Growing up in Gulmi district, I was obsessed with football. Our village was perched on top of a staircase of terraced fields, none of them large enough for a football field. We played improvised, barefoot games in vacant rice paddies every day after school, running after a deflated volleyball while modelling ourselves after our favourite international stars. Mine, of course, was the Brazilian legend, Ronaldo. In 2002, I had &nbsp;watched the 2002 World Cup on a tiny colour television at home. The event gripped the country, and brought almost everything to a standstill. Growing up, the pressures of life in an impoverished country began to set in. Many joined the workforce, or went to India. By a stroke of luck, my father, a high school teacher in the village, won a diversity visa lottery to the United States. My family left Nepal when I was 13. When I was in medical college in Texas, most of my childhood friends back home were looking for jobs as menial labourers abroad. Nepal’s economy had stagnated during and after the decade-long insurgency, endemic corruption and political failure. Jobs were hard to find. The Persian Gulf was hiring, but the work required long hours in the heat for a few hundred dollars a month to send home. Others took less well-paying jobs in India, working as domestic help or in agriculture. One of them was my uncle, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pitambar.bhattarai.73/photos_of" target="_blank">Pitamber Bhattarai</a>, whom I met after years in 2010 while on a study trip to Delhi. He was working in a restaurant, and travelled hours to find me. We met in a sweet shop because he wanted me to try the famous Delhi confectionery. We spent hours reminiscing about my late mother, his older sister, whom we both missed dearly. I was seven years old when we had lost her to an unknown illness. The hope of preventing such tragedy from befalling others is what later drove me to become a doctor. For those few hours with my मामा in the sweet shop my mother was alive again, and I felt profoundly moved. As we parted, my uncle told me about his plans to take a better-paying job in Qatar. He was the sole provider for his mother, wife and three young children back home. Two years later, I learned that my uncle had died while working in Qatar, and his body was being repatriated to Nepal for the final rites. I was shaken to the core. It felt like I had lost my mother all over again. His death made no sense to me. He was young and healthy, full of life. The death certificate provided by his employer in Qatar only listed ‘cardiac arrest’ as the cause. <div class="embed-block"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100128/63bfd2aa9c7e80680e0d3030jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2247" height="3399">The author's uncle Pitamber Bhattarai</div> I was just starting my medical studies, and I knew that cardiac arrest is not a cause of death but rather the end itself. Despite our family’s efforts to find answers, there were none. I started reading up on the conditions of migrant workers in<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/sep/25/revealed-qatars-world-cup-slaves" target="_blank"> The Guardian</a> and other papers. It led me to wonder if my uncle’s death was also due to working conditions. <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/11/14/qatar-rights-abuses-stain-fifa-world-cup" target="_blank">Human Rights Watch</a> and <a href="https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/mde22/5388/2022/en/" target="_blank">Amnesty International</a> released reports at that time detailing some of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/labour-rights-legacy-of-the-fifa-world-cup/" target="_blank">atrocities migrant workers face,</a> including the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-welcomes-qatar-labour-reform/" target="_blank">kafala system</a> that permitted employers to seize workers’ passports, effectively making them bonded labourers. I also learnt that on average one coffin was returned to Nepal with the remains of somebody’s family member every single day from Qatar. It was not just Nepalis, workers from India, Bangladesh, Pakistan, and numerous African countries faced the same fate. As a physician, I travel to Nepal frequently to conduct global health work in emergency care. On a recent flight from Kathmandu to Qatar, I sat next to a 27-year-old man from a remote village in eastern Nepal. Nervous and excited, he told me how, through connections from relatives working in Qatar, he found an agent in Nepal who arranged a two-year contract to work for a company called Ipas. They had promised to pay him $275 a month with a $82 food stipend. To arrange the job, he had already paid an agent in Nepal $1,500 -- more than four months’ salary. His first job would be as a paint scraper, and he was promised 8-hour-day shifts with a day off every week. His story was not unique. The flight, one of four from Kathmandu to Doha every day, was full of men like him. Many Nepalis <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/payupfifa-campaign-launched/" target="_blank">died constructing infrastructure</a> for the FIFA World Cup, but accurate statistics are impossible to find. Some estimates put the number at <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/pay-qatars-world-cup-workers-2/" target="_blank">more than 6,500</a>. Every one of them leaves behind a bereaved, bereft and already destitute family, now with fewer options for survival than before. Meanwhile, FIFA is estimated to earn nearly $6 billion from this year’s World Cup. World Cup stadiums built in Brazil, Beijing and South Africa had raised similar concerns. The Qatar experience has affected my family personally, but the issue of FIFA turning its back on human rights violations is not new. The football governing body must be held accountable. When the world learnt in 2010 that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/human-rights-referees-blow-whistle-on-world-cup-fouls/" target="_blank">Qatar had won the FIFA </a>hosting bid, questions were raised about how a country with only three stadiums would host the globe’s biggest sporting event. But Qatar had a plan. That plan included the blood, sweat and the lives of migrant workers. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/fifa-a-chance-to-improve-welfare-of-nepali-workers-in-qatar/" target="_blank">Desperate workers</a> plucked from South Asia and Africa were flown in, their passports taken, and they were put to work. So what if a few died? There would always be other desperate people trying to provide for their families. In fact, young men have headed out to work in Qatar <a href="https://time.com/magazine/south-america/6234377/november-21st-2022-vol-200-no-19-europe-middle-east-africa-south-america/" target="_blank">even after their own families have received dead bodies </a>of their loved ones, or their uncles or fathers were sent back due to ill health caused by the heat and poor on-site conditions. Nepalis are quick to blame their own government also for this situation. The country’s economic instability has affected millions for decades. Successive governments in Nepal must be held accountable for allowing hundreds of thousands of workers to be exploited in these overseas worksites under false pretenses, and for not advocating more for the rights of its citizens abroad. But employers in Qatar and FIFA must also be held to account, especially for the indignities and injustices wrought upon these workers after they landed in Qatar, and began toiling on infrastructure for the World Cup. I am not watching the World Cup this year because cheering on games being played in buildings that so many of my people died constructing feels a bit like I have cheated them. And because memories of my uncle do not allow me to. My personal boycott will not mean much, but I hope my uncle’s story will provide perspective about the individual human tragedies involved. Was there really a need in this day and age for the World Cup to rely on egregiously unsafe bonded labour? By placing profit over justice and decency, FIFA has undermined the positive values that give football its global appeal. I love football. I want Messi to win. Football is a religion in Nepal. This year, however, the joy I once found in the beautiful game is haunted by the ghosts of workers. Ramu Kharel is an Assistant Professor at Brown University in the United States and an emergency medicine specialist. He is the founder of &nbsp;Health Advance Programs to Serve All, &nbsp;<a href="http://hapsaglobe.org/" target="_blank">HAPSA Nepal</a>.&nbsp; TikTok <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@namastedoctor" target="_blank">@namastedoctor</a>, Instagram @<a href="https://www.instagram.com/namastedoc/?hl=en" target="_blank">namastedoc</a>, Twitter <a href="http://www.twitter.com/erdockharel" target="_blank">@erdockharel</a>.&nbsp; This is a <a href="https://southasiapeace.com/category/sapan-news-network/?fbclid=IwAR2Yi7NjhRViUUtnjcoHR8VK0MzsxuoJoNXOYx9hV1aJYmY4IklNAAEq-8E" target="_blank">Sapan News</a> syndicated piece.

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My uncle died in Qatar

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710124/639057989c7e80680e0ce164jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="667" height="1000"/><figcaption>Mural in Lalitpur highlights the human cost of FIFA World Cup infrastructure building.</figcaption></figure>On 18 December 2022, the Men’s World Cup football final will be held at Qatar’s Lusail Stadium. It will mark the end of a journey that started in December 2010 when Qatar was awarded the tournament hosting rights.18 December is also International Migrants Day, a day set aside to honour migrant workers for their contributions and sacrifice. It is also Qatar’s National Day.Over the past 12 years, millions of migrant workers have toiled to make the 2022 World Cup possible, building key infrastructure, including the stadiums in Qatar. However, these workers have always been at the margins, and the authorities have been less than responsive to their abusive work conditions.Qatar’s Labour Minister recently <a href="https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RSS1_VHsjjDGpSpqbAe8P">rejected</a> proposals for a remedy fund for abuses faced by migrant workers, including uncompensated deaths, further highlighting the lack of recognition for the people who perform the vast majority of the country’s labour. FIFA, football’s governing body, has not made a decision.But South Asian governments, too, share responsibility for these abuses. They wasted many opportunities to collectively push for reforms to address shared concerns, including numerous unexplained, uninvestigated and uncompensated deaths, high recruitment fees, and wage abuses.The preparations for the tournament owe a lot to South Asia. It is not just that the footballs are made in <a href="https://dailytimes.com.pk/954864/sialkot-made-footballs-to-be-used-in-fifa-world-cup-2022/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://dailytimes.com.pk/954864/sialkot-made-footballs-to-be-used-in-fifa-world-cup-2022/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw1NzGeZj8KixiILH3AFfWMZ">Sialkot, Pakistan</a>. Every state-of-the-art stadium in Qatar, and all of the <a href="https://dohanews.co/why-is-qatars-fifa-world-cup-the-most-expensive-in-history/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://dohanews.co/why-is-qatars-fifa-world-cup-the-most-expensive-in-history/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw36QhvzvoqCzGDLJL6mPe2s">US$220 billion</a> in surrounding infrastructure, is largely built by South Asians. Migrant workers from the region are also employed in stadiums, hotels, malls, and airports, providing key services. The remittances these workers send to their families are critical to make ends meet—often the only source of income for many families.FIFA, football’s global governing body, has been a complacent enabler of abuses, while Qatar, the host country, has faced well-deserved criticism for the high human cost of the Road to 2022. FIFA did not carry out human rights due diligence over the abusive kafala labour sponsorship system in Qatar, or the prohibitions in Qatar that keep workers from forming unions or striking.After years of pressure over the conditions, the Qatari government introduced reforms that partially addressed key abuses. The government set up a Workers’ Support and Insurance Fund that became operational in 2020 to ensure that workers are paid even when companies fail to do so. Over $320 million has been disbursed as of September 2022 — an indication of the wide-scale nature of the problem.Such initiatives have had immediate impact on families far away. One South Asian worker <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/08/12/fifa/qatar-commit-compensate-abused-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/08/12/fifa/qatar-commit-compensate-abused-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3rObbFC7ovQisdJ9ep2geO">told</a> Human Rights Watch in July that he waited months for the system to process his request and send his money, even contemplating suicide, knowing his family had to take loans for his children’s education and parents’ health bills.Furthermore, only a small fraction of workers secured jobs without paying illegal recruitment fees.  One lucky worker <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/10/20/qatar/fifa-reimburse-migrant-workers-recruitment-fees" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/10/20/qatar/fifa-reimburse-migrant-workers-recruitment-fees&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2Lo8cYNRViKeJkCdZGqNyn">said,</a> “If I had not come for free and had paid recruitment fees as is common for Indians, my first paycheck would be going to the local money lender back home, and not to my mother.”But most of the migrant workers ‘paid to build’ the multibillion infrastructure project in the scorching heat. A 2020 <a href="https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---asia/---ro-bangkok/---ilo-dhaka/documents/publication/wcms_766198.pdf" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---asia/---ro-bangkok/---ilo-dhaka/documents/publication/wcms_766198.pdf&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw0Brh7VArawHHhAGhRxsxTK">survey</a>found that the  average recruitment costs for Bangladeshis going to work in Qatar was around $3,863, equivalent to 18 months of  earnings in Qatar. A significant portion of the remittances are simply spent to pay off loans taken to get these jobs.Companies affiliated with Qatar’s Supreme Committee for Delivery and Legacy, the body responsible for planning and delivering World Cup infrastructure, have committed to reimburse over $28 million in recruitment fees to 48,814 workers in Qatar. While a positive initiative, its impact is inadequate considering that it does not cover most migrant workers who helped build and service the necessary infrastructure for the World Cup. At any given time, there are over 2.2 million temporary migrant workers in the country.Qatar deserves credit for attempting reforms, but the benefits have been limited due to their late introduction, narrow scope, or poor enforcement. This is why Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International and other organisations have called on FIFA and Qatari authorities to remedy past and ongoing abuses during World Cup preparations, including deaths, injuries and wage theft.Despite growing pressure from sponsors, football associations, former players and fans, FIFA is dragging its feet while the Qatari Labour Minister rejected the call last week, labelling it “a publicity stunt.”Qatar and FIFA still have a chance to shape the legacy of the World Cup. They have the resources and responsibility to remedy these abuses.The labour minister <a href="https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RSS1_VHsjjDGpSpqbAe8P">said</a> that “every death is a tragedy”. But the greatest tragedy is that the authorities failed to properly investigate the causes of many worker deaths, deeming them ‘natural’, ‘unexplained’, or ‘cardiac arrests’, leaving their families without compensation because these causes are not considered work-related. Without adequate investigation, deaths caused by working conditions such as heat stress have gone uncompensated.FIFA has provided a total of $260 million of what it calls ‘legacy funds’ for humanitarian causes to host countries for three previous tournaments: in South Africa (2010), Brazil (2014) and Russia (2018). Qatar should be no different. It needs to set up a remedy fund for abused workers and the families of those who died unless it wants its legacy for the 2022 World Cup to be about worker abuse.There is one last opportunity for South Asian governments to back the call for a remedy and to work to ensure stronger protections for their workers. In particular, they are well placed to respond to <a href="https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RSS1_VHsjjDGpSpqbAe8P">Qatari authorities</a> who claimed there is no data to establish these funds, with the Qatar Labour Minister <a href="https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://amp.france24.com/en/live-news/20221102-qatar-rejects-compensation-fund-for-world-cup-migrant-workers&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw2RSS1_VHsjjDGpSpqbAe8P">asking</a>: “Where are the victims, do you have names of the victims, how can you get these numbers?"South Asian governments can be an important resource to connect FIFA and Qatari authorities with families of migrant workers. This requires a detailed review of the existing databases and welfare systems. The Qatar government and origin country governments also have <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/07/11/families-bring-home-migrant-worker-remains-qatar" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/07/11/families-bring-home-migrant-worker-remains-qatar&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1667731753799000&amp;usg=AOvVaw119geBHsZHFpkVL5gX3A6_">data</a> of worker deaths because of the bureaucracy that families have to navigate to repatriate deceased loved ones. Origin country governments can also seek support from local civil society groups and media to locate families of deceased workers and other victims, putting out calls for information on national media outlets and government websites.The problem of establishing a compensation fund for migrant workers and their families has never been about data, —which is available, but about political will.Only if there is remedy will this tumultuous, 12-year journey end on a more humane note on 18 December 18, the day of the final of the 2022 World Cup, and more important, the International Migrants Day and Qatar’s National Day.Meenakshi Ganguly is the South Asia director at Human Rights Watch and Mohna Ansari is former member of Nepal’s National Human Rights Commission.

Labour rights legacy of the FIFA World Cup

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238c19c7e80680e0c73a2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1366" height="614"/>With two-month to go for the 2022 FIFA World Cup in Qatar, human rights groups have urged FIFA’s sponsors to compensate workers involved in building stadiums and other infrastructure.From 20 November, football fans across the globe will be glued to their tv screens but few viewers will be aware of the human cost to migrant workers mainly from South Asia.The eight stadiums where the games will be held are <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/human-rights-referees-blow-whistle-on-world-cup-fouls/">built with the blood, sweat and tears of tens of thousands of migrant workers</a>, including from Nepal. Many migrants have suffered injuries or lost lives to unexplained causes, and many more have been victims of wage theft and illegal recruitment fees.On 20 September, Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International and FairSquare called on all of FIFA’s corporate <a href="https://www.fifa.com/about-fifa/commercial/partners">partners and sponsors</a> of the World Cup to press the football association and the <a href="https://www.hrw.org/middle-east/north-africa/qatar">Qatari</a> government to compensate migrant workers and their families who suffered while preparing for the tournament.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/payupfifa-campaign-launched/">#PayUpFIFA campaign launched</a>, Nepali TimesThis call, uniting players, fans, workers and activists, comes as a new global opinion poll shows that 66% of those surveyed, and 72% of those likely to watch at least one World Cup match, said that corporate partners and sponsors should publicly call on FIFA to compensate workers.The poll was commissioned by Amnesty International, carried out by YouGov, and surveyed 17,477 adults in 15 countries including Argentina, Germany, Kenya, Mexico, Morocco, UK and the USA.Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International and FairSquare wrote to FIFA's 14 corporate partners and World Cup Sponsors in July, urging them to call on the football body to compensate workers whose wages were stolen, who were injured, and to families of those who died building stadiums and hotels, roads and the metro rail necessary for the world’s largest sporting event.Four partners -- ABInBev/Budweiser, Adidas, Coca-Cola and McDonald’s -- have stated their support for financial compensation and to explore how best to build upon the progress being made in Qatar to further expand access to effective remedies for migrant workers.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-workers-football/">The workers’ football</a>, Upasana KhadkaThe other ten, including Visa, Hyundai-Kia and Qatar Airways, have offered no public support and have not responded to written requests to discuss tournament-related abuses, despite their policies to respect human rights and environmental, social, and governance standards in their operations and business relationships, says the statement.“Brands buy rights to sponsor the World Cup because they want to be associated with joy, fair competition and spectacular human achievement on the playing field — not rampant wage theft and the deaths of workers who made the World Cup possible,” says <a href="https://www.hrw.org/about/people/minky-worden">Minky Worden</a>, director of global initiatives at Human Rights Watch (HRW).But with only two months until the tournament, she adds sponsors should use their considerable leverage to press FIFA and Qatari authorities to fulfill their human rights responsibilities. FIFA has not yet committed to remedy abuses maintaining that it is still considering the proposal.“It is clear what the public and their customers want the corporate sponsors to do," says Stephen Cockburn, head of economic and social justice at Amnesty International. "Stand up for workers’ rights in Qatar and demand compensation for every worker that has suffered to make this tournament happen.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/world-cup-stadium-workers-in-qatar-unpaid/">World Cup stadium workers in Qatar unpaid</a>, Nepali TimesA global campaign called #PayUpFIFA has also been launched by HRW, calling on the international football governing body FIFA to provide adequate remedy and to avoid the legacy of what they call a ‘World Cup of Shame’.International Labour Organisation estimates 50 foreign labourers have died and more than 500 others seriously injured in Qatar in 2021. But many more thousands have also lost their lives during construction of other infrastructure for the World Cup. In fact, at Kathmandu airport the coffins of migrants arrive on flights from Doha, and the same planes take off with more workers.In recent years, Qatar has introduced a series of important <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2021/08/02/migrant-workers-and-qatar-world-cup">reforms</a> following a <a href="https://www.ilo.org/gb/GBSessions/previous-sessions/GB326/WCMS_459148/lang--en/index.htm">forced labour complaint</a> at the International Labour Organisation. These include lifting the abusive exit permit requirement for most workers, allowing migrant workers to change jobs before the end of their contracts without first obtaining their employer’s consent, and a new law establishing a non-discriminatory basic minimum wage for all workers.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/fifa-a-chance-to-improve-welfare-of-nepali-workers-in-qatar/">FIFA a chance to improve welfare of Nepali workers in Qatar</a>, Upasana KhadkaNonetheless, human rights experts note, serious labour exploitation persist and past abuses have not been adequately remedied. Significant implementation and enforcement gaps remain. For example, workers who have already left Qatar cannot access the <a href="https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/mde22/0793/2019/en/">labour committees</a> or a fund established to pay them when their employers fail to do so.In awarding the 2022 World Cup without imposing any conditions to avoid foreseeable labour rights abuses and subsequently failing to take timely and effective preventive measures, FIFA is accused of contributing to the widespread abuse of migrant workers on World Cup-related projects that followed.Compensation can have far-reaching benefits to migrant workers and their families. To this effect, rights groups are calling on FIFA and Qatar to reserve an amount at least equivalent to the US$440 million prize money provided to teams participating in the tournament that can be invested to compensate workers and to improve their protections.“There is nothing Qatar nor FIFA could ever do to make up for the loss of a loved one,” says Nick McGeehan, a founding director of FairSquare, which investigates migrant labour abuses. “But financial compensation to struggling families for migrant worker deaths could provide some financial respite and potentially reduce lasting harm.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/human-rights-referees-blow-whistle-on-world-cup-fouls/">Rights referees blow whistle on World Cup fouls</a>, Kunda Dixit

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“Pay Qatar's World Cup workers”

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107121144/6368f01f9c7e80680e0359bajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"/><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107121144/6368f0229c7e80680e0359bbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="360">TEAM OF WORKERS: Padam (standing, second player from right) in the documentary The Workers Cup, and Nepalis working on facilities for the 2022 championships in Qatar avidly watch a World Cup game being played in Russia last week.In a world where populist anti-immigrant narratives dominate, the diverse composition of football teams in the World Cup in Russia did not go unnoticed. Players of foreign origin including former refugees and children or grandchildren of immigrants, especially in the winning French team, stole the show.In Doha, Nepali workers busy building the infrastructure for the next World Cup found escape from their hard work watching the games in the evenings. The next championship in the winter of 2022 presents opportunities and challenges for Qatar, which is still in the throes of a Saudi-Emirates blockade, as well as for Nepal which is a major supplier of workers to the country.Qatar is expected to further ramp up hiring as it races to complete all its eight stadiums and other facilities. This is going to translate into jobs for hundreds of thousands of workers. On the other hand, given the nature of work, it raises questions about migrant rights: a topic the Qataris are sensitive about.After media highlighted human rights abuse including migrant deaths in FIFA construction sites, there have been reforms. Implementation remains murky, but they include minimum wage guarantees, lax exit visa requirements, allowing workers to keep their passports, and timely payment of wages through bank accounts under the Wage Protection System.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107121144/6368f0259c7e80680e0359bcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="948">The International Labour Organisation (ILO) recently opened an office in Doha and there is talk of Qatar setting up one stop centres in several migrant-sending countries including Nepal, rightly recognising that many problems faced by migrants start at home. Under this scheme, recruitment procedures like medical check-up, biometric fingerprinting, and contract signing will be completed prior to departure."There have been improvements: stricter audits and random checks by welfare officers at workplaces are ongoing with consequences for non-compliance of labour standards," admits one Nepali worker in Doha.Others, however, are less optimistic. A Nepali social worker who helps distressed and stranded Nepalis, says: “Monitoring and implementation is focused on employers working at high profile worksites, particularly the stadiums, but not in others. These are reforms made without workers in mind."A football tournament for migrants, captured in a well-made documentary <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5teswV_7S8" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Worker's Cup</a>, has been critised as a publicity stunt to appease outsiders. "It is not about the worker. It was never about the worker," one migrant labourer says in the documentary.However, the international spotlight surrounding the 2022 World Cup presents opportunities for worker welfare to get global attention so they can be redressed. There is precedent. Reports of child labour in Sialkot of Pakistan, the supplier of balls used in the World Cup, spurred big brands like Adidas and Nike as well as FIFA to take action resulting in the elimination of the practice.There has been similar reform after media publicity about worker mistreatment in the coffee, chocolate, garments, and handheld gadgets industries. This is not easily extended to the construction industry because Nike, Apple, Starbucks, H&amp;M have become household names, in ways that firms like AlJaber and Tekfen which hire migrant workers for construction work are not.With all eyes on Qatar, however, there is scope for migrant issues to be highlighted through non-conventional partnerships with players like the Centre for Sport and Human Rights that focus on labour rights in the sports industry. Because migration is receiving global attention, a strategic campaign that appeals to the spirit of the game these construction projects are tied to would also be useful.The Global Compact on Migration this month got countries to agree to cooperate on migration governance. It remains to be seen how these non-binding agreements impact on the day-to-day lives of migrants. The real challenge is in implementation, and how well the World Cup is used as a global platform for worker welfare.None of the issues of poor working and living conditions, high recruitment costs, and unexplained deaths of workers, are new. What is new in Qatar is their association with a mega-sporting event like the World Cup, and the power of sports diplomacy to give it wider relevance and potential for longer-term reform.Says Padam, one of the Nepali players depicted in The Worker's Cup: "We were players from Ghana, India, Nepal, Kenya while our coach was from Egypt. Most of us spoke broken English, in so many different accents it was hard to understand each other, yet we had a strong team-spirit, we bonded very well.”He adds that Nepalis have a very good reputation in Qatar’s construction sector where high-risk jobs on high scaffoldings needs deft and courage. He expects the demand for Nepalis will grow in the coming years.Padam, who also played at the Khalifa International Stadium with other migrant workers, hopes to visit Qatar in 2022 like many other Nepalis. And it won’t just be for the love of the game.

Upasana Khadka

The workers' football

We often see ourselves reflected in the other. For someone who grew up in Kathmandu Valley in the eighties and nineties, this maxim comes alive with an even greater force. Nepal’s media ecosystem was dismal, the school curriculum was narrow and did not provide opportunities for creative expression. Perhaps that is why I became obsessed with MTV videos and Bollywood films. I saw my developing self reflected in these story-lines and razzmatazz. When the media and education system do not engage the public and reflect myriad interests, aspirations and lifestyles of the population, citizens get detached and disconnected from their roots. I left for America for further studies, and was somewhat determined to never return to Nepal. It was a country full of potholes and black-outs. But foreigners have been fascinated with our country for decades. In the early 19th century, Francis Buchanan-Hamilton led a pioneering expedition and documented more than a thousand species of plants native to the region. Almost a century later, in 1905, Frenchman Sylvan Levi published ‘the first attempt to produce a comprehensive study of Nepal’, drawing on not just indigenous but available Chinese and European sources as well. After Nepal opened up in the 1950s, different kinds of foreigners have traveled here -- most notably, cold-war era spies disguised as diplomats, and later came the hippies. I returned to Nepal in 2013 and was primarily struck by two major demographics - the artists and the expats. Energised by the recent revolution, the creatives were making vibrant, powerful works. The expats, on the other hand, demonstrated a different way to navigate life in Kathmandu Valley. These two groups of people re-introduced Nepal to me and I began seeing my country and my hometown with a renewed perspective. Which is why one particular image from Giovanna Caruso’s ongoing show at the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank">Kalā</a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/thekalasalon/?hl=en" target="_blank"> Salon</a> curated by <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/facades-and-flowers-from-nepal-to-italy" target="_blank">Sophia L Pandé</a> instantly caught my attention -- rather, it called out to me, as if it was composed for me, framing a key moment from my own life. Its title is, coincidentally, 2013. Like most of her other works, the pen-and-ink drawing is punctuated by an explosion of watercolour: a woman standing confidently in front of a Newa-style house, a leg arched up, as if she is fixing a strap around an ankle before stepping out on an adventure. The watercolour depicts a rainbow streaming out of a pot through a second-floor window. The rest of the details are rendered in realism – clusters of garlic and onion hanging to dry from the rafters, and further down a stack of corn. There are towels drying, even an old water pump.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251201121216_f440de5b5402fe0877dc46d94f41647bd46b00035b61241d46fc9f7ffbd87d0f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="art review Kala Salon"> </figure>  When I walked over to this artwork with Caruso, she chuckled, “Ah, this work is a celebration of my 30 years in Nepal.” It was while trying to calm a restless group of students during her teaching days in Italy that Caruso first came across an iconic image of Kathmandu Darbar Square. She had found an old box of slides and while projecting images from the Himalaya to engage her students, the artist was determined to travel to Nepal. The first flat she rented was close to the square and the view from her rooftop was the same as the one she had encountered inside her classroom. She has been traveling to Nepal every year since. Some of her favourite drawings depict Khokana in morning fog. From 1993-2006, she drew murals at Ram Mandir and Pashupatinath, asking sadhus to guide her and correct her depictions. Caruso received a classical education, which means she was trained to focus on perspective and geometry while capturing mainly portraits and still lives. She is influenced by M C Escher and his explorations of mathematics and symmetry. No wonder she finds the Darbar Square architecture so compelling. She also names as inspiration Gustave Dore, whose style is different from Escher’s and I can see how she has fused these influences in her body of work: Escher’s austerity complimented and slightly dislodged by Dore’s comics and caricatures. “Before starting, the painting needs to be complete in my mind,” she explains as we pass a series of portraits titled Saraswati, Lakshmi, Kali Dancing, and Durga dominated by a roaring tiger. “These are all real people, I ask my friends and family members to sit for me.” The Kali in the drawing has the artist’s fiery copper red hair and she is dancing, surrounded by various men with flowing hair. The artist seems to have experimented here, drawing the revelers from above, and indulging in playful abandon. Depictions of Nepal are often in danger of being exoticised. But Caruso is familiar with her subjects, knows our alleys and temples intimately. Her colours and compositions are passionate and dense. In an essay, Anirudh S Chari writes the artist’s work is splashed with rapturous energy and most drawings have a carnivalesque element. ‘Kali Dancing’ illustrates this idea perfectly in that she has turned Kali’s usual fearsome portrayal on its head by depicting and embracing another feminine principle - the capacity to celebrate and create joy. Apart from drawing inspiration from Hindu goddesses and Nepal’s multi-colored rituals, Caruso has also drawn the Sumerian Ianna and Lillith and the Egyptian Nut. She enjoys drawing Nataraja, and says it is because “Shiva is a good husband”. We stand another painting titled 100 Days a Lion. “There is a saying in Italian, Better one day as a lion than a hundred days as a sheep, but I thought why not 100 Days a Lion?” This sentiment captures this nomadic artist’s spirit spanning four decades, in which she has captured urban energy as well as the sacred imagery of ‘life diaries on canvas’. From Venezia to Kathmandu and Journeys In Between Giovanna Caruso The Kalā Salon Chhaya Centre Mall, Thamel Till 12 December 10am- 8pm

Looking at Nepal from Venice

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

It is quite a feat for just two actors on a darkened stage to hold an audience spellbound for more than one hour. Yet, ‘के? Us.’ at Kausi Theatre does just that. It is a thought-provoking but baffling work that leaves the audience questioning reality, the recurring metaphors in this intriguing and powerful dark comedy haunting us for days afterwards.&nbsp; The unsettling sound of deep breathing mingles with percussive drumming and a driving guitar that pulsates amidst a red glow, dimly illuminating shadowy structures charred by fire. A door leads to what is later revealed to be the ancestral home of two brothers which is ‘under renovation’. One of the brothers Ashim (Bijaya Tamrakar) lives in Nepal caring for a supposedly comatose mother who is only depicted by a tree draped with red LED lights that circulate arterial blood corpuscles. Visiting him is a long-lost brother Aaryan (Eelum Dixit) who has returned (deported?) from America.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The stage is littered with scattered paper trash, a run-down motorcycle chassis, a tattered sofa, and beat-up table and chairs. The stage is set for a sinister plot. Are the characters to be punished in perdition?&nbsp; It does not take long for the audience to grasp that this is an apocalyptic Nepal that, following absurdist traditions, could exist at any time in the future or the present day <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/election-vs-escalation">post-GenZ protest state</a>. Ashim and Aaryan Adhikari have reunited after 15 years. Ashim, the younger brother, has been burdened with the responsibility of taking care of their brain-dead mother. Aaryan, returns after having migrated to the US, where he married, had children, divorced, and lost everything. He has been at “minus 20 and is now back to zero”.&nbsp; The brothers have intense back-and-forths that expose their cynicism, the conversation tangentially alluding to Nepal’s unstable political landscape, migration, an economy in shambles, aging population, alcoholism and other mental health issues. Even the sibling argument about the relative merits of momos and burgers seems metaphorical. The stagecraft uses lighting and sound effects brilliantly, transporting the audience to a surreal world in which Tamrakar and Dixit improvise their lines — no two shows are exactly the same, although the overall plotline has continuity.&nbsp; In the first scene, Aaryan approaches the house tentatively, creeping rodent-like, and carrying a briefcase and an old-fashioned lantern. And at the end, Ashim screams, “I am chaos.” Is this the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Choas play review"> </figure>  At one point Aaryan seems perturbed by the sound of protest outside (the Gen Z movement?) and the taut atmosphere grips the audience with fear, shock, and apprehension of the recent death and destruction.&nbsp; Throughout the play there is the sound of breathing, as if through a ventilator, a thumping heartbeat, the morbid buzzing of flies and the glowing red LED veins -- signifying the presence of the comatose Aama. She is featured in a prologue-esque home video at the start of the play in which she reminisces about her two sons and rues her failing memory.&nbsp; The sound of breathing gets accentuated each time a brother gets closer to the tree, and it seems to fuel Ashim’s belief that Aama may be brain-dead but she is still among them. This play can go as deep as each individual in the audience wants it to go.&nbsp; The silenced, comatose mother could be Nepali Aama muted by an entrenched patriarchy. Or, she could be the symbol of a helpless country while her children fight over the ruins of what is left. The cake cutting is a delightfully Shakespearean subplot where we wonder if one of the brothers is going to poison, or knife, the other. The message is clear: how can we move forward if it is brother against brother? The stairs signify political transition (elections, constitutional change, new coalitions) promising upward movement, but eventually lead to falls, leaving the nation exactly where it started, or worse. The mother’s terminal illness evokes an ailing state apparatus, hollowed out by corruption and deep-seated social decay. Yet the brothers cling to an irrational hope — instead of confronting the harsh truth and pursuing radical solutions, suggesting a blind faith in the mother.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The brothers are lost. Aaryan climbs up stairs that lead nowhere, Ashim holds on to unrealistic hope that somehow Aama will get better. Tamrakar and Dixit deliver powerful performances, even more remarkable for the fact that they are improvising their lines as they go along. When Aaryan breaks a wall and directly addresses the audience, spectators turn from being passive observers to active participants (‘the society’). The audience then become oglers in this drama, suddenly made self-aware of our role as the scrutinising, cavilling voyeurs that society represents. There is some discomfort of being watched and judged.&nbsp; By asking his brother what he is afraid of while pointing at the audience, Aaryan suggests that the brother's (and perhaps the character's core) fear is not just of the house, or the mother's illness, but of external judgment and societal censure. After the stage goes dark, the applause takes some time. Audience members shuffle out in silence, minds reeling from the collective soul-searching they have just participated in.&nbsp; After ‘के? Us.’ the din at Teku intersection outside sounds different as we wait for our Pathao ride below the खरी tree where <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Shukra+Raj+Shastri&amp;client=safari&amp;sca_esv=75e8315709cd5118&amp;rls=en&amp;sxsrf=AE3TifMJhwukjdBBT0n4QcQWe8IYSaEVsw%3A1764648053799&amp;ei=dWQuaYbIMOy94-EPn4ygyAE&amp;ved=2ahUKEwiU1ciogp6RAxXq3TQHHeo9LBIQgK4QegQIARAB&amp;uact=5&amp;oq=nepal+tree+where+martyrs+were+hanged&amp;gs_lp=Egxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAiJG5lcGFsIHRyZWUgd2hlcmUgbWFydHlycyB3ZXJlIGhhbmdlZDIIECEYoAEYwwRIug5QAFiNC3AAeAGQAQCYAc4BoAHrCKoBBTAuNS4xuAEDyAEA-AEBmAIDoALlBMICBRAAGO8FmAMA4gMFEgExIECSBwUwLjEuMqAHzw-yBwUwLjEuMrgH5QTCBwcwLjIuMC4xyAcM&amp;sclient=gws-wiz-serp&amp;mstk=AUtExfCLIneLVW3SFBzxBc964wFcTJ936tcAPSDcvNKljck0PIqDJddMZ_t8Pg610M98MCx14aNdnyLHs9QM0jWLhI7JYmkPhugX1ZHfSQvdCHZE9E5m2_ZQY5Jr893UcGjQfpabtA_C48NfB9Pg56uYMOmTtEBEcGuvz3d96Qaifyb86sI8mAkrRNo_367cv_xmFjLZ55iQkfHtORuOvZSUkIdMvAdpweuf4jPjjI4anbv9lc-uCImdP0JSvtvEGL8ePxwsWWOzYpIbjNP1zofjcWXK&amp;csui=3" target="_blank">Shukra Raj Shastri</a> was hanged in 1941 by the Rana regime. Language and Literature Students, 2026.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="1350" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  ‘के? Us.’ Kausi Theatre, Teku Till 7 December (except 2 December) Bookings: +977 9842156109, 9842574607

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

This is the 75th episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.