in the book,” she says.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=18384&amp;action=elementor" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Manisha Koirala’s new life</a>, Rupa Joshi The Wayward Daughter offers aspects of life in a Janjati family that make it unique from most other Nepali writings in English. The Tamule family celebrates Udhauli and Ubhauli, takes offerings of millet liquor, dried fish and a rupee coin for a marriage proposal. Ghale admits she knew her story had to be about a family from an indigenous community, because she herself had read very few such stories.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171148/636937859c7e80680e03fe3fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="200" height="174"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107171148/636937869c7e80680e03fe40jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="640"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A smart Tamule child is complimented with “as clever as a Bahun’s son”. Some Tamules adopt Brahmin gods and traditions, bow down to priests, and look down upon other communities. The looking down is mutual because other communities also despise the “chimse bahun.” These nuggets from Ghale’s book are revelations even for Nepalis, and a reminder to readers about just how diverse Nepal is.The greatest strength of Ghale’s debut novel is this no-nonsense, lean, almost journalistic prose.But who exactly are the Tamule? Ghale gives an enigmatic smile to reveal that she made up the Tamule: “Creating an entirely new indigenous community gave me the freedom to explore my ideas, free of established stereotypes about particular communities.”The Wayward Daughter succeeds in her deliberate attempt to portray a rich cross-section of Nepali society, showing how caste, class, and gender influence everyday life in Kathmandu. The story is about growing up in a multifarious, almost dystopian world that Nepal has become. Youngsters abandon traditions for modernity, as they prepare to go abroad for higher studies.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=18456&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">A hostage situation</a>, Prakriti KandelAt the Rhododendron High School that the protagonist Sumnima attends, students are fined for speaking in Nepali. Some readers will remember ‘boarding’ schools in the 80s, the rise of FM radios and the craze for celebrity RJs that Sumnima adores. She confesses (only to herself) that she eats dal-bhat twice every day, and yet in friends’ auto books she writes that her favourite food is ‘pizza’. Youngsters these days do the same: leave behind rustic roots, pretend they were never there, and head out for sophisticated western horizons.The meandering story does not necessarily have a plot, even though every little sub-plot about the extended Tamule family offers fascinating nuggets of life. Ghale confesses that she did not start out with a clear plot in mind, but accumulated sections she wrote at different times, and had to cut out many parts that did not fit.The stories are a continuation of the bits of fiction Ghale penned in her college days, imagining herself to be in league with great writers. “I loved Gustave Flaubert and Virginia Woolf, I did not just want to write like them, but sound as good as them. Writing this book became an exercise in humility for me, when I realised my own limitations. Every day you wonder where your work is going, if you will ever finish it, and if it will ever be any good,” says Ghale.Hopefully, acclaim for her first novel will motivate Ghale to write a sequel, which many have already advised her to do. The novel ends just when things are getting more interesting, with the country about to plunge into a civil war. Ghale ends it there with a riveting epilogue that leaves you yearning for more.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/shared-stories-shattered-dreams/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> Shared stories, shattered dreams</a>, Sonia Awalehttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqipZqqPFuU&amp;t=4s

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Shradha Ghale, the prodigal daughter

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.

women-writers

About women by women

Shradha Ghale, the prodigal daughter

A new normal

The Himalaya is not fragile

My father’s son

Cricket carnival