American artist Peter Makela was in Nepal in 2022 on a Fulbright scholarship when he experienced the Matya festival in Patan in which devotees made the rounds of the city’s shrines.&nbsp;
He joined the procession, walking through 2,600 stupa and 140 bahal of the town. That immersion left a lasting impression.
As part of Gallery Mcube’s international residency program in Patan, he put his inspiration to canvas in the exhibition Yala Yatra: Walking, Working, Worshipping. The exhibition also coincides with this month’s Matya festival.&nbsp;
Makela has visited Nepal often in the past 11 years but he mostly stayed in and spent his time around Boudha. “This time I stayed in Patan, put the sites I wanted to visit on my map, and off I went,” he tells us. “Each of my artwork is inspired by the stupas and shrines in Patan that I visited.”
The stupa and Ganesh are recurring motifs in his watercolours, and the elephant gods are located in chaityas — reflecting the interplay and blending of the Hindu and Buddhist faiths in Kathmandu Valley.&nbsp;
The stupas and Ganesh are painted in vivid red, yellow, blue and green against abstract backgrounds meant to represent the sky.
“I use the sky as a backdrop because the sky has no border,” says Makela. “The four colours represent the four elements, the different Buddha families and also lights bouncing off of a rainbow.”
The use of just four colours for all the artwork stands out, and combined with the absence of heavy canvases, frames or stands render Makela’s art striking in its simplicity.&nbsp;
The Ganesh is always holding something and the art also portrays the elephant god’s sacred vehicle, the mouse.
While his vibrant stupas and Ganesh reflect the tangibility of Patan’s tradition and heritage, it is as if the backdrops with their shades of grey and red and yellow capture the soul of the city’s shrines.
“If you look closely, there is a sense of form and formlessness at the same time,” he says.&nbsp;
Makela walked 108 kora around the shrines during his exploration of the town, and in the process developed a spiritual connection with Patan’s heritage and traditions.&nbsp;
The exhibition connects with visitors on a deeper, more spiritual, level as well. And with it, they feel a sense of pride as well as the need to urgently preserve Patan’s heritage for future generations.
“Peter’s inclination and approach towards Nepali art and culture is fascinating, and it reflects in his work,” says Mcube curator Manish Lal Shrestha, whose international artist residency program promotes Nepal’s cultural heritage. &nbsp;&nbsp;
Yala Yatra: Walking, Working, Worshipping
1-5 August&nbsp;
10AM-7PM
Gallery Mcube, Patan

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Review

Walking, working, worshipping in Patan

Duthik: Stories from Dolpo at The Kala Salon is Chering Gyaoo Gurung’s ode to his homeland of Dolpo using its native textiles and jewelry. It is also an urgent call to preserve the region’s culture, eroded by encroaching modernity, migration, and a changing climate. ‘I have always loved the textiles of my home, and these, along with the lapis, coral and other minerals used in our jewelry, have inspired my art,’ writes Gurung in his artist’s statement. The famous Dolpo blankets, weighty, richly coloured with linear patterns, hang alongside his paintings in the Salon, on the top floor of the Chhaya Center in Thamel. One of the blankets is his grandmother’s. “It almost still smells smoky, since we only use firewood,” says the soft-spoken 25-year-old. Dolpo in the trans-Himalaya is to the north of the Dhaulagiri range. Most people, incluyding the artist’s family are pastoralists, herding 100 yaks, goats and sheep. Many families also collect yarsagumba, and at one point that would make enough money to last the year, but not anymore. “From Dolpo, it is pretty unheard of to pursue art,” says Gurung, who is not traditionally trained in thangka like other Himalayan artists like Tsherin Sherpa or Dorjee Karmarong. But his passion for art showed early, when he came to Kathmandu at five to study.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250723080712_be467c0e9b9f2fd01148efb464a1c785b8c9ba66f09dd8308c311859a3682a9d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250723080712_be467c0e9b9f2fd01148efb464a1c785b8c9ba66f09dd8308c311859a3682a9d" data-rendition-name="original" width="667" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The fabric of society"> </figure>  “In Dolpo, we used to go to school for six months and work with our parents for six months. An aunt suggested that I might as well get some tuition during this time off. Once I came to Kathmandu, we found French sponsors and I stayed here to study,” recounts Gurung. Gurung lived in a hostel and studied under that sponsorship until grade ten. He got support from home for further studies until a bachelor’s in art, which he only finished two years ago. In the meantime, for him, art was a hobby he was good at, he would often win at competitions that this school took him to. Following graduation, many of Gurung’s peers did a lot of commission work and got burned out, while he received residencies, allowing him to stick to his own process and ideas, subsequently developing a style and a voice of his own. Gurung was the first of his family to move to Kathmandu like he did, and while that has led to a blossoming art career, he is wistful about the life he left behind. “The people I left behind lived sort of a perfect life in the village,” he says, even as it is clear herding yaks would not have been enough for his independent spirit. And migration is a big theme in his work, six of the paintings at the exhibition are named as much. Two of them show a mother walking with a baby on her back, and one depicts a snow leopard on the move with its cub.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250723080720_a916959c5a945e9d8c147219a094a548d9a08c8eb93d554a5e62105551a86592.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250723080720_a916959c5a945e9d8c147219a094a548d9a08c8eb93d554a5e62105551a86592" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="The fabric of society"> </figure>  “People migrate in generations, and because of this, they lose culture,” notes Gurung. Three others under the theme are spirals of clothes and masks, seemingly saying that migration causes deep changes in, and confusions about, one’s identity. The fabric of Dolpo and the outfits are prominently featured in almost every painting. “The women, in particular, are complete in how they dress up,” says Gurung. His women wear bhakkus and belts, and blankets and a complete set of necklaces and jewelry. An important detail is the vajra, traditionally a powerful Buddhist and Hindu mythical object and weapon, that the women use as a clip to hold the hems of their shawl together. “Note how the colours of the fabric are dull,” points out Gurung, explaining that these cloths are dyed naturally with ‘stone’ colours but fade quickly in the sun and the dust storms of Dolpo. To Gurung, the fabrics signify the Dolpo culture that he is so fond of, but disappearing. He laments that people would rather buy similar but cheaper blankets from Kathmandu or Tibet, and are abandoning traditional occupations, instead running hotels. “His feeling for Dolpo really shines through, and makes the paintings feel very warm,” says curator Sophia Pande. “I think the exhibition shows the unique style Chering has developed, and his range.” Another Dolpo detail that features heavily is bhoj patra, or birch bark paper which is used to write on as well as roofing material, given that it is waterproof. The sap of the birch tree is so sweet that it is also tapped and boiled for sugar. “People also carry it on yarchagumba trips, to use as light plates or cups. They can be washed and reused too,” adds Gurung.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250723080716_84ceef8066260cbe271158790e77bfc867dbab9cbaf23d13dc39202ef2a949f1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250723080716_84ceef8066260cbe271158790e77bfc867dbab9cbaf23d13dc39202ef2a949f1" data-rendition-name="original" width="667" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="The fabric of society"> </figure>  Like the Dolpo blankets, reams of this bhoj patra and a bowlful of yarcha are also displayed and give a nuanced understanding of the Dolpo way of life. Gurung also has a series of paintings on the bark paper, the first of which is a sky blue ‘DHARMA MASK’ or ‘MUKUT’. &nbsp;“I mixed acrylic paint with glue and diluted it to use like watercolour on the bhoj patra, and I was very happy with how it turned out,” he explains of the piece. Gurung works out of White Yak studio in Lalitpur, a name he chose for the rare and revered version of the animal. “I plan to carry on with this subject matter as I haven’t exhausted all my ideas,” he says, “and I can still get better with my colouring.” Duthik: Stories from Dolpo By Chering Gyaoo Gurung The Kala Salon Chhaya Centre, Thamel 11am-8pm Until 17 August

Vishad Raj Onta

The fabric of society

Georgia O’Keefe, a foundational modernist painter most known for her floral and landscape paintings once said: “One can’t paint New York as it is, but rather as it is felt.” O'Keefe's residency in the city occurred during its extreme architectural expansion. Her lesser known body of work is entitled ‘My New Yorks’ and the series of paintings are a bird's eye perspective of New York City. The ongoing exhibition ‘Under the Same Roof’ at Siddhartha Art Gallery by Subodh Bhandari and Sambridhi Ratna Shakya resembles O’Keefe’s ‘love letters to New York’.&nbsp; Bhandari, a Patan newcomer and Shakya, a Patan native, work together to honour their architectural surroundings using mixed media. ‘A Walk Through the City’ is a conglomeration of miniature window replicas.&nbsp; The duo took snapshots of rapidly changing communities, and both styles are similar in their directness. The two artists reconstruct observations through stylistic fabrication, and capture the sensation of traversing a street, suddenly making ordinary objects artistic.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025072210078_3297b124286d188c641120c0742ced23ea15d75906d4454135f758dde501b0fe.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2025072210078_3297b124286d188c641120c0742ced23ea15d75906d4454135f758dde501b0fe" data-rendition-name="original" width="2150" height="1438" loading="lazy" alt="From the outside looking in"> </figure>  ‘Under the Same Roof’ centres around Patan’s doors, powerlines, and most notably windows. The two artists roam alleyways looking for features that pique their interest, committing them to memory with photography.&nbsp; Bhandari and Shakya do not allow the objects to go unnoticed, forever examining details which others frequently overlook. For the artists, rendering everyday entities creates unification through relatability. Their overall message focuses on coexistence and interconnectedness. Specifically how easily accessible, recurring items, visible to all, establish familiarity and speak volumes via silence.&nbsp; The artists inject bits of lived experiences into their reproductions, concealing personal artefacts such as bed sheets or posters within windows. They place humanity upon inanimate objects, allowing for exploration of a unified history.&nbsp; Each window represents a personal memory rather than something imagined, as they are constructed from photographs the artists themselves took. Walking into the gallery feels as if you are entering a collective memory. The approximately 500 wooden windows, with photo transfer and acrylic details, engulf the first floor.&nbsp; The incredible amount of small windows establish an immersive experience, prompting the viewer to question, whose homes are attached, what type of people have lived there and for how long? The diversity of each piece astounds the eye. With so much repetition, how can the individual elements be entirely unique?&nbsp; Windows are a common occurrence, present in any building. Viewing this commonality clustered together reveals the personal rather than architectural elements which make them individualistic.&nbsp; Their quaint Patan studio is on the second floor of a residential building with a blindingly mint green room, slightly dusty from the drills and grinders used for constructing and polishing sculptures.&nbsp; Bhandari says he has always yearned for an artistic lifestyle, whereas Shakya picked up a knack for it after a classroom quarrel regarding his artistic abilities at Kathmandu University where both had the same motivation to capture their surroundings.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250722100712_b1d54221ed9e3806a48a98943e9fd4c80c535957144ce6d94b20e788f4a9a4b7.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250722100712_b1d54221ed9e3806a48a98943e9fd4c80c535957144ce6d94b20e788f4a9a4b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1078" height="1430" loading="lazy" alt="From the outside looking in"> </figure>  The two differ in being native and new to the Patan area. So, is this exhibition about new vs native? Bhandari replied: “The idea of new vs native is no more about new vs native, it’s more about new and native, both the things coexisting together.” This is a metaphorical representation of their windows: what can you know about someone from outside appearances? Each window represents a specific period in time, whether it was constructed yesterday or 20 years ago, whether it houses a young family or one which has lived there for generations. The message is to understand how these elements help us coexist, by placing these varying periods of life centimetres apart from each other. It creates a space in which being surrounded by others is inevitable regardless of differences.&nbsp; Star Ross is an undergraduate at Princeton University studying Medical Anthropology alongside Visual Arts and Climate Science.

From the outside looking in

Seldom do we see the smaller things, read between the lines, and realise that the little, fleeting moments are what shape our realities. As we trace the light &amp; dust, Haru Art Collective’s first group exhibition at Dalai-la Art Space revisits the value of these moments. Through the works of ten artists, the exhibition <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/between-the-sacred-and-everyday">details our everyday</a>, ordinary lives, making viewers relate, reflect, and bask in nostalgia. One such piece is Moulik Limbu’s यादहरु सपना जस्तो लाग्छ, a dreamy blue landscape rendered in watercolor and gouache where <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/where-wild-things-are">birds and animals</a> emerge subtly through still, royal-azure leaves. As children, Limbu would stay up late with his brother, imagining fantastical creatures from the shadows outside their window, but at dawn, they would discover they were just leaves. Those quiet nights formed lasting memories that continue to tug at Limbu’s heart which he now preserves in his art. Nischal Gurung’s Familiar Echoes captures the soft emotions of togetherness. Whether it is a person or familiar <a href="about:blank">household objects</a> we often overlook, they stay with us. In काक्रा र करेन्ट, the warmth of huddling together for a meal is carefully portrayed, highlighting how closeness often unfolds in the most mundane of moments.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250721130756_b567c9b5559a81bec03ba5417b6967c1f5849b7ddf7f33b4282e8e9479d40b82.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250721130756_b567c9b5559a81bec03ba5417b6967c1f5849b7ddf7f33b4282e8e9479d40b82" data-rendition-name="original" width="776" height="476" loading="lazy" alt="An ode to the ordinary"> <figcaption>Familiar Echoes by Nischal Gurung</figcaption> </figure>  In another piece, Anil Nepali’s work explores the haziness of distant memories. What seems like a normal painting from afar becomes increasingly blurred up close, much like how traffic lights lose clarity when seen through misty eyes. This visual metaphor mirrors Nepali’s own experience of fading recollections from home which he reconstructs through pixelated squares and muted monochrome tones. The result is a powerful reflection on the fragile, fading <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/etched-in-our-memory">nature of memory</a>. Viewers will see the attempt to reconnect with ancestral roots and traditional practices. The Arrival of Bun-Dyo by Kabir Kayastha, depicts the rain god Bunga Dyo during the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-reign-of-the-god-of-rain">Rato Maytsendranath Jatra</a>. Meanwhile, Shrayam Shakya explores his lineage's deep connection with land and water in his piece, From the Ground. “The oral traditions and stories of my ancestors become the remnants of the land and the knowledge that existed,” he tells us. At the centre of his exploration is the Yaksha – a nature spirit that embodies land and governs the essence of water. For Shakya, the Yaksha is not just a mythological being but also a symbol of ancestry.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250721130728_4c1c4fb646df20bb7f72bc77dc2e71383468e0dc0a187c69e84a82f67ab49288.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250721130728_4c1c4fb646df20bb7f72bc77dc2e71383468e0dc0a187c69e84a82f67ab49288" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="An ode to the ordinary"> <figcaption>From the Ground by Shrayam Shakya</figcaption> </figure>  Terracotta, the material he uses, reinforces this rootedness. “It is used in the architecture of hitis and is connected to the land, so it carries the essence of the theme.” As <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/morals-in-murals">oral histories</a> and traditions continue to fade, Shakya believes art becomes a vital archive. Jyotsna Udas explores themes of femininity in her work. She says, “In my work, I embroider objects <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/of-women-for-women-by-women">tied to femininity</a> – those that adorn, restrain, and define.” Using delicate strands of her own and her family’s hair, she weaves silent but powerful stories of inherited expectations, unspoken rules, and the confined spaces women are told to occupy -- a quiet testament to the strength and complexity of feminine energy. “I cut my hair short every once in a while. It makes me feel free, free from all the burdens, but I get scolded by people at home when I do, or when I dye it,” she tells us. “Long hair is still seen as the beauty standard. Hair colour is taboo. People stare. Women become self-conscious. And when people can judge just based on something as personal as hair, it makes me wonder – how much more do we have to hear in life?”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250721130736_05107d9661e5d210a6c522ed2909b1a93c6dc3f6eb46bb425737e9ce15163e79.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20250721130736_05107d9661e5d210a6c522ed2909b1a93c6dc3f6eb46bb425737e9ce15163e79" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="An ode to the ordinary"> <figcaption>Not Just Hair by Jyotsna Udas</figcaption> </figure>  Sadishree Thapa’s A Room that Waits explores the subtle yet profound difference in a house that comes with the presence and absence of a person. When the person is there, it feels like home, otherwise, it is hollow. ‘A room waits, for the warmth of a presence, for the sound that you said were home,’ reads the artist's profound accompanying note. Places Where Dust Settles by Preeti Duwal captures the quiet beauty of everyday household objects, how they gather dust and the silent stories. Rojan Ghimire explores offerings and the subtle traces of life and birth, while Raunak Karanjit’s cyanotype work reflects on memory, identity, and the fading presence of a once-familiar marigold. The artists weave together objects, places, life, and memory, into layered <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-reading-compass">stories</a> shaped by our daily rhythms and reflections, and transform the familiar into the extraordinary. As we trace the light &amp; dust Till July 30 11am-7pm Dalai-la Art Space, Thamel

An ode to the ordinary

‘Devi’ does not just stand for different <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/giving-a-face-to-a-deity?fbclid=IwY2xjawFtoG5leHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHXa4139HVkEZUtSxGZJRZxF_-mhuZWHUa9VznwFsj2uv1OuaHIj5GwkpBw_aem_6t_qShHd7HRRw3KjhHPRqg">goddesses </a>who embody creation, destruction, and the cycles of life. It is symbolic of feminine energy in both spiritual and human forms.&nbsp; The goddesses mirror cultural and social ideals of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/of-women-for-women-by-women">womanhood</a>, celebrating the essence of feminine power and strength. The many forms of Devi transcend religion, borders, realities, and personal awakenings. Devi is form yet formlessness, elemental and elusive, mystical and mundane, beautiful yet brutal. This multifaceted nature of female deities finds quiet expression in the stillness of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/tsherin-sherpa-returns-home-to-takpa">Takpa Gallery</a>, through the collaborative work of Emily Avery Yoshiko Crow and Tara Di Gesu. Crow is from Colorado, and has been living and learning art in India, Nepal and Canada. Di Gesu learnt classical thangka painting in Nepal, adding a new delicate quality to the sacred artform.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250710140736_73f64aad171ea203e9f795329001ad7ef76e84442f891252af3120fe143a869d.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250710140736_73f64aad171ea203e9f795329001ad7ef76e84442f891252af3120fe143a869d" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="1304" loading="lazy" alt="The divine Devi"> <figcaption>Lotus Tara by Emily Avery Yoshiko Crow</figcaption> </figure>  Crow’s artwork of layered lotuses forming the image of Lotus Tara is a contemporary interpretation of the revered goddess, rendered in mixed media photo collage. Through soft blue and pink pastels, Lotus Tara radiates tranquility. In contrast, Marigold Tara emerges from a deep, dark backdrop, with her form shaped by fiery orange marigolds. In Red Tara Realm, digital collage and paint meld to create a hypnotic, multi-dimensional effect where the many forms of the deity in red overlap and intertwine within a single frame. A simpler, original version of Red Tara sits nearby, counterbalancing the dynamic fusion.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250710140736_0a787dda0626eaed1399b24dc9bb3af2e297a71f109cb60997bc234acc6fa422.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250710140736_0a787dda0626eaed1399b24dc9bb3af2e297a71f109cb60997bc234acc6fa422" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1080" loading="lazy" alt="The divine Devi"> <figcaption>Kalavinka by Emily Avery Yoshiko Crow</figcaption> </figure>  One of her more intriguing works is Kalavinka, painted on handmade Indian paper with mineral pigments featuring a colourful bird’s body paired with a feminine human head. The human head embodies intellect while the bird represents instinct and agility. Offering Devis is another unique display, made with rose petals, gathered from Mandala offerings that Crow collected, dried, pressed, and painted onto delicate Japanese paper. Tara Di Gesu’s artwork evokes bolder and more spiritually intense themes, drawing inspiration from the style commonly found in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/golden-deities">traditional thangka paintings</a>.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250710140736_5836aab649efd7920beebfd2442063d4e43970bdb62c549917fee3c3b48a7975.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20250710140736_5836aab649efd7920beebfd2442063d4e43970bdb62c549917fee3c3b48a7975" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="The divine Devi"> <figcaption>Kali by Tara Di Gesu</figcaption> </figure>  Kali and Khrodikali portrays the fierce Hindu goddess using mineral pigment, gold, and watercolour on silk. Adorned with a garland of skulls, Kali is a fearless embodiment of feminine strength, and a potent reminder of the divine life force. The Little White Vulture has softer and delicate tones in which the goddess glows with power, as she soars serenely.&nbsp; The exhibition also invites reflection on caring for nature and the deep interconnectedness of all living beings, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/himalayan-tipping-points">the beauty and the fragility of our planet</a>, with Crow’s use of eco-conscious materials. Her watercolours Earth in Peril and Earth in Harmony depict the stark divide between flood and fire, yet a figure stands strong at the centre, entwined with hopeful touches of greenery and natural elements, while the latter bursts with lush life involving birds, flowers, and leaves in full bloom. Emily Avery Yoshiko Crow and Tara Di Gesu delve into both the intimate and iconic expressions. For both artists, Devi is more than art, it is an act of devotion celebrating the ineffable. Devi Till 26 July Tuesday-Thursday: 11AM-6PM Friday-Sunday: 11AM-7PM Takpa Gallery, Lazimpat&nbsp;

The divine Devi

Bigotry is not innate, it is learned behaviour — that message is front and centre in Akanchha Karki’s short film, Sanai.
The film won best director, best cinematography, best story, best original score, and best picture at Malaysia’s <a href="https://www.facebook.com/NSIFF" target="_blank">Neo South Independent Film Festival</a> as well as awards at the <a href="https://nhriff.hrfilms.org/" target="_blank">Nepal Human Rights International Film Festival</a> and the <a href="https://nafilmsociety.org/" target="_blank">Nepal America International Film Festival</a>.&nbsp;
Sanai is the story of Rupa and Maya, two teenage Dalit and Brahmin girls form an unconditional friendship within a patriarchal, caste-ridden society. The film starts with Rupa’s father heading to Maya’s house to play the sanai, a musical instrument of the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/dalit-lives-must-matter">Dalit community </a>at the wedding of Maya’s uncle.&nbsp;
Dialogue and the behaviour of characters allude to or explicitly exhibit the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/caste-no-bar?fbclid=IwAR2MXB-JEYwQYNMY1mn87VfEikVamdxaZ3nmTe6XC9HvpOhfcnA_QovCnMA">caste divide</a>. Maya longs to play the sanai, but is yelled at by her mother for ‘almost causing a disaster’ when she tries to reach for one of the instruments.
Rupa’s mother mends clothes for Maya’s mother and sends Rupa to deliver it, but Maya’s mother will only touch the clothing after ‘purifying’ it first. &nbsp;
However, the two children, brought together by their shared <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/in-nepal-east-meets-west-musically?mdrv=www.nepalitimes.com">love of music</a>, rebel in their own ways. Rupa throws away the sel roti dropped onto her hand without touching it by Maya’s mother. Maya refuses free candy given to her to persuade her to stay away from Rupa.&nbsp;
At the wedding, Maya defiantly plays the sanai given to her by Rupa during her uncle’s wedding.
After Maya is told by an adult not to hang out with Rupa due to their caste difference, there is radiant joy when the two girls are told by their teacher that Rupa should ask her mother to sew her the same frock as Maya so that they can look alike.
The following scene, where Maya and Rupa exchange their clothes with Rupa wearing Maya’s prettier outfit, is among the most quietly powerful moments in the film.
Queerness is a subtly recurring motif in the sanai, especially notable during a scene where Maya watches her uncle and his bride dance during their wedding ceremony and imagines herself and Rupa, with matching frocks, in their place.&nbsp;
“As kids, all they care about is their friendship and their love, but queerness is also an angle in the film,” says director <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/marriage-drama" target="_blank">Akanchha Karki</a>, of the Kathmandu theatre, <a href="http://kathaghera.com/" target="_blank">Katha Ghera</a>.
The girls’ shared desire to play the sanai binds them together. And while Rupa’s father and his community are expected to breathe music through their sanai in the life and celebrations of upper-caste communities, they are not allowed to be part of those ceremonies.&nbsp;
Karki picked sanai out of all the other instruments played by the Dalit community both because it was convenient for the children to carry and because of its unique sound.&nbsp;
“The sanai produces an achingly beautiful music, which I wanted to bring out for the film,” Karki says.&nbsp;
At the end, a grown-up Rupa and Maya reunite against a backdrop of sanai players. ‘Did you have to wait long?’ asks Maya, as the two hug one another tightly. ‘Only an eternity,’ Rupa replies with a smile.&nbsp;
Only an eternity, not just for the two of them to become adults, but to wait for the walls built by the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/putting-dalits-back-in-business?amp=1"> hierarchy of caste</a>, class and exclusion to begin to crumble.&nbsp;
Says Karki: “It is not only about the physical waiting, but how they had to wait for society to transform.”
Having directed, written, and acted in Nepali theatre herself, Karki found it easy to work with actors. But while theatre is a collaborative effort, working with separate departments in filmmaking was a new experience.
“Everything is not always under your control in filmmaking,” Karki notes. “When I make my next film, I think it is going to be about my own experiences.”

An instrument of liberation

Some seek solitude, some the company of others, still others find a balance between the two. Yet, we all long for someone to go home to and share our smiles and sorrows. Kalina and Diwas find that someone in each other – most often, it must be said, in sorrow. Their story begins in a school sickroom. Kalina lies curled up with stomach pain, and Diwas stumbles in, bruised and breathless from a fall off the school roof. What starts as curiosity about each other’s pain turns into a friendship woven together with shared ache. This opening scene of the play Sickroom on the stage of <a href="http://kathaghera.com//">Katha Ghera</a> is a precursor to how, through the years and separate storms, Kalina and Diwas keep finding their way back to each other. In pain, in comfort, and the quiet knowing that even the wounded can become each other’s solace. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/marriage-drama">Director Akanchha Karki</a>’s Sickroom is an adaptation of Gruesome Playground Injuries by American playwright Rajiv Joseph. The play moves in fragments that shift between childhood and adulthood, echoing the fractured nature of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/memories-of-an-archivist">memories </a>and the scars people carry. After their first encounter in the school sickroom, we meet the two as their older selves. Kalina walks into a hospital room where Diwas lies injured, his eye wounded in a firework accident. Initially, their exchange is hesitant after years of separation. But the distance and time dissolve quickly. Their bond is stitched together by shared physical and emotional wounds. Diwas bears scrapes and scars from reckless acts, and Kalina struggles with mental health and self-harm tendencies.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025070212074_23fd056bdd0161d9c2d25369f48c94d03486b7266eff3990c2ec8459c54556b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2025070212074_23fd056bdd0161d9c2d25369f48c94d03486b7266eff3990c2ec8459c54556b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1103" height="735" loading="lazy" alt="Story of scars and solace"> </figure>  Their separate sufferings seem to always find a symmetry of quiet understanding and a desire to soothe the other, even when their own self is hurting. The two broken souls find healing not in saving themselves, but each other. The closeness they share carries the weight of love, and their hearts consistently orbit one another regardless of their partners. In one scene, an injured Diwas visits Kalina who is distant and withdrawn. It is soon revealed that she has been sleeping with her boyfriend, not out of desire, but in an attempt to dull the ache inside her. She has found a different outlet now, where her vulnerability is violated. Diwas is against this, and becomes a place of care for Kalina once again. And for him, Kalina’s touch is enough to mend even his deepest wounds. At one point, Diwas tells Kalina, “I am not someone else, I am you.” Noor Khanal and Abishek Khadka, as the younger Kalina and Diwas, bring an unfiltered innocence on stage, their exchanges so raw that it is like eavesdropping on real life in motion. There are flickers of humour, the scenes unfold with tender music. Akanchha Karki and Sudam CK step in as the older persona, delivering bold performances that show how relationships, over time, shift and knot themselves around personal grief. Towards the end, in an extraordinary moment, young and adult versions of Kalina and Diwas speak in tandem, transcending time as a young Kalina speaks to an adult Diwas, and adult Kalina to young Diwas. Our present selves are never far from the children we once were, the pieces of our past selves and past experiences linger within us forever. Sickroom explores Kalina and Diwas’s deep reliance on one another. It also lays bare their inability to fully settle into a conventional relationship because sometimes the aches leave us hollow, in search of no one but ourselves. Sickroom Till 12 July Kausi Theatre, Teku Sun-Fri except Tuesday: 5:15PM Saturday: 5:15PM, 1PM

Story of scars and solace

An amalgam is an alloy of metals, but at Siddhartha Art Gallery it is a collection of 61 Nepali artists showcasing their work together. It is not just established and upcoming artists themselves, the exhibition is also an amalgam of the medium they work with: drawings, acrylics, ceramics capturing the diversity of voices, perspectives, and methods.&nbsp; “We have brought them all together to show their diversity and the span of their expression,” explains Sangeeta Thapa of Siddhartha Art Gallery who curated the exhibition at its inauguration on 8 June. “It has provided a platform to multiple artists to showcase their work and interact with each other.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250623060628_d34d23fab184e398f594d471936ab62ff83b52fd89d93fe2f64fdae73e6c7133.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250623060628_d34d23fab184e398f594d471936ab62ff83b52fd89d93fe2f64fdae73e6c7133" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Amalgamation NT"> </figure>  Spread out over two sections of the gallery, it has works by well-known Nepali artists like Kiran Manandhar, Manish Lal Shrestha, Binod Pradhan, Sabita Dongol to Krisha Tamrakar, Manorama Khatri, Nabin Nalbo and Tenzin Rigdol.&nbsp; Each artwork pushes viewers to develop perspectives of their own. Sabita Dongol’s Flow of Life displays a woman with four hands, with trees, animals, utensils and a comb in the backdrop. Dongol uses combs as the central motif.&nbsp; We asked her why. “It is an expression of innate feminity. It untangles the hair, is a symbol of problem-solving and harmony. The four hands represent the multitasking role women play.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250623060628_c5400aab7539323df91ea7d34e41eaf4869f636dff85de4825efc964e39f6dd8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250623060628_c5400aab7539323df91ea7d34e41eaf4869f636dff85de4825efc964e39f6dd8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1006" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Amalgamation NT"> </figure>  In Silent Boundaries, Krisha Tamrakar presents four works including a pressure cooker, a plastic bag of onions, a woman’s handbag and a pair of slippers -- all inside threadwork cages. “This series explores the unsettling transformation of accessibility into inaccessibility. What was once dear to us, in relationships or in life, maybe unreachable the next moment. The objects are metaphors, and the threading are the unspoken barriers we impose on each other,” says Tamrakar. Nabin Nalbo’s portraits of famous personalities stand out, it is as if the people will step out of the frames and speak in real time. Nalbo says he has represented inspiring people in his art: “It reflects a sense of belonging to the Nepali identity.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250623060628_4ac5790931f581cfb9ff580faa238f8ced04e318cbb68c32005e9f19483580ab.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250623060628_4ac5790931f581cfb9ff580faa238f8ced04e318cbb68c32005e9f19483580ab" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Amalgamation NT"> </figure>  Manish Lal Shrestha’s creation of the ace, queen, king and jack of diamonds also gives a different sense of visual appeal, using coffee granules. Shrestha says he is trying to visualise the current debate about monarchy in Nepal. “Whether the king or commoners, leaders should be open-minded and sharp, just like a diamond. The game of cards is what politics is all about.” Viewers may want to pay multiple visits to Siddhartha Art Gallery to take in all of this vast exhibition. It is best to be inspired in instalments by the artistic talent on display and be moved by them. &nbsp; Sudiksha Tuladhar Amalgam 2025 Sidhhartha Art Gallery Babarmahal Revisted premises Until 8 July 11AM to 5PM &nbsp;

An amalgamation of artists

The Barun trees surrounding Patan’s Agnishala temple are bowed with age — curving over stout brick walls of the temple, its gnarled branches threading through power lines. Rain drips from its glossy green leaves onto the temple courtyard. The trees are said to have existed for as long as the sacred eternal fire has burned in the temple.&nbsp; Botanical illustrator Neera Joshi Pradhan was on a heritage walk through Patan when she saw yellow flowers blanketing the ground, and recalled visiting the temple for puja with her family as a young girl. “I realised that while we look with much awe at Nepal’s temples and architecture, we tend to neglect our natural heritage," Joshi says. “Once that realisation set in, I started sketching them.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250622030648_2b0770b0c497ff2dc1277284e5fdbfd9637d697fef2b0e597669eb7fa57bd067.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250622030648_2b0770b0c497ff2dc1277284e5fdbfd9637d697fef2b0e597669eb7fa57bd067" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1001" loading="lazy" alt="Façades and Flowers from Nepal and Italy NT"> </figure>  In 2021, Joshi had also been invited to the Florence Biennale, and she extended her stay to spend time with family there. Surrounded by the architecture of the city, she was hit by a strong urge to pick up her sketchbook to commit Italy’s historic buildings and vibrant plant life to paper. The results of this interplay of our natural and cultural heritage are currently on exhibit at The Kalā Salon’s From Nepal to Italy: Drawings of Flora &amp; Vernacular Architecture.&nbsp; Joshi’s collection of more than 40 Pen/Ink and Watercolour Drawings are a departure from her signature precise, detailed botanical illustrations. They explore the history, heritage, and indigenous plant life of Kathmandu Valley, but as well as Rome, Florence, and Brixen.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250622030648_5941db0a2eabe91022a74284088ef3b698d90e0ced5db9129803e2d4dc14456e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250622030648_5941db0a2eabe91022a74284088ef3b698d90e0ced5db9129803e2d4dc14456e" data-rendition-name="original" width="631" height="854" loading="lazy" alt="Façades and Flowers from Nepal and Italy NT"> </figure>  “Neera’s latest collection is a bit different from the botanical illustrations that she is known for, and is a really beautiful project that shows her capabilities as an artist,” says Sophia L Pandé, curator at The Kalā Salon. “Even in her depiction of architecture and heritage, the flora are a constant presence.” Joshi’s artwork include pieces she did during her downtime more than a decade ago, before the thought of painting Nepal’s architecture and flora together had really crossed her mind.&nbsp; One such painting from 2013 includes a view of Swayambhu poking out from its surrounding forest, with blue-green hills in the background and the grey-brown concrete of Kathmandu Valley in the foreground, painted from her perch on Kirtipu.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250622030648_562df6371592ec90e4a342e23d4024efc96e7e651315fd13fa196acf34ad1868.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20250622030648_562df6371592ec90e4a342e23d4024efc96e7e651315fd13fa196acf34ad1868" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1001" loading="lazy" alt="Façades and Flowers from Nepal and Italy NT"> </figure>  Her more recent works from 2023 include pen/ink watercolours of monkeys playing beneath the shade of a Mayal Tree in Swayambhu, the Barun trees at Agnimath, and Panyu trees with their soft pink blossoms swaying in the breeze. In Italy, Joshi walked along cities sketchbook in hand, admiring the view and stopping at public benches and gardens whenever inspiration struck. Her drawings are serene explorations of everyday life in Italy — people walking through cobblestone alleys or sitting in contemplation in public parks, combined with sweeping landscapes of the country’s architecture.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250622030648_1e31fc25bbfc9732a2b36ac06d83f765665d2ac63d557d5df467426e4406095f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20250622030648_1e31fc25bbfc9732a2b36ac06d83f765665d2ac63d557d5df467426e4406095f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="Façades and Flowers from Nepal and Italy NT"> <figcaption>Photos: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  In one painting from Italy, titled Balcony, Brixen, the veranda painted in faded brown with its pen and ink detailing of the intricate railings, is reminiscent of Kathmandu Valley’s Newari architecture.&nbsp; “Seeing the balcony took me right back home,” says Joshi. And even when buildings and architecture take up much of the portraits, the plant life is striking. Joshi has captured Supari trees towering over Patan Museum, ivy trailing up the soft yellow façade of a house in Brixen, pink flowers blooming in window boxes along a canal in Venice.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250622030648_28fcd3c9ac3f928451e3c26355514c6828cdf94263a56c32c110a82c7572bd52.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250622030648_28fcd3c9ac3f928451e3c26355514c6828cdf94263a56c32c110a82c7572bd52" data-rendition-name="original" width="637" height="871" loading="lazy" alt="Façades and Flowers from Nepal and Italy NT"> </figure>  Joshi’s attention to detail allows viewers to identify some native plants like the Barun tree flowers in Patan and sweet chestnut native to Italy.&nbsp; Joshi is perhaps the only botanical illustrator in Nepal, and &nbsp;her detailed, vibrant drawings &nbsp;balance scientific accuracy with artistic expression to document and preserve Nepal's native plants. Her exhibition is also accompanied by a colouring book with botanical art.&nbsp; “As we increasingly face natural disasters and the effects of the climate crisis, it is even more crucial to recognise our indigenous flora and save them,” says Joshi.&nbsp; She wants the public to be able to access some of this knowledge so that young people are at least able to identify plant life around them.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250622030648_f974188e16945a659c28702b357c2bc36aff753bc5606f0453417f897a641805.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250622030648_f974188e16945a659c28702b357c2bc36aff753bc5606f0453417f897a641805" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="Façades and Flowers from Nepal and Italy NT"> </figure>  “This is what I am able to do from my side, but there needs to be institutional and policy-level attention to native plant knowledge and conservation,” Joshi says. Adds Pandé: “We are very happy to have released her book as an accompaniment to the exhibition. I hope this is the beginning of something much larger to document and conserve our native plant life.” &nbsp; From Nepal to Italy: Drawings of Flora &amp; Vernacular Architecture By Neera Joshi Pradhan Curated by Sophia L. Pandé Until 6 July 11AM - 8PM The Kalā Salon, Chhaya Center, Thamel

Shristi Karki

Façades and flowers from Nepal to Italy

Prawin Adhikari’s new novel, Budhani, is a compelling and compassionate act of reinterpretation, reimagining a tale from indigenous folklore that draws its power from age-old fables of good versus evil and wisdom versus wilful ignorance.
In the first part of the book, Budhani, a name taken from the Tharu stories that inspired the author, the eponymous crow is born. We hear her inner, most personal thoughts as she grows from little chick to young, preening crow, learning temperance and tenderness from those around her as she comes of age. All the while, she retains a kernel of fierce independence deep inside amidst the all too familiar norms and expectations of the animal world.&nbsp;
Budhani, the adult crow, continues to cherish the succour that nature provides, revelling in it. As with all adults, she begins to understand the suffering that can arise from the crueler nature of those who ought to care for her wellbeing. The whole story, both the imagining of the animal world, and later Budhani’s place in it, draws inspiration from speculative fiction, encompassing fantasy and science fiction, bringing alive a world that is parallel to ours, but just a little different.&nbsp;
Adhikari has a keen affinity for nature that informs his writing. We are drawn into the world of the crows as surely as we might have been into those of a human. The bond between crow characters is effortlessly defined, and friendships and relationships, between people, and between animals and human, are so nuanced as to bring tears to the eyes.
In the way of speculative fiction, the writer must be cognizant of every nook and cranny of his made up world to convince the reader, as those who love N.K. Jemisin and Ursula K. LeGuin will know. Any hint that the creator might not know every goddess and princeling in the world he is defining, or may not carry every small detail of the nature of the trees, skies and creatures of this realm in his mind, causes cognitive dissonance for the reader - resulting in a failure to convince.&nbsp;
This writer succeeds in his world building, but while the characters are incredibly specific, the natural world of the jungle sometimes drifts into something more generic. Regardless of these occasional generalisms, this part of the book is both captivating and heart-wrenching, setting us up for the second half when Budhani manifests as a girl.&nbsp;
Without giving away major plot points (the two-part structure of the book is clear to anyone who opens the book), the girl Budhani is as vital, clever, and curious as her former bird incarnation. She grows up in a loving micro-family that is further strengthened by the strong Tharu community around her.&nbsp;
She becomes sage through hard knocks, and profound friendships. She learns the law of the jungle, but she is no wide-eyed Mowgli. Instead, she is once again nursed to wisdom by the innate, indigenous knowledge handed down to her by her Tharu elders who live at peace with the land, taking the idyllic but also harsh, agrarian way of life in stride and adapting with graceful acceptance, their ethos never quelled. &nbsp;
This half of the story is anchored by exceptional research on the part of the writer. Every nuance of daily life in the world of Budhani’s village rings true, along with the precious indigenous knowledge that is imparted along the way. When she must leave her beloved village to face the inconstant, arbitrary justice of the king, that court smacks vividly of so many other courts in humanity’s past and present. It is at this archetypal court of the inane, indolent king, led by his supposedly learned, cruel, priest that Budhani finally comes into her own.&nbsp;
Budhani’s journey has a happy ending, but be warned, there is anguish in these pages. Animal lovers and the kind of heart will suffer an aching feeling in the chest while reading. However, as is in the best of such tales, each loss metamorphoses into something else, coming full circle, balanced by karma, leaving the reader wishing that such things were true even in the real world.&nbsp;
As a fable, which always has a lesson, there are too many to list here, but as an allegory, there is one learning of critical importance. Encapsulated in the tale of Budhani is the tale of Nepal and the injustices that have been wrought upon her nature, her indigenous peoples, her female and girl folk, and all those who do not have the ability to speak truth to power like Budhani does. With this teaching, rest assured, this story will transform the reader, young and old.&nbsp;
Budhani is gripping, it is tragic, it is beautiful, and it is wise. The book is sometimes didactic but gentled by the framework of the fable, and uplifted by the unforgettable character who first claws and then walks her way into the reader's heart, her every struggle, small and large, coming alive for us. We cannot help but invest in this marvelously drawn, feisty, undaunted character and all those she loves so fiercely.&nbsp;
Adhikari’s writing has always been inspired by the minutiae of life, whether urban or in the village. He is the rarest of writers in that he writes equally well in English and in Nepali. This affinity for both languages enriches his novels in a way that someone writing in English, but with a lesser grasp of the Nepali language, may not be able to convey.&nbsp;
This particular writer’s portrayal of Tharu folktales, therefore, becomes an invaluable part of the canon of Nepali writers writing in English with its nuanced ear for language, its keen eye for detail and the deep responsibility it bears for translating the stories of one culture for the eyes of others.&nbsp;
Cultural appropriation is very real, but Adhikari’s Budhani transmogrifies without appropriating. Enriched by Lavkant Chaudhary’s thoughtful, playful illustrations, and further authenticated by Indu Tharu’s retelling of Budhani into the Tharu language, this enchanting, tragic, memorable story will carve a place in your heart.&nbsp;
Both English and Tharu editions are published by Safu, an imprint of Quixote’s Cove.
Sophia L. Pandé is a writer, art-historian and filmmaker. She consults on the Cultural and Creative Industries. She is Director of Development at the Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust, and the Founding Director of The Kalā Salon (a non-profit space for the arts).

Of crows, and people

The monsoon has got bad press because Nepal’s tourism operators actively told visitors to avoid <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/managing-the-monsoon?%2F">the rainy season</a>. It is time to change that. The reason can be found right here in the vast alpine meadows of Central Nepal where this time of year you can walk on velvet grass of pastures abloom with delicate pink, red and yellow flowers as the mist rolls up the valley. There is no sound except the hum of bumble bees. &nbsp;&nbsp; There are dozens of places across high Nepal called Chaurikharka, which means yak pasture. But this particular Chaurikharka in Rukum East located at an altitude of 4,000m stands out for its serene beauty, rustic charm and bucolic setting. There is just the occasional chime of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/when-yaks-go-so-does-culture">yak bells</a> in the distance, and the sharp whistle of herders corralling sheep. &nbsp;&nbsp; The grass shoots are so fragile that one hesitates to step on them, the rounded ridges appear and quickly vanish in waves of mist. With the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/before-the-next-monsoon"> arrival of monsoon</a>, these meadows are a soothing shade of green dotted with millions of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-anatomy-of-a-flower?%2F=">multi-coloured flowers</a>. Until very recently, it took a week or so to hike up to places like Chaurikharka, but with the expansion of the road network even to these far-flung mountains in the lap of Dhaulagiri, they are much more accessible. It is just a three-hour uphill from the Mid-Hill Highway on the border between Baglung and Rukum East.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250802130828_a0b06b494d751b2144ffbbf10894ea64b29e8aed844bc8c66171783abfaf4e16.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250802130828_a0b06b494d751b2144ffbbf10894ea64b29e8aed844bc8c66171783abfaf4e16" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Visit Nepal in the monsoon"> </figure>  Purists would say that such easy access devalues the sanctity of these remote high meadows, but it also means more people will be moved to treasure the experience, appreciate <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/natures-fragile-gift-to-nepal">the value of nature </a>so they can take steps to protect it.&nbsp; To be sure, the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/deadly-monsoon-in-nepal-turns-deadlier">monsoon season can be challenging for road travel</a>. The roads are rough even at the best of times, and in the monsoon they become muddy and treacherous, often blocked by<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/monsoon-deluge-in-nepal"> landslides</a>. But that could be precisely the kind of adventure that the more intrepid visitors crave. Improved road connectivity has already made Chaurikharka and places like Badimallika &nbsp;and other sacred lakes in the mountains of western Nepal popular with domestic tourists. What is driving this traffic is the urge to go to exotic new places and share videos and selfies on social media. Several of Nepal’s travel vloggers have visited Chaurikharka and popularised the place, enticing followers on TikTok or YouTube to retrace their footsteps. But even as they become more popular, these fragile and once-remote places should be protected from over-tourism.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250731110736_f97110b7cdc3e7f80d5877690948fc9f4c95a09c583deb23b07355491e6c5446.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250731110736_f97110b7cdc3e7f80d5877690948fc9f4c95a09c583deb23b07355491e6c5446" data-rendition-name="original" width="1083" height="699" loading="lazy" alt="Visit Nepal in the monsoon NT"> </figure>  <h2>INCREASING FOOTFALL</h2> Chaurikharka is located in Bhume Rural Municipality of East Rukum, near the scenic valley of Dhorpatan in Baglung district. Even in the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/monsoon-culture">middle of the monsoon</a>, there is a steady stream of Nepali hikers trooping to these high pastures – especially during festival days like Saune Sankranti which this year was on 17 July and actually marks the auspicious beginning of the monsoon here. “This year the rains have not been as heavy and there have been some clear mornings when we could see everything from Dhaulagiri to Machapuchre,” says Khageswar Bhandari, who trekked up here from the road. “The flowers, the greenery and the snowy mountain views make this an incredibly unique place.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250802130824_1b9e26f2e9853fdfe69154bb42a7c9ea6da4bf4940efc1da99b304dcfbd7d3d9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20250802130824_1b9e26f2e9853fdfe69154bb42a7c9ea6da4bf4940efc1da99b304dcfbd7d3d9" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1152" loading="lazy" alt="Visit Nepal in the monsoon"> </figure>  Chaurikharka is worthwhile to get to in any season, but it has a different charm during the monsoon. Word has spread and because it is now easy to get to from Baglung or even Pokhara, people have been flocking here.&nbsp; “Holidays and Saturdays see the largest crowds, with up to 500 visitors every day,” says ward chair Mankaji Pun of Bhume.&nbsp; There was a time not too long ago when local herders brought sheep, goats, cows, buffaloes, horses, and mules to graze here during the monsoon. Although there are still livestock around, animals have been replaced by visitors taking selfies. Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-monsoon-and-nature-s-arithmetic">The monsoon, and nature’s arithmetic</a>, Tom Robertson Ward Chair Pun says infrastructure development is his main priority. A foot trail to Chaurikharka was built last year by the Tourism Division Office in Kohalpur, but access via the Raniwas-Koipa road section still remains challenging.&nbsp; “If we get more budget, we can improve the road and facilities to make Chaurikharka the main tourist attraction of this region,” says Bhume Municipality Chair Hom Prakash Shrestha. “After that, we hope to promote Chaurikharka as a top tourist spot.”&nbsp; Economic activity is also picking up with the arrival of visitors, but there seems to be a need to manage the makeshift sheds made of corrugated sheets that spoil the beauty of the place. Tea shops and lodges are also available but facilities are basic. Kuldeep Neupane took a three-day trip from Ghorahi in Dang to visit Chaurikharka recently, and says: “This is an ideal trip to make a quick getaway and let nature recharge your mind and body. And it is much more fun with a tent, to watch the sunrise over the Himalaya or the mist blowing in.”

Visit Nepal in the monsoon

The final investigation report on the crash of a Saurya Airlines jet on 24 July 2024 at Kathmandu airport has revealed flaws in the carrier’s technical operation procedures, poor monitoring by the Civil Aviation Authority of Nepal (CAAN) and gaps in the airport’s emergency response. Eighteen people including a child were killed, and only the captain survived as the plane plunged seconds after takeoff, crashing within the airport perimeter. This was the latest in a series of aircraft accidents in previous years, and further tarnished Nepal’s already poor aviation safety record and contributed to the country being retained in the EU’s air safety list. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The circumstances in the Saurya crash were different from the Yeti Airlines crash in Pokhara in January 2022 that killed all 72 on board, and two Tara Air crashes in February 2016 and May 2022 on approach to Jomsom that together claimed 45 lives. However, all four tragedies were a result of negligence of carriers and crew, failure to follow procedures, regulatory slackness, and overconfidence. The Saurya crash, especially, was a glaring example of how an ailing airline broke its own rules to allow passengers, including non-employees, a joy ride to Pokhara on a maintenance ferry flight. CRASH REPORT The Final Investigation Report prepared by the Aircraft Accident Investigation Commission and released on the first anniversary of the crash last week carried a long list of rules that were ignored or broken, and of regulatory failure. The first mistake was to cram spares, tools and inflammable chemicals needed for the aircraft’s C-Check in Pokhara into the cargo hold flouting its own ground handling procedures.&nbsp; There was no check-in of passengers, some of whom were not even employees – even though regulations say only flight and maintenance crew should be on board a maintenance positioning flight. Many brought their own luggage into the plane and stored it unsecured in the cabin. There was no flight attendant to give a safety briefing to passengers. The load and trim charts given to the flight crew were rough estimates, and the total takeoff weight of the plane was 18,300kg plus or minus 200 kg. That would still have been all right, but there was a glaring mistake in the speedchart Saurya pilots were using to calculate the minimum takeoff speed (known as VR), and it had been wrong ever since the 21-year-old aircraft entered service with the airline in 2017. FAULTY DATA&nbsp; The Commission probed Flight Data Recorder inputs from previous takeoffs of the Canadian-built CRJ200-LR in 2023-2024 and found that the undetected error in the speedchart had caused the plane to pitch up at an abnormal rotation rate at least 18 times on previous takeoffs.&nbsp; Any rotation rate more than 3°/sec is regarded as unusual. But on at least two occasions, this aircraft with tail number 9N-AME had rotation rates of 5.8°/sec and 5.5°/sec, the second one was when the pilot who survived was flying in March 2024.&nbsp; On this particular day, the plane’s rotation rate was 6.5°/sec, causing it to go into a deep stall soon after takeoff, the Commission report said. Essentially, the plane was not flying fast enough down the runway to take off safely.&nbsp; It is not yet clear whether excess weight, unsecured luggage, wrong centre of gravity were also factors, but relying on a faulty speedchart for the given takeoff weight, the captain flying pulled back on the yoke before the plane had reached takeoff speed and at a pitch angle that was too steep. The investigation report says the plane then went into a deep stall and started banking right with the stick shaking. At this point, the flight officer on the right hand seat is heard on the cockpit voice recorder saying: “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sir, Sir, Sir…” It then banked left before the pilot flying turned the plane sharply to the right again in an evasive action to avoid the parking aprons of the international and domestic terminals. Had he not done so, there would have been a disaster of a much greater magnitude at Kathmandu airport that day. The plane scraped the runway with its right wingtip, collided with a container having helicopter spare parts, and plunged into a gully east of the runway, exploding in a fireball. The investigation also noted that the impact forces seemed to be survivable for some occupants. The fire trucks took unnecessarily long to reach the site even though it was inside the airport perimeter. The absence of an ICAO-standard runway strip, inadequate rescue drills, lack of training, and a blocked emergency service gate leading to the crash site were cited as other factors. &nbsp;&nbsp; <h2>Timestamp of a Disaster</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250731110724_39cdd04693994ce6e55a5b302905c0fa4884fe85bed21ff0779bb1439f3a5725.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20250731110724_39cdd04693994ce6e55a5b302905c0fa4884fe85bed21ff0779bb1439f3a5725" data-rendition-name="original" width="778" height="826" loading="lazy" alt="Flouting rules caused Saurya tragedy NT"> </figure>  11:10:34 - The Saurya Airlines CRJ200 on the takeoff roll from runway 02. It had a takeoff weight of about 18,300kg, but the pilot’s speedcard had a previously undetected mistake about the minimum takeoff speed. 11:10:55 -The plane with tail number 9N-AME goes into deep stall soon after takeoff because it does not have enough speed to lift its weight. The plane also has an abnormally steep nose-up attitude.&nbsp; 11:11:03 - Without enough speed to generate lift, the plane banks right, then left and right again in CCTV photos taken from the domestic apron (below). If it had not banked right, it could have hit the aprons and terminal buildings. Seen parked is Saurya’s other CRJ200 with tail number 9N-ANM.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250731110732_608132f7225c649125cca2691dd6a6bf930984c5b359e888d7ad9e5eacce3afd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20250731110732_608132f7225c649125cca2691dd6a6bf930984c5b359e888d7ad9e5eacce3afd" data-rendition-name="original" width="770" height="555" loading="lazy" alt="Flouting rules caused Saurya tragedy NT"> </figure>  11:11:08 - The plane scrapes the runway with its right wingtip, and falls into the gully. The captain is thrown off the left side of the cockpit and survives. 11:11:15: Plane explodes in a fireball inside the airport perimeter. Firefighters take time to reach the site because of lack of access road and a blocked gate. Read the full investigation report <a href="https://www.tourism.gov.np/files/9N-AME%20AIC%20Final%20Report.pdf">here</a>.

Flouting rules caused Saurya tragedy

Every year, up to 15 people are killed by tigers in and around Nepal’s Chitwan National Park, famous for its <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/is-wildlife-conservation-a-victim-of-its-own-success-in-nepal">conservation success story</a>.&nbsp; But this was not always the case — elders say there used to be many more tigers but fewer deaths. What changed? Long before <a href="https://chitwannationalpark.gov.np/index.php">Chitwan National Park</a> was established in 1972, the indigenous Tharu people and tigers coexisted, fostering a centuries-old relationship based on an understanding of each other’s behaviour. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-tarai-s-shrinking-forests">the Tarai </a>plains, especially Chitwan, gained fame for <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-tarai-s-shrinking-forests">tiger hunting</a> and proved useful as Nepal’s rulers employed hunting diplomacy by inviting British royals to extravagant hunting parties. Hunting expeditions would descend from Kathmandu in winter months to avoid malarial summers. The Tharu supplied rice, vegetables, goats, and constructed access roads.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250729160752_c9998ffdaa27ff3c251556bd472945bf6e648fdb4016d3b152cbef86f321c7f7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20250729160752_c9998ffdaa27ff3c251556bd472945bf6e648fdb4016d3b152cbef86f321c7f7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1146" loading="lazy" alt="Tharu people"> <figcaption>A US-supported DDT spraying campaign against malaria in Chitwan in the 1950s that opened the valley to trans-migration of farmers from the hills. The Tharu people were partially immune to malaria. Photo: USOM RECORDS, US NATIONAL ARCHIVES, COLLEGE PARK, MARYLAND</figcaption> </figure>  Rana rulers also relied upon Tharu mahout expertise in handling elephants, navigating the jungle, and tracking wildlife for hunting. The Ranas and their guests killed an astonishing number of tigers. During a hunting expedition in 1850, Rana Prime Minister Jung Bahadur Rana personally shot dead 31 tigers. In 1876, during two weeks, British King Albert Edward VII shot 23 tigers.&nbsp; In 1911 King George V killed four bears, eight one-horned rhinoceroses, and 39 tigers. Rana Prime Minister Juddha Shumsher is said to have killed 433 tigers from all across the Tarai between 1930 to 1940. At the time, 90% of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/chitwan-s-bote-people-in-a-changing-world">Chitwan’s population </a>were indigenous Tharu, Bote, Musahar, with the Kumal making up the rest. While people were worried about their crops and food sources, they were also mindful of tigers, rhinos, and other forms of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/human-animal-interface-in-nepal-wildlife-corridor?%2F">wildlife</a>.&nbsp; The Tharu trapped tiger prey such as wild boar and deer for their survival, also understood that predators like tigers sometimes hunted their buffalos, goats, and cows — especially when they grazed in or near the jungle. To Tharu, this seemed only fair. “In 1973, just before the establishment of the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/on-the-tri-junction-of-wildlife-conservation-conflict-and-co-existence"> Chitwan National Park</a>, my family owned between 200 and 300 cows, oxen, and buffaloes,” says Keval Chaudhary, 95. “Tigers killed four to five of my cattle each year, but we never hated tigers and never felt like killing them. It was coexistence — we shared the same land.”&nbsp; Shukhlal Chaudhary of Bachauli once told us there used to be significantly more tigers before malaria eradication in the 1950s, but that did not mean there was more conflict with humans. “We used to go into the forest every day, and were familiar with the routines of the animals that lived there,” he used to say. “The tigers rarely ventured into our village or killed anyone who lived there.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250729160756_e39f7bdb451f752b753b1d8fc4e590196afd5cd21e2456443557c2eafb6c5c82.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20250729160756_e39f7bdb451f752b753b1d8fc4e590196afd5cd21e2456443557c2eafb6c5c82" data-rendition-name="original" width="1915" height="1443" loading="lazy" alt="Tigers in Nepal"> </figure>  In the days before the National Park, the tiger population in Chitwan was probably bigger. The Ranas had laws against hurting rhinos and tigers, but more importantly, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/unsung-heroes-of-nepal-s-tiger-recovery">the Tharu also cared for the animals </a>and the jungle. This respect for nature runs deep in our tradition. The Tharu worship through the Gurau spiritual healer and honour the forest deity known as Bandevi. Says Aasha Ram Mahato, an 85-year-old resident of Madi: “हमरा पुजा करइ खुनिय जम्मा देवी देउता जससनेकी सोमेसोरबाणि, कल्की माइ, बिक्रम बाबा सब थारु देवी देउता क नाउ लेके हमरा सन्सारी बर्ना कर्साहु इय जेठवा नत एसार्ह महिनावमा हमरा इअ बाली बिर्ही बचावके, बनवका चिजुवा बिजुवा बचावके कहके हमरा बरसमा ३ चोटी पुजा कर्साहु एसार्ही बर्ना, लेरुवा पैठ हसे चैत पैठ बर्ना।” <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/5-myths-about-the-tharu">The Tharu </a>take the names of all the gods they worship — such as Somesor Baani, Kalki Maai, and Bikram Baba, and perform Sansaari Puja, a traditional ritual to protect crops, wild and domestic animals, insects, and everything in nature. This ritual reflects the community’s deep respect and spiritual bond with the natural world and is performed three times a year. Bikram Mahato, 65, recalls an incident six years ago when 10 people entered Chitwan National Park to cut fodder grass. A tiger was 50m away, silently watching them and preparing to attack. The group quickly decided not to run or scatter. Instead, they stayed close together.&nbsp; This smart and immediate decision prevented a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/close-encounters-with-tigers-in-nepal">tiger attack</a>. It also depicts the Tharu indigenous community’s understanding of nature and wildlife, as well as their choice of coexistence and protection. The Nepal government and foreign aid organisations have mostly forgotten the history of Tharu–tiger coexistence and the community’s silent but c<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/conservation-at-the-crossroads">rucial role in tiger conservation</a>. Nevertheless, let us hope that the state will eventually acknowledge and pay tribute to the contributions of the Indigenous Tharu in protecting the forests and wildlife, especially the tigers, that currently make up Chitwan National Park. Birendra Mahato is an elected member of the Ratnanagar Municipality Ward 6 and Founder Chair of the Tharu Culture Museum Research Centre in Sauraha.

Walking, working, worshipping in Patan

The fabric of society

From the outside looking in

An ode to the ordinary

The divine Devi

An instrument of liberation

Story of scars and solace

An amalgamation of artists

Façades and flowers from Nepal to Italy

Of crows, and people

Visit Nepal in the monsoon

Flouting rules caused Saurya tragedy

Nepal’s Tharu are tiger protectors

Walking, working, worshipping in Patan