A prohibition on the sale of an addictive carcinogenic substance was welcomed by a substantial percentage of the city’s population. Still, like with other policy judgments, it merits additional scrutiny. It remains to be seen how the Metropolitan will finish this massive, self-imposed task. 

Following a claim of legal jurisdiction to carry out such a decision, the Metropolitan specifies three primary reasons for the ban: Negative effects on public health, pollution and sewer clogs produced by such plastic wrapping, and the drain on state money caused by tobacco usage. 

The city believes that making it harder for people to sell tobacco will deter others from purchasing it. Will this, however, work? 

One of the key challenges that the Metropolis will have in attempting to apply this selling restriction will be the shared jurisdiction of different levels of government and the policy mismatch that results from it. 

The Nepali constitution empowers local governments to pass laws covering basic health and sanitation, as well as local market management and environmental protection (Schedule 8). The environment, like health, is subject to concurrent federal, state, and local control (Schedule 9).  Significant collaboration and policy consistency at all state levels will be necessary to accomplish a partial tobacco prohibition, which the city claims will eventually become a complete ban. The essence of the implementation challenge is whether the state and federal governments have enough incentive to align their policies with Kathmandu. 

The precedent, however, suggests otherwise. When the High Powered Committee for Integrated Development of Bagmati Civilization (HPCIDBC) issued a notice on November 11, 2023, to squatters in the Kathmandu Valley to clear their encroachment on public land and sought KMC’s assistance in clearing those settlements, KMC found itself in a paralyzing quagmire when the Federal Home Ministry refused to immediately support the move. The ministry noted a need for more planning and legal compliance. The tobacco ban is a bootless errand without inter-governmental consensus, which, for the time being, is a far cry. 

The federal government will have little incentive to outlaw tobacco products outright because it relies heavily on the tax revenue generated by such products.  

The tobacco sector in Nepal is one of the country’s largest taxpayers. In the fiscal year 2079/80, tobacco-based items like cigarettes and bidi contributed 26.22 billion Nepali rupees to the total excise duty collected by the federal government. The whole sum equals 25.22 percent of total excise duty collection, trailing only collection from beer (31.38 percent). Liquor comes in third with a contribution of 24.93 percent. Meanwhile, all other industrial products produced in Nepal accounted for 18.47 percent of total excise duty collections.

The data speaks for itself. The federal government will have little incentive to outlaw tobacco products outright because it relies heavily on the tax revenue generated by such products. 

Coincidentally, KMC’s decision to ban plastic-wrapped tobacco items comes not long after New Zealand abandoned its ambitious smoking ‘generation ban’ to “help fund tax cuts,” which was set to go into effect in July, 2024. 

To make a product ban successful, the incentives to accept the restriction must be greater than the incentives to ignore it, especially for the sellers. The Municipality Executive has the authority under the KMC’s Local Government Operation Act (2074), to control, inspect, and regulate the sale and consumption of consumer goods with negative effects on public health, as well as environmental pollution and dangerous substances. KMC’s own Public Health Act (2080), which the city has cited in its statement, requires a permit to sell tobacco-based products.  It also allows the city to designate limited and open areas for the sale of such products. For now, KMC has also warned the shop owners that it will cancel their permits if they find repeated violations of the prohibition. Assuming KMC successfully inspects sellers throughout the city, which appears to be unfeasible given the city’s lack of a robust inspection apparatus, it further raises the question of whether the arm-twisting will be sufficient to deter tobacco sales. 

The ban’s supply-side dynamics are still complicated. Even if a comprehensive prohibition on sales is enacted, there is still room for cross-border smuggling.  KMC shares its borders with a metropolitan city and nine other municipalities. Lalitpur Metropolitan City and the municipalities of Budhanilkantha, Chandragiri, Gokarneshwor, Kageswori-Manohara, Kirtipur, Madhyapur Thimi, Nagarjun, Tarkeswor, and Tokha all share borders with KMC. Buyers can still purchase tobacco goods in these places if KMC’s neighbors do not follow suit with the tobacco ban. As with any banned commodity, the creation of black markets for such things within KMC is unavoidable, raising the prices of these products and contradicting KMC’s original motive for the ban. 

To add to the stalemate, on December 15, the Patan High Court issued an interim order suspending KMC’s tobacco ban until the final verdict on the writ case filed by Shri Ram Tobacco Udhyog. The corporation filed a writ petition against KMC, claiming that it had a major impact on their legal operations. It further stated that it was already planning to use biodegradable packaging in all of its products beginning April 13, 2024, as per Nepal’s government regulation. 

The World Health Organization estimated that 80 percent of the world’s 1.3 billion tobacco users reside in low- and middle-income nations and that tobacco kills up to half of those who do not quit. Its position is that tobacco control regulations generate more cash for health and development efforts. In 2006, Nepal also ratified the WHO Framework Convention on Tobacco Control (FCTC), which envisions a tobacco-free society. A 2019 survey revealed that 28.9 percent of those aged 15 to 69 used smoked tobacco or smokeless tobacco products.  It also revealed that a smoker in Nepal smoked an average of 151 cigarettes each month, which cost them approximately 1049.3 rupees. 

For the time being, KMC’s partial or eventual blanket ban on tobacco sales, while a wise step for public health, will be a token gesture if not adequately implemented. It will, in some ways, expose the city’s bootstrap mentality, in which policy enactment is more significant than policy implementation. 

Rhishav Sapkota is a researcher at Samriddhi Foundation, an economic policy think tank based in Kathmandu. The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not represent the views of the organization.

Deepak Raj Sapkota, executive director of Karuna Foundation Nepal, speaks to Nepal Live Today’s Rhishav Sapkota about the Foundation’s program in Province 1 and how local systems can be strengthened to prevent neonatal and childhood disability.

What inspired you to establish the Karuna Foundation?

In 2007, I was considering establishing a women’s and children’s hospital. I met two people from the Netherlands who were looking to work in the area of child disability prevention in Nepal. That struck me as a good starting point for establishing a hospital. I was looking for work as well. To make ends meet, I needed to work. I was the Director of the Central Child Welfare Board (CCWB) of the Nepali government, a statutory board established in 2049 under the Children’s Act 2048 (1992).

Because of my exposure to the health challenges faced by mothers and children during my term, I was tremendously inspired to run a hospital after it ended. I imagined that this may be the start of my journey toward my ultimate goal of running a hospital. That is how I became a member of this organization. At the time, the name wasn’t Karuna. One of these Dutch people’s daughters suffered from spina bifida, spinal cord disease. They discovered this during the pregnancy but did not choose to terminate it. When I met her, she was twelve years old. They realized that if they had terminated the kid, they would not have found happiness that their daughter brought to their home. She underwent numerous treatments but continued to live her life like any other twelve-year-old would. She is a practicing nurse now.

They were debating where to travel to work on this issue, and Africa was on their mind. We got together and decided to work together.

How does the Foundation intend to address childhood disability in Nepal?

We began by working in an INGO format from 2007 to 2015. In 2016, we transformed it into a Nepali NGO. Karuna’s main goals are the prevention of childhood disability including secondary prevention and rehabilitation. Even after birth, the child may develop disabilities related to growth, vision, hearing, and other factors.

The program provides screenings for these defects prior to birth. It may take up to six months for a baby to fully hear and understand a variety of sounds, for example. This is frequently overlooked, and parents only become aware of it when intervention is no longer possible. There is a simple technique for determining this immediately after birth using an Otoacoustic Emissions (OAE) Machine.

It is widely assumed that fifty percent of birth disabilities can be avoided. As a result, even if precautions are taken, children will be born with defects. Interventions can be further taken to prevent further development of these disabilities even if they couldn’t be prevented before birth. Through community rehabilitation, we assist them in living a dignified life.

Third, and most importantly, we work to improve the system. We have concluded that projects brought about by external partners such as INGOs and NGOs can provide short-term benefits to those in need but cannot strengthen the system.

What do you believe are the major structural barriers to preventing childhood disability in Nepal, and how does the Foundation address them?

In Nepal, we have quite progressive disability policies and rules. It is more a matter of strengthening the delivery system so that those policies can be implemented.

We do not intend to establish a parallel delivery system alongside government agencies. Instead, we work to strengthen the capacity of local governments. There are many discouraging factors, but our overarching goal is to help strengthen the system that government bodies have in place.

Another mode of operation we use is a cost-sharing model. We currently only work with Province 1 under three conditions. The first is that the cost is shared by us, the provincial government, and the local government. Second, the Province government should take ownership of the program and prioritize it so that it can continue to function even after Karuna leaves.

Third, because local governments are autonomous entities, they have the right to reject our program if it does not align with their priorities.

The Province 1 government had opened a bid for this program, with the cost divided equally among the three stakeholders. We made a bid and won. Because it is transparent, it is a much better model.

What were the challenges you encountered while attempting to scale the program across Province 1?

While scaling this project, we encountered numerous challenges. We don’t have enough information about people with disabilities. The government has classified disability into ten categories. That is insufficient because they do not address the wide range of disabilities that exist. In Norway, a person who has undergone open-heart surgery is also considered to be disabled. The definition of disability needs to be more nuanced.

It is widely assumed that fifty percent of birth disabilities can be avoided. As a result, even if precautions are taken, children will be born with disabilities. Interventions can be further taken to prevent further development of these disabilities even if they couldn’t be prevented before birth.

An example of how a simple but effective policy is not implemented: the government incentivizes pregnant women to have at least four antenatal checkups. In Nepal, it has not yet become the norm. The Nepal government, through the Aama Program, even provides a financial incentive to pregnant women to undergo such checkups in order to detect any complications in their pregnancies. This policy will also be implemented through our program.

A couple trying to conceive can start taking folic acid tablets the day they decide to conceive, with the mother continuing to take it for three months after the baby is born to prevent neural tube defects such as spina bifida, hydrocephalus, claw feet, and cleft lip and palate. A folic acid tablet costs one rupee. However, there is still a lack of awareness about these simple measures, which we hope to address in Province 1.

We are working on providing the bare necessities for children with disabilities in Nepal.

We are also interested in creating profiles of people with disabilities in Province 1. In the next three years, we hope to compile a collection of profiles that will aid in the implementation of future policies.

What are the goals you hope to achieve by the end of this collaborative project with the Province 1 government and local governments?

This project began in 2019 and was supposed to end in 2025, but we believe we will extend it by a year because of the pandemic. Sunsari, Morang, Dhankuta, Bhojpur, Sankhuwasabha, Panchthar, and Illam are among the seven districts in Province 1 where we are working.

By the end of this project, we hope to have accomplished the following in the districts where we are working.

The Province 1 government and the local governments are each contributing two-thirds of the project’s cost. We intend to cut costs as the project progresses because the majority of resources will be spent on addressing the accumulated issues in the field of child disability. Our expectation, as well as the government’s commitment, is that the program will be continued even after Karuna leaves.

We anticipate that all conceiving couples will begin taking folic acid supplements when they decide to have a baby so that we can address neural tube defects in infants, that the pregnant mother will receive free antenatal checkups before birth, that all deliveries will be performed under the supervision of skilled delivery attendants, that all babies will receive vaccines and nutrition after birth, and that all infants will be screened for birth defects.

This necessitates an assessment of how inclusive the protests were, particularly for younger lawyers, and whether pertinent issues concerning them were addressed. This also calls for a close examination of the issues raised in the protests, as well as whether symptoms of underlying dysfunctions in the court were misrepresented as systemic causes in and of themselves.

Was the protest’s method ideal? Barun Ghimire, a young lawyer and a passionate advocate of migrant rights, believes that the protests’ impression on the general public is equally important. He is not, by any means, involved in the protests and believes that the protesters could have pursued legal action. “A general expectation falls on practitioners of the law to follow procedural pathways to getting what they want,” he says. “Even after weighing the possibility that a legal recourse could have been more time consuming, the protests could have been graceful. The means do not justify the ends.”

Another question is whether younger lawyers were given a voice in the protests. Senior advocates could be seen delivering speeches during the protests, giving interviews, even meeting Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba and Former Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli to press their demands. Young lawyers were relegated to the periphery, frequently serving as human barriers between security forces and senior advocates, as well as foot soldiers manning the protests. Another independent lawyer, who wished to remain anonymous, cautioned young lawyers against being “pushed around” for the political agendas of senior mobilizers.

So, are senior lawyers in charge of the entire protest narrative? Sanjay Adhikari, a young lawyer specializing in environmental and cultural conservation, denies ever being invited by the Bar Association to discuss the protests. “Those at the forefront of the protests are establishing the narrative and others are reacting accordingly,” he says. He has also not participated in the protests so far.

The momentum that any sustained protest carries in terms of media attention, unity among stakeholders on core issues, and cumulative impact on policy making can be used to facilitate a larger discourse about the reform required in any sector. Could young lawyers hope that the protests that now appear to be fizzling out will eventually bear fruit for them? Ghimire approaches it as a realist. “I see this as a continuation of events rather than a precursor to a larger reform in the judiciary,” he says. “We might expect minor changes, but structural reform is still a long shot.”

‘I see this as a continuation of events rather than a precursor to a larger reform in the judiciary. We might expect minor changes, but structural reform is still a long shot.’

He also offers his reasoning for reaching such a bleak conclusion. He believes that the issues being heralded as ones that, if resolved, will allegedly restore the sanctity of the courts are themselves the symptoms of much graver underlying issues. “Judges, judicial officials, and legal professionals do not emerge from isolation,” he says, “but are part and parcel of the environment in which they exist.” He adds that the process of introducing some form of moral deliberation throughout the judicial system must begin in law schools, alluding to two major issues: the quality of education and the impact the judiciary’s politicization has on students. He thinks that measures like a broad curriculum revision and a balancing of teacher to student ratio are prerequisites to bring positive changes in the judiciary from the ground up.

Bibek Kumar Thakur, another young lawyer, agrees with Ghimire that the nature of legal education that law schools provide should be an issue that should come to the forefront. He discovers a startling disparity between how law is taught in schools and how it is practiced outside of them. When asked what academic shifts could be made to balance this, he suggests that procedural aspects—that pertain to the processes to seek judicial remedies—of the law should be given more priority when teaching.

Ghimire provides an illustration of the general practice in judicial appointments in Nepal. He believes that there are lack of fair grounds for a student who wants to study rigorously and become a judge at the present. “Depending on one’s political connections, aspirants appear to bypass lower courts and come directly to the Supreme Court to be judges,” he says. Ghimire is not alone in pointing out these dysfunctions. Former Chief Judges of the Supreme Court have openly written about these issues in their autobiographies. He also shares an anecdote about a student who missed a class to attend a political event. When asked about his absence from class, the student responds that success in the legal field is determined by your connections rather than your merit, and thus political events are more important than classes.

Sampurna Basnet, a law graduate and the founder of Mero Wokil, an online platform that provides legal consultations, believes that law students are “indoctrinated” in law schools to have “utopian” views on the judiciary. If one speaks with law students interning at various law firms, it becomes clear what Basnet is attempting to convey. Speaking under the condition of anonymity, almost all of the interns agree that they were misled about how the judicial system works. Ideals appear to be necessary, but when students are not taught how to confront immoral legal practices, the ideals devolve into rigid, out-of-context utopian misrepresentations.

Internal corruption in the judiciary is a problem that the protests have failed to address adequately. A bribe of as little as two rupees per page is the norm to obtain something as simple as photocopies of documents that are at the court’s disposal. With pages per document ranging in the hundreds, this translates to an additional financial burden even in the normal course of business. Law interns who are required to perform duties in court quickly learn the quid pro quo arrangement for getting things done. The stakes get higher with experience. 

So, how difficult is it for young lawyers to work in the judiciary without being affiliated with any political party? Ghimire believes that because litigation is such a public profession, networking is critical to professional success. He says that competition exists in the legal profession just like it does in any other profession. Clients themselves inquire whether any favors can be obtained through political patronage, proximity to judges, and middlemen. But, Ghimire believes, the important question here is to consider what kind of lawyer one wants to be and to choose an ethical path. “Working long hours and putting in the effort will, of course, result in long-term rewards, but the ratio of effort to reward is significantly affected by one’s affiliation to a particular party,” he says. “This leads to frustration among young lawyers.” 

Another source of frustration for almost all law students who spoke with Nepal Live Today is law firms’ refusal to adequately pay their interns for their work. They believe that this is not because of firms’ inability to pay, but because of their disregard for the labor of interns out of which they are profiting.

When students are not taught how to confront immoral legal practices, the ideals devolve into rigid, out-of-context utopian misrepresentations.

One of the major reasons the legitimate concerns of young lawyers are subdued is because of a lack of discourse about these issues among young lawyers. Nepal Bar Association is sharply divided along party lines, Supreme Court Bar, High Court Bar, and  District Court Bar Units follow through in the same trend. Students of law also have no method of engaging in collective discourse for their legitimate issues. Some law schools have banned all political student unions while they exist in others. But an apolitical communion of law students is nonexistent in Nepal. A once functional Nepalese Law Students’ Association now remains virtually obsolete. It is however another concern whether an apolitical union will also be a victim of constant bickering more than collaborative pursuits.

While all these points of discussion exist, the legitimate concerns of the young legal professionals remain overshadowed by larger political agendas. It brings upon a risk of the optimistic and idealistic young legal professionals paling in their ethical determination as they get to know the insidious workings of the judicial machinery—to ultimately become part of the system they once despised. 

Pavol Barbara’s “Everest: The Hard Way” won the International Film Award. Viviana Gómez Echeverry’s “Between Fire and Water” and Tasha Van Zandt’s “After Antarctica” bagged second and third prizes, respectively. Tamara Stepanyan’s Village Des Femmes received a special jury mention.

Bishnu Kalpit’s “God’s Buffalo” won Best Documentary and Best ICIMOD Mountain Film under the Nepal Panorama section. Kiran Shrestha’s “Yet Another Winter” won the award for Best Fiction. Bibhusan Basnet and Pooja Gurung’s joint directorial, “The Big-Headed Boy, Shamans & Samurais”, received a Special Jury mention. This year’s jury included veteran Nepali theater artist and director Anup Baral, photographer and writer Caroline Fink, and climber and award-winning author Mario Casella, both from Switzerland.

Kalpit’s “God’s Buffalo” tells the story of a man who loses his prized buffalo to the Melamchi River floods. Homan Singh Shivabhakti, the protagonist, refers to the pregnant buffalo as his mother. The buffalo was rescued, but it wasn’t until Shivabhakti arrived at the shed where it was kept after being rescued that he discovered one of the rescuers was adamant about keeping it. One among the rescuers claims he risked his life to save the pregnant cattle and is entitled to compensation at the very least. The 14-minute 20-second long documentary follows Shivabhakti as he experiences hope, desperation, and surrender to the ways of the world through his bond with the buffalo. Kalpit reflected on how he came to know Shivabhakti, recalling that he was just a journalist on his way to the field for reporting when he became enthralled by the exchanges between Shivabhakti and the rescuers.

All in all, this hybrid iteration of Kimff was a mixed bag of films that hit the mark and those that could’ve tried harder. 

“Yet Another Winter” by Kiran Shrestha is the story of a mother’s never-ending efforts to make her daughter with hearing and speaking deformities speak again. She solicits shamans, defies her husband, and eventually locks her daughter up in a temple in the hopes that she will call out in desperation for her mother. Binita Thapa Magar, who plays the mother, walks a fine line between calmness and apprehension. As the silhouette of the mother-daughter duo lingers in the twilight and a flashy toy blinks in the daughter’s hands, the audience is left to wonder whether or not the daughter actually speaks after this attempt. Was the toy purchased out of joy or out of consolation?

The special jury mention, “The Big-Headed Boy, Shamans & Samurais”, a meditative, autobiographical video essay, above all, is a testimony of how the audience should be respected. It doesn’t preach and it doesn’t blackmail the audience into thinking and feeling a certain way. It involves reflection, humor, and honest questions regarding their own craft. However, as a film, it bears the brunt of the notion that a film must constantly show the audience a storyline. In one scene, two children are perched on a woodwork supporting a tin-roofed meeting place for locals. “Would you like to play in our film?” the filmmakers ask the children. “We won’t play with a bunch of bourgeois like you,” the kids respond, as the filmmakers report. The narration goes on to reflect on what the kids said. The narrator wonders if filming a lone buffalo out of a window and a corner of their room had any utility or meaning in the larger scheme of things, concluding that being a bourgeois has no bounds. It was as if their personal references to Kurosawa’s films, Samurais and Ronins in villages where no one knew about them made for a beautiful transplantation of the abstract, but the question of utility for these faces and names no one would ever know about teased them the entire time.

Journalist Ankit Khadgi’s “I Wanted To Be Like Madhuri Dixit” also received a lot of attention at the screening and on social media. While Khadgi’s personal story about his attempt to discover his feminine side is a brave compilation of footage from his life, it falls short of providing the necessary conditions to induce important revelations for the audience. The film begins with a close-up of Khadgi crying in front of the camera. It is an uncomfortable scene to watch that could potentially set the stage for dealing with more uncomfortable topics surrounding queerness in Nepali society. But the film loses tightness in its storyline just as the audience fastens their seat belts to be ready for a ride. His mother is an intriguing character in her own right, and she provides a worthy subject herself for analysis as a mother who unconditionally loves her son but is also wary of society’s perceptions of his identity.

All in all, this hybrid iteration of Kimff was a mixed bag of films that hit the mark and those that could’ve tried harder. The organizers deserve kudos for bringing a diverse array of films from around the world amid the pandemic. This year’s edition, themed ‘Climate Karma’, featured a few films and panels around the subject, but there could have been more. There were plenty of films that quenched the audience’s thirst to return to theatres again and soak in the pleasure of large, moving images.

The situation, these lawyers felt, was so urgent that political divisions between the otherwise bickering black-jacket unions temporarily dissolved. The unions were on a war footing, behind shields, swords outside their sheaths, demanding that the chief justice step down—a hard bargain to ask, even by negotiators of the law.

On November 6, the officials of Nepal Bar Association (NBA) and senior advocates met Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba to “indirectly” demand the impeachment of Rana, citing 17 reasons. The protests also picked up on the widely-reported allegation that Rana had sought a seat in the Deuba-led government.

The Prime Minister’s stance was that the judiciary should resolve its disputes within itself. A former attorney general present in the room claimed that the PM’s stance on the issue was that the ideal resolution to the judicial fiasco would be the CJ’s resignation.

On November 14, the Nepal Bar Association wrote a letter addressing the judges in the Supreme Court to stop hearing any cases the Chief Justice had allocated, saying that the NBA had demands for the Chief Justice—that he needed to stop allocating cases to benches, needed to stop sitting on one to hear any case himself, and needed to ultimately resign. The reason behind this, the NBA mentioned, was that the CJ had misused his respectable position to diminish the “sanctity of the entire judiciary system”, and had “lost all trust”.

A remedy came two weeks later, when, on November 25, a 18-member bench in the apex court decided to incorporate the lottery system in allocating cases to particular benches by amending the existing legal provisions governing the court. The decision was a first of its kind in the seventy-year long history of the institution. Hearings on all kinds of cases  in the court resumed on December 1, and the agitating lawyers started representing their clients again, and the CJ retained his position.

If in case the resignation comes, will the new inhabitant of the hallowed seat in the “sacrosanct” institution and soldiers of the politically divided lawyers’ association rally to reform the Court?

Was the lottery system, then, the elixir for what the Bar Association calls an “irreversible damage” to the judiciary?

The members of the NBA are still protesting, albeit not with the fierceness that was apparent before the judges made this latest decision. The lawyers are still calling for the CJ’s resignation. The protest, it seems, has now reached an impasse, with the CJ adamant in retaining his position. Moreover, the protests will have achieved little if it fails to bring the pertinent fundamental issues plaguing the courts of the country to the forefront.

On the ides of March, dictator of the Roman Republic Julius Caesar was assassinated by Roman senators, jealous of the dictator’s fame. The Republic fell, civil wars ensued, and the Roman Empire rose from the ashes. The reader is at liberty here to gauge the fame (and virtue) of the inhabitant at the “hallowed” seat above but where the analogy is meant to be suited is in the prognosis if the resignation comes.

It is worth repeating that the allegations against CJ are the most pointed in the history of Nepal’s judiciary. It is not just a question of whether the CJ will resign or not but one about upholding rule of law, the principle of separation of powers, and maintaining people’s eroding faith in the institution. It will be a shame if the allegations are not investigated.

It begs asking, if in case the resignation comes, will the new inhabitant of the hallowed seat in the “sacrosanct” institution and soldiers of the politically divided lawyers’ association rally to reform the Court? Or will the bickering continue, in old-new forms, under old-new slogans, while drowning in amnesia about the fragile fiction that helps the public imagine the Court as sacrosanct institution instead of an “ivory tower” of justice?

The festival this year is tagged “Climate Karma”, aiming to spark conversations on the existential threat that is climate change, according to the festival’s chairperson, Basanta Thapa.

Environmentalist and Rolex Laureate Sonam Wangchuk from Ladakh, India will open the festival this year with a keynote speech, which will be followed by the screening of “Dream Mountain”, a documentary by US-based filmmaker Kyle Ruddick.

Among the highlights for this year is the short film competition for Nepali filmmakers called “Green Growth-Green Recovery” presented by KIMFF and the European Union, and a Tiktok challenge about environmental woes presented by the festival and Save the Children, an NGO working for children rights. The festival will also screen films by local Nepali filmmakers as part of its “Nepal Panorama” section.

Three out of 40 shortlisted films will be awarded as part of the international competition, while a documentary film and a fiction film will be awarded out of 13 films shortlisted under the “Nepal Panorama” section. The films will be adjudicated by a jury that includes journalist and climber Mario Casella from Switzerland, theatre artist and director Anup Baral from Nepal.

Aside from film screenings, the festival will also witness panel discussions on climate change, titled “Coping with Climate Change”, and menstruation practices in Nepal, “Breaking Code Red—Dignity without Danger”.

The top three films in the international competition will win two hundred thousand, hundred and fifty thousand, and hundred thousand Nepali rupees, respectively. In the “Nepal Panorama” section, the best documentary film will win seventy thousand Nepali rupees while the best fiction film will win a hundred thousand Nepali rupees. The festival also has an award worth a thousand dollars to be provided to the Best Mountain Film.

Aside from film screenings, the festival will also witness panel discussions on climate change, titled “Coping with Climate Change”, and menstruation practices in Nepal, “Breaking Code Red—Dignity without Danger”. The festival will also host a photography masterclass by US-based photographer Cira Crowell, and the book launch of “Nepal Ma Mero Khoj Yatra”, the Nepali translation of Swiss geologist Toni Hagen’s “Building Bridges to the Third World.”

The festival has selected two documentaries, “Everest: By Those Who Were There—1921, 1922, 1924” and “Sustainable Summits— Climate Solutions From the Top Of The World”, as special screenings to watch out for.

“14 Peaks”, first of all, is a film about strong willpower and sacrifice. To get into mountaineering, Purja gave up his lucrative job in the British Army. Strangely, Nimsdai changed the course of his career more out of embarrassment than out of passion, as he has said in interviews elsewhere. As a native of Nepal, Nimsdai would get asked if he has ever seen Mount Everest everywhere he went during his service. Having been born in the plains of Chitwan, he had never actually seen it, and it would embarrass him to admit it. In what may have struck as a freak decision to many, Nimsdai set out to overcome that embarrassment and, in the process, he, aided by an enormously competent team, shocked the world.

The documentary manages to capture a lot of that drama and adventure, something that is strangely absent from almost all long-form visual renderings of the people who keep Nepal’s mountaineering industry running. Another similar attempt was portrayed in the film “Kancha Sherpa: Last of the First from the 1953 Conquest of Mt Everest,” which tells the story of a member of the first team to summit Mount Everest. The Netflix documentary, on the other hand, is a first of its kind in terms of reach, branding, and impact.

“14 peaks” is also an attempt to analyze a personality typology that characters like Nirmal “Nimsdai” Purja symbolize. In one instance in the film, Purja, a former British Gurkha soldier who later joined the Special Boat Service, a special operations branch of the Royal Navy in the United Kingdom, recalls his boyhood and admits to have never been able to run away from a challenge. Purja’s unceasing desire to go head-on into conflict is what allows him to accomplish feats that most others would dismiss as impossible.

The documentary, while tracing Purja’s life and the people that were most influential to it, also profiles the team members who were an integral part of the expedition team. Mingma “David” Sherpa, Lakpa Dendi, Geljen Sherpa, and Tensi Kasang each bring their unique expertise to the top-tier group of relentless mountaineers. These people, and countless others, are untapped and deserving subjects of many more films, books, and mere celebrations.

The film also acknowledges that Nepali climbers haven’t gotten their deserved share of recognition. It aims to counter the depiction of the Sherpas as fearsome mountain warriors who are also naive, and thus get a raw deal in terms of monetary and celebrity compensation. Purja’s own words demonstrate this, as he passionately opposes the concealment of Nepali mountaineers’ identities by classifying them as Sherpas. These “Sherpas” have names, ancestors, careers, and specialties, and should be addressed and dealt with in the same way that any western climber would be.

Returning to Purja, the film is also about the two women who have had the most influence in his life: his wife and mother. In contrast to Purja’s overarching dreams, his mother, who was battling her own illness until the last moments of Purja’s expeditions, provides solace to Purja on a much more intimate level. His wife, Suchi Purja, is a source of constant support for a man who was said to bite more than he could chew throughout the duration of his project.

It is a shame that Nepalis don’t often get a chance to taste the delight, wonder, and sometimes sheer horror of stories that Purja, his team, and their ilk own. For the Nepali audience, the documentary provides an opportunity to intimately witness their native heroes’ death-defying feats. For Nepali filmmakers, the documentary is an eye opener as to what the cinematic medium has to offer when competent production marries a unique story.

Nepal, too, took part in the negotiations and meetings, promising to meet ambitious climate targets. The delegation led by Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba participated in the negotiations in the hope of putting focus on issues confronting low-income countries like Nepal that are particularly vulnerable to the worst effects of climate change. Its pledges included beginning to reduce emissions in 2022 with the goal of becoming carbon negative by 2045, putting an end to deforestation while covering 45 percent of its land with forest by 2030, and ensuring climate change protection for vulnerable groups by the same year. 

To better understand Nepal’s agendas and demands, Nepal Live Today’s Rhishav Sapkota spoke with Rajan Thapa, a climate change expert who was a member of the Prime Minister’s delegation to Glasgow and climate change advisor at DanChurchAid, a Danish NGO that aims to support the world’s poorest. Excerpts: 

During the COP26 negotiations, Nepal also presented the report of a research led by you that highlighted the evidence of climate change-induced loss and damage in Nepal. Could you give a quick run through to the scope of the report?

The report focuses on “loss and damage,” which refers to the negative consequences of weather events to which people are unable or unwilling to adapt. Loss refers to impacts that are irreversible or cannot be repaired or restored, whereas damage refers to recoverable but costly impacts. These effects are direct or indirect results of climate change.

We assessed the economic and non-economic loss and damage caused by landslides in Aathbis Municipality (Dailekh), Panchadewal Binayak Municipality (Achham), and the Barbardiya Municipality’s Babai floods (Bardiya).

We wanted to learn about the negative effects on local communities because international negotiations and the media coverage that follows them focus primarily on national cumulative effects. It was an attempt to shed some light on the plight of people who are witnessing the effects of climate change on the ground.

It is critical to replicate these types of studies throughout Nepal in order to gain a better understanding of the effects of climate change in our local communities. This not only assists us in better preparing for loss and damage mitigation, adaptation, and planning but also to convince the international community about our plight.

Why Dailekh, Achham, and Bardiya?

According to the Ministry of Forests and Environment’s 2021 Vulnerability and Risk Assessment Report, Panchadewal Binayak Municipality in Achham and Barbardiya Municipality in Bardiya are “highly vulnerable” to climate change impacts, while vulnerability of Aathbis Municipality’s  is “very high.”

We wanted to investigate the economic and non-economic (psychological and social) losses and damages caused by climate change impacts in the households of these municipalities.

What were the findings of the study?

We looked into landslides in Aathbis and Panchadewal Binayak in 2020 and the floods in the Babai river in Barbardiya. We discovered that nearly all respondents had experienced heavy rainfall as an extreme climate event in the previous twenty years. Landslides in Aathbis and Panchadewal Binayak, as well as floods in Barbaridya, have been the most frequent and intense in recent years.

The total economic loss for the 97 households we surveyed in the three municipalities was USD 388,355, averaging a loss of USD 4,176 per household. Although no injury or fatality were reported, post-disaster psychological distress was more prevalent among the respondents.

How effective were the governmental and non-governmental mechanisms in their response to these events?

Despite the efforts of the government and non-governmental organizations to provide solutions, we discovered significant disparities. In Barbaridya, the gaps ranged from USD 1000 to 2300 in landslide-affected households and from USD 70 to 13580 in flood-affected households. The affected communities in Aathbas and Panchadewal Binayak did not receive any compensation to deal with the aftermath of the disaster. As a result, many people were forced to flee to safer areas after taking out loans to buy land on which to build new homes. More than 87 percent of the respondents took loans in this process but studies of these kinds of financial burdens imposed on communities because of climate induced disasters are scant and inadequate.

There also seems to be a prevalence of a misconception in general understanding and media coverage that leads to people quickly associating climate induced disasters to climate change. What do you think is the case?

Climate change is not the direct cause of all climate-related disasters. We cannot be too quick to pass judgment on these disasters, but a careful examination of the pattern of these occurrences will undoubtedly aid in determining the causes of the case at hand. For example, the Mahakali river in Terai experienced the worst post-monsoon floods in 96 years. Even after the monsoon, we’re seeing an increase in short-duration, high-volume rainfall patterns across Nepal. These may be related to climate change, but further research is required.

You were also a part of the delegation from Nepal to the recent COP26. What were the major agendas that Nepal pushed?

We could safely say that a lot of preparation was done in the run up to the Conference on behalf of Nepal. We had prepared our position paper after repeated consultations and discussion among delegates. We pushed forward 3 major agendas:

Climate finance: We emphasized that low-income countries, such as Nepal, are the least prepared to adapt to rapidly changing climate and its consequences. In 2009, it was agreed that by 2020, USD 100 billion in climate finance would be mobilized annually. In this regard, the parties have fallen short. The COP 26 Pact, on the other hand, requires developed countries to at least double their collective commitments to developing countries from 2019 levels by 2020.

At COP 26, the parties agreed to launch the two-year Glasgow-Sharm el Sheikh Work Programme on the Global Goal on Adaptation (The GlaSS). This is a significant step that should be applauded, but mobilization of already established climate finance goals is something we should consistently push for.

Climate change induced loss and damage: We insisted that countries like ours receive financial assistance through a separate stand-alone mechanism. This issue had received insufficient attention until recently.

Although no general agreement could be reached on the establishment of a loss and damage financing mechanism, it was agreed that the Santiago Network would organize and fund technical assistance to deal with loss and damage caused by climate-related disasters.

Prioritizing our vulnerable mountains: At COP 26, Nepal pushed our demands for the prioritization and inclusion of our mountains, as well as the cryosphere, in the negotiations. The rapidly melting glaciers in our Himalayas necessitate immediate action. There were also bilateral talks between the United Kingdom and Nepal, during which financial commitments were made. The UK government agreed to give mountainous countries 250 million pounds. In addition, USD five million will be channeled through the UN for the same purpose in Nepal.

Lastly, what do you think are the problematic practices in media when it comes to covering climate related issues?

I’ve noticed that climate change and climate issues are only given priority in news coverage during and after climate-related conferences such as the COP26. Or, when floods are common during the monsoon, they get a lot of attention, but follow-ups on the structural causes of avoidable floods are scarce. Air pollution is covered in the winter, but follow-up stories are non-existent during the monsoon season. 

When it comes to associating climate change with almost all climate-related disasters, I also see a confirmation bias. As a result, consistent and in-depth stories on climate issues continue to be lacking in our media ecosystem, which does not help in inspiring the general public or the relevant authorities to take the necessary action to deal with climate-induced disaster.

The Index takes into account factors such as nutrition, child mortality, years of schooling, housing, and assets. Although the report does not include data from before and after the pandemic, the statistics, as the report points out, can be used as a baseline to compare changes in MPI as a result of the pandemic’s consequences.

According to the report, the “incidence of multidimensional poverty” fell from 30.1 percent in 2014 to 17.4 percent in 2019. It also notes that for those five years, over 3 million people rose above the Index’s poverty line. In 2019, a little less than five million people in Nepal were “multidimensionally poor”.

The findings, however, were not satisfactory news for children. As Elke Wisch, Representative of the United Nations Children’s Fund Nepal, and Ayshanie Medagandoda-Labe, Representative of the United Nations Development Program, note, children under the age of 18, who make up 35 percent of the population, accounted for 44 percent of Nepal’s multidimensionally poor.

The report also shows a rural/urban divide in “multidimensional poverty,” stating that while approximately 32% of Nepalis live in rural areas, 52.4 percent of the total “multidimensionally poor” live in these areas.

The report did note, however, that no other country with comparable levels of initial poverty had made progress, while also acknowledging that the pandemic had deprived more than half of the country’s population of adequate nutrition, water, and cooking fuel, all of which are critical to the Index. This is especially significant given that more than half of the country’s population was on the verge of leaving “MPI poverty” if one or two of the “deprivations” used as parameters in the Index could be reduced.

The report also shows a rural/urban divide in “multidimensional poverty,” stating that while approximately 32% of Nepalis live in rural areas, 52.4 percent of the total “multidimensionally poor” live in these areas.

The report also compared MPIs across Nepal’s provinces. Karnali province fared the worst, with over 39 percent of its residents classified as “MPI poor.” Sudurpaschim Province had 25.3 percent of its people classified as “MPI poor,” 24.2 percent in Province 2, 9.6 percent in Gandaki Province, and Bagmati Province had the fewest at 7 percent. According to the data, 28 percent of people in rural areas and 12.3 percent of people in urban areas were “MPI poor.”

Province 2 had the highest number of “MPI poor” people, accounting for 1.3 million people. Lumbini Province trails Province 2 in terms of “multidimensional poverty,” with 1 million people, while Province 1 accounts for 770,000. Province 2 did, however, manage to lift 800,000 people out of poverty, the most for any province in terms of proportion.

The report advocates for targeted poverty alleviation policies, particularly after the pandemic, because those already vulnerable to MPI poverty will be the most vulnerable to COVID-19 deprivation. The MPI, according to the report, addresses a “subset of priorities” envisioned in Nepal’s current 15th Periodic Plan, the Sustainable Development Goals: Status and Roadmap Report 2016-2030, and the Nepali Constitution.

The expedition spanned from October 23 to November 2. The vloggers/creators who were free to create their own content will be featured in a reality show that is currently in post-production. 

The idea for the show, according to Shree Gurung, the project’s chief, germinated from the realization that melting glaciers in the Himalayas required immediate attention—and that vloggers were the ideal storytellers in this case because they had their own distinct approaches to storytelling as well as their own audience niche.

The project team enabling the trek included world record-holder climbers Kami Rita Sherpa and Mingma David Sherpa, as well as the popular Indian TV show host Nikhil Chinapa.

The inclusion of Kami Rita Sherpa, who has summited Mt Everest 25 times, and Mingma David Sherpa, youngest mountaineer to summit all peaks above 8000 metres, in the team was both strategic in terms of the knowledge they had to offer about the mountains and also a bid to create empathy for mountaineers, according to Gurung. Nikhil Chinapa, who is associated with MTV, will host the show in the making. Gurung estimates the project would reach at least 30 million people worldwide.

The challenge coincided with COP26, the global climate change conference that ended recently. Nepal is one of the most vulnerable countries to the unfolding climate crisis, a fact that is manifest perhaps nowhere so prominently than in the Himalayas, a fact the vlog challenge wanted to underscore. 

At the “COP 26 Making Business” event in Glasgow on November 9, 2021, Nepal’s Minister of Forests and Environment Ramsahay Prasad Yadav announced a “world leading commitment” to remain a net-zero carbon country from 2022-2045 and then become a carbon negative country thereafter. The commitments included a halt to deforestation and an increase in forest cover to 45 percent of the country’s area, as well as a goal to protect all people vulnerable to climate change by 2030.

The commitments have been criticised as vague and over-ambitious, and the Minister acknowledges this obliquely, claiming that it will take at least US$ 196 billion to achieve carbon neutrality.

While realistic and effective policies will make redress possible in this delicate ecosystem, widespread awareness about the precarious and continuously degrading glaciers is crucial. The COP 26 was about countries taking the initiative to, among other things, adapt to the irreversible environmental effects of climate change, which is impossible when there is apathy surrounding these issues. 

While developing countries are attempting to hold developed countries more accountable for their carbon emissions, public awareness of climate change and its ongoing effects is an imperative for citizens to hold their own governments more accountable. Initiatives like the “World Vlog Challenge: Everest” certainly work in favor of that prerequisite.

“Well, I want to know everything there is to know about you,” I respond.

The man exudes confidence when he decides to give a quick run-through of his life, which I listen to intently, hoping to pick up on tangents.

Dr Adhikari is a clinical neurophysiologist and neurologist who specializes in epilepsy, neuromuscular and autonomic disorders. He recently moved back to Nepal—leaving behind a lucrative career and a comfortably settled life in the United States—to create an ecosystem of organizations that will work in unison to do research, testing, diagnoses, and treatments for the yet little known set of neurological disorders in Nepal. It is an initiative unprecedented and unparalleled in Nepal. Adhikari’s life may not exactly be a rags-to-riches story, but it is a compelling one of how genuine interest, hard work, and consistency lead a man to excel in a seldom-trodden field.

Adhikari was born and raised in Kathmandu in a well-to-do, educated family. His father was a political science graduate from an Ivy-league university, his grandfather a Guruju for Nepal’s Royal family. His father worked as a state advisor, mostly on political appointments, and his mother was an entrepreneur who started her own school, where Adhikari also studied for a while.

Adhikari remembers wandering around the city with his childhood friends, and thinking that because he was not “the bookworm”, success would not come in flocks for him. But for a man who is now a clinical neurophysiologist and neurologist specializing in the as-yet largely unexplored field of epilepsy, neuromuscular and autonomic disorders, life has turned out better than he thought it would.

It is also safe to say that the man has chosen his own trials for the entirety of his adult life. Once he returned to Nepal, Adhikari established his own Medharma CliniX, a clinic focused on epilepsy, neuromuscular and autonomic disorders, where he offers his specialized services, and he also works part-time at the Mediciti Hospital. Adhikari also has other ongoing projects and larger expansion plans.

After completing his medical undergraduate studies in Bangladesh, Adhikari returned to Nepal and worked as a house officer in various locations. However, a sight in the Teaching Hospital’s library halls altered his perception of what a career should entail. He couldn’t help but wonder why the throngs of “bright students” were huddling up in the halls for hours on end preparing for the United States Medical Licensing Examinations (USMLEs). With his interest piqued, he quit his steady job as a house officer and began studying full-time for the examinations. In retrospect, he attributes this decision to two major factors: a lack of intellectual stimulation in his job and a tendency to trust his gut instinct. One can’t help but wonder if his success in life is due to his faith in instincts.

Adhikari’s experience as a house officer led him to realize how inefficiently healthcare has been managed by non-medical personnel. It led him down an unorthodox path that no one he knew had taken before, but also amounted to the life of intellectual adventures he craved in his first stable job.

Adhikari’s life may not exactly be a rags-to-riches story, but it is a compelling one of how genuine interest, hard work, and consistency lead a man to excel in a seldom-trodden field.

Adhikari then applied for a Master’s degree in Healthcare Management in the United States and was awarded a full scholarship. When Hurricane Katrina hit, in 2005, he had just finished his first semester at the University of New Orleans. He was then required to transfer to Louisiana University, coming back to New Orleans after a semester. He and his wife then relocated to Houston where he got a medical assistantship in neurology. The move was more for an experience than money, Adhikari says.

Adhikari was accompanied by his now dentist wife, who was then studying to be one. Adhikari married her while studying for the USMLEs in Nepal. At this point of the conversation, I make a joke about how he got married while unemployed and how his wife must have had a lot of faith in him. He laughs at the rib-poking and says, “That’s the hard way to put it, but the right way.” He also mentions that his wife has always served as an advisor in his life, balancing his intuition with her more rational nature.

After a brief six months stay in Houston, he then went to Baylor College of Medicine as a research scientist, where he tested for autonomic disorders—a frontier in medicine yet to be adequately explored. He considers the most valuable skill he learned at Baylor to be learning how world leaders in neuromuscular and autonomic disorders think. “The great professors I had there taught me that what you know isn’t as important as how you think,” he recalls fondly. “They taught me humility, which I try to practice in my profession, especially when I talk to my students.”

Adhikari’s instincts struck him again after understanding the complexities of autonomic disorders testing techniques. He wanted to understand the pathophysiology of the rarest autonomic disorders. This led him to the New York Medical College School of Medicine for a clinical fellowship in autonomic disorders after contacting Dr Steven Vernino, vice-chair of Education and Faculty Affairs at the University of Texas, who recommended him for a clinical fellowship position at the New York Medical College School of Medicine (NYU).

From 2009 to 2011, he spent two years in New York studying under world-renowned Professor Dr Horacio Kaufmann. He found the experience particularly difficult due to the volume of patients and the types of diagnosis and treatment required for autonomic disorders. Adhikari’s research and clinical experience at NYU led him to San Antonio where he could harness his expertise and complete his remaining training in neurology and neurophysiology (epilepsy and neuromuscular disorders). This enabled him to tuck these three domains—epilepsy, neuromuscular and autonomic disorders—under his specialty training. The icing on the cake was that the University of Texas San Antonio has one of the best dental programs in the country. His wife, Dr Anu Adhikari was also accepted into the International Dental Education program in the same university at the same time. After completing his training, Adhikari’s experience allowed him to advance to the position of Associate Professor within three years of starting as an Assistant Professor, a position most people get only after six to seven years.

His plans to help people in Nepal are motivated primarily by the satisfaction he derives from being able to make a significant difference in the lives of patients and their families here in Nepal, he says.

By that time, the couple had two children. The family settled in, friendships flourished, and careers were rewarding. The hard-fought victories were beginning to bear fruit. Why, then, would he choose to return to Nepal with his family, despite significantly lower pay and an uncertain future? Adhikari’s intuition was once again to blame, along with a dash of confidence, a reserve he has used repeatedly in his life.

~~

To understand why Adhikari decided to return back to Nepal, one has to understand the nature of conditions like epilepsy, neuromuscular and autonomic disorders, and the plight of the people in Nepal who suffer from it.

The World Health Organization estimates that more than 50 million people suffer from epilepsy, a medical condition that is “too often misunderstood.” Despite the fact that the condition is a neurological disorder caused by “brief disturbances in the electrical functions of the brain” manifesting itself as recurrent seizures, it is confused with being possessed by evil spirits and other superstitions, and being contagious. These misunderstandings continue to cloud the true picture. 

When patients have such illnesses, Adhikari explains that they can experience several types of seizures. When people think about seizures, the most frequent image that comes to mind is of a person’s entire body shuddering uncontrollably, which is technically known as generalized tonic clonic seizures. But, according to Adhikari, this is when the complexity begins. He points out that myoclonic seizures (brief shaking of a part of the body), atonic seizures (losing tone of the body and falling to the ground), staring episodes (seen mostly in children but also in adults) are all symptoms that people don’t usually identify as seizures.

In Nepal, seizure research is insufficient. According to Adhikari, who cites Dr Krishna C. Rajbhandari’s 2003 study ‘Epilepsy in Nepal,’ the traditional ways of treating such diseases in Nepal are mostly based on superstitions. Rajbhandari’s study, which included 300 then newly diagnosed epilepsy patients from the Chhetriya, Brahmin, Vaidya, Newar, Shudra, and Buddhist communities diagnosed in Shree Birendra Military Hospital in Kathmandu, found that superstitious therapies are common in all of them. Worshipping family gods, wearing mantra lockets, sacrificing animals, worshipping ancestors, and even violent beatings with broomsticks and iron rods were among the most common pseudo-remedies.

He references a study published in the International League Against Epilepsy’s journal Epilepsia in 2017 titled “Epilepsy in Asia: Disease burden, management hurdles, and difficulties.” According to the study, epilepsy patients abound in the Nepali population. Epilepsy affects at least 7 out of every 1000 Nepalis.

“Epilepsy is caused by a multitude of things,” he explains, citing the findings, “including traumatic brain injuries, prenatal traumas, strokes, and, more interestingly, central nervous system infections caused by neurocysticercosis, a preventable condition caused by swine tapeworm larval cysts.” To add to the misery, this preventable parasitic infection causes 47 percent of epilepsy cases in Nepal. The treatment gap in Nepal is likewise unacceptable, with more than 70 out of 100 patients being untreated. “However, because such illnesses are still underdiagnosed in Nepal, we can’t be confident in the treatment gap number,” Adhikari says.

Adhikari and his team members, Dr Gaurab Nepal and Dr Bharat Khatri, among others, conducted their own study among 127 health care professionals in district hospitals and primary healthcare centers after being dissatisfied with local statistics on epilepsy in Nepal. According to the survey, the majority of patients seek care for generalized tonic clonic seizures (full-body convulsions), if not two or more symptoms. Similarly, the afflicted demographic is dominated by those aged 10 to 40. Almost 80% of the instances of epilepsy were found to be caused by traumatic head traumas. However, the signs and symptoms of such illnesses go far beyond convulsions and tremors. Bipolar illnesses, sadness and anxiety, as well as alcohol and substance misuse, are all related symptoms.

The government provides subsidized medication in these circumstances, but Adhikari claims that the medications provided are insufficient. According to WHO, more than 80% of epileptics live in “low or middle-income countries,” such as Nepal. It also claims that with medical treatment that costs less than $5 per year, 70% of people with epilepsy can be “seizure free”. 

“We’re sitting between the two biggest pharmaceutical industries in the world and there is no justifiable reason whatsoever that we should be deprived of the medicines we need,” Adhikari says, pointing to yet another hurdle that comes with trying to bring subsidized medicines from these markets. “Regulatory bodies like the Drug Development Administration must consistently check the quality of these imported medications to assure that substandard medications aren’t prescribed to patients,” he says.

Adhikari brings up another figure calculated by WHO that says at least 1% of a country’s population has epilepsy (diagnosed or undiagnosed), which translates to 300,000 patients in Nepal. His plans to help people in Nepal are motivated primarily by the satisfaction he derives from being able to make a significant difference in the lives of patients and their families here in Nepal, he says. “In the short time I’ve been working in Nepal, I’ve realized that small changes that optimize the treatment that people get here can bring enormous changes in recovery,” he says. His optimism pervades his other plans to establish Nepal as a South Asian epileptic treatment center serving people in the region. “The other reason that I want to focus on epilepsy is the sheer amount of patients that we have in Nepal and the stigma associated with it, which I’m confident can be controlled with proper treatment,” he says.

Adhikari does not deny the importance of the work done by Nepali neurologists in the field. However, his vision extends to the creation of an ecosystem of layered organizations that can collaborate with one another to effectively deal with neurological disorders by channeling their resources.

Adhikari founded the Nepali League Against Epilepsy (NLAE) after discovering that the problems associated with epilepsy are caused, in the first place, by a lack of knowledge and diagnosis. He envisioned the forum as a safe and secure environment in which epilepsy patients and doctors could ask specialists direct questions about the condition. People who are interested can ask questions in League’s private Facebook group without worrying about their privacy being invaded. “The alliance has been getting very encouraging responses from patients of all backgrounds,” he says.

He established the Global Nepali Health and Research Center (GNHRC) to address the paucity of research on the epileptic population in Nepal. The research center is currently preparing a paper based on 127 responses from healthcare professionals working in district hospitals, primary care clinics, and rural health clinics. One of the intriguing findings of previous research on epileptic patients in Nepal is that the majority of cases of epilepsy have been caused by neurocysticercosis, the parasitic infection previously discussed. “The paper also intends to address the accuracy of these figures because we suspect that epileptic cases with other causes have been under-diagnosed,” he says. “We believe this paper will be a landmark in epilepsy research in Nepal.”

The research center recently signed a Memorandum of Understanding with the University of Texas Southwestern that will allow doctors who have completed their residencies in Nepal to study at the latter institution—all expenses covered. The research center has also partnered with the University of Newcastle in the United Kingdom, which will assist the center in providing training programs to medical professionals to treat and manage complex neuromuscular disorders.

He is currently registering another organization—the Muscular Dystrophy Association of Nepal (MDAN). Talks are underway between the University and the GNHRC and MDAN to collaborate on treating and managing complex neuromuscular disorders which also includes genetic material testing. The complexities now lie in navigating guidelines and borders in order to send genetic material for testing from Nepal to University of Newcastle. “We believe that this will greatly assist in research here in Nepal as well as in developing the manpower that we currently desperately require,” he says, earnestly.

His clinic, Medharma CliniX, then works as a station to treat all kinds of epilepsy, neuromuscular and autonomic disorders where he looks forward to working with his dentist wife on treating their patients. 

~~

Our conversation then steers toward the patient-doctor relationship which is part and partial of virtually all medical practices. He has his own opinions on it, too. “It is high time we introduce a time-based fee schedule across all fields.” His argument goes against the traditional practices that are prevalent in Nepal’s medical field. He reasons that a rigid fee schedule actually hampers the treatment that patients get. As medical professionals, he says, are all taught the necessity in being thorough when recording patient history. “But doctors aren’t isolated from the corporate environment that hospitals operate in,” he adds. “They are in this paradoxical dilemma of keeping up with the patients’ count from management while ensuring that the diagnoses and treatments they offer are scrutinous and thorough.”

A rigid one-time fee, he reasons, works against the needs of the patients, which invites other implications such as repetitive-but-redundant testings and multiple visits. “The status quo eventually burdens the patients more because this equates to them paying more than they ideally should,” he says. “This ends up affecting the entire families of patients in money and worry because they are forced to alternate between different hospitals when they don’t get the treatment they need and are satisfied with.” Instead, he reasons, patients should be able to get exhaustive treatments from fewer and more specialized places. “However, a time-based fee schedule should be totally transparent and regulated properly by regulators.”

Adhikari does not deny the importance of the work done by Nepali neurologists in the field. However, his vision extends to the creation of an ecosystem of layered organizations that can collaborate with one another to effectively deal with neurological disorders by channeling their resources. Is it possible that he bit off more than he can chew? “No, but it is a long-term strategy with plenty of challenges.”

For now, the man who seeks to create a proper ecosystem for the research and treatment of epilepsy, neuromuscular, and autonomic disorders in Nepal is on yet another seldom trodden journey. Will he succeed? There are many factors international and national, technical and philosophical that will work against his vision. Does he have any philosophical misgivings about it? He has a pretty succinct answer: “All I’m trying to do is do the right things without hurting anyone.”

On the other side of the border, in Nepal, the National Child Rights Council took up the mantle to reconcile the children with their families. Namuna Bhusal, head of the Child Protection Department at the National Child Rights Council, informed Nepal Live Today about the situation. “Few Mumbai-based organizations working for the welfare of children notified us about the case,” she said. “We received them after they arrived in Nepal, located their families, and coordinated with the local law enforcement agencies to reconcile them with their families.”

Of the 12 children, 10 were from Rautahat, 1 from Sarlahi, and 1 from Mahottari, Bhusal confirmed. Most of the parents hadn’t lodged a complaint regarding the disappearance of their children. “All of the children were from a poor background,” Bhusal added. “They didn’t have adequate resources to join online classes. When children like them didn’t get to go to school owing to the pandemic they chose to try to earn money instead.”

According to Bhusal, the Council doesn’t yet have any completed research on the effects of the pandemic on children from a poor economic background, one of which is the shift of children towards child labor. Bhusal said that the Council is currently carrying out research on the subject.

Child labor and trafficking, however, are not new phenomenons in Nepal. The National Human Rights Council in 2019 released a report that estimated that nearly 35,000 Nepali citizens—5000 of whom are children—were trafficked every year.

Gauri Pradhan, Child Rights Defender and former Commissioner for the National Human Rights Council, said that, for Nepali society, child labor is a vicious cycle. “Poverty forces children into child labor while child labor also forces families into poverty because it reduces their net income and bargaining power,” he said.

Pradhan explained that there were two kinds of child labor prevalent in Nepal, in the organized and unorganized sectors. He further added that except in brick kilns, child labor has drastically decreased in Nepal. Pradhan, however, professes ignorance about whether these rescued children have joined schools and are out of the labor market, or have joined the informal unorganized labor market.

“We’ve seen a gradual decrease of children below 14 years of age being used for their labor in the informal sector but we’re still seeing an increase in children between 14 and 17 active in the labor market,” Pradhan said.

In Save the Children’s 2019 End of Childhood Index, Nepal ranked 134 while India ranked 113. The index took account of eight indicators, including child health, education, labor, marriage, childbirth and violence.

The government recently prepared an Action Plan to help implement the 10-year masterplan to abolish worst form of child labor in Nepal by 2028. However, there is a lot of work to be done to implement this policy, Pradhan says.

“India has the largest number of child laborers in the world. As Nepal shares an open border with India, most children who end up in the clutches of child labor end up there,” Pradhan said. “Except in brick kilns, where children from India arrive in flocks in certain seasons, it is generally Nepali children who go to the other side.”

He also added that certain children go to India to work with middlemen posing as their guardians. “Nepal has vowed to end child labor in its policies, and its international and national commitments are also along the same lines,” he said. 

The government recently prepared an Action Plan to help implement the 10-year master plan to abolish the worst form of child labor in Nepal by 2028. However, there is a lot of work to be done to implement this policy, Pradhan says. He explained that general child labor takes place when children are forced to work while also attending school and live with their parents; whereas, the worst form of child labor is when children are made to work without letting them attend school and providing them other basic amenities of life.

 The National Human Rights Council in 2019 released a report that estimated that nearly 35,000 Nepali citizens—5000 of whom are children—were trafficked every year.

Bhusal, the department head for Child Protection at National Child Rights Council, and Pradhan, the child rights defender, both agree that coordination between local level governments and the federal government is a must when it comes to solving a perpetual problem like child labor in Nepal. “The previous arrangement where there used to be Child Welfare Boards in the federal and district levels should be effectively replaced by proper arrangements in the local level government,” Pradhan said, urging that anyone who suspects that children have been trafficked for labor and other purposes to contact the helpline 104 at the Children Search Coordination Centre.

The only two things the theatre has that would qualify as invitations to a random stroller, apart from the name painted on its entrance, are a slightly protruding board on a pole with its name, and, down below, a lone stand holding a copy of the coverage of the show in one of the few English broadsheet dailies in Nepal. There is no other way a layperson would know that the place had a theatre in its womb unless they had heard or read about it.

One could lazily assume that the theatre’s austerity and lack of advertisement upfront are because of financial compulsions more than the owner’s choices. But one is also forced to question that assumption after watching the show and talking with the man himself.  The narrative plot, Bharati’s performance, and the theatre house he has built at the place where his own house once stood, all have the potential to stand alone, and, more importantly, speak for themselves.

Before Bharati starts his act, a combination of monologues and recollections of encounters he’s had over the years as a theatre artist, the audience hears a continuous ticking sound. As the sound permeates through the black box theatre, building suspense, an announcer comes to the front to perform the usual drill of reminding the audience to be what they should be—a good audience, their phones switched off, no unnecessary movement or sound. Ironically, the reminder is interrupted by the arrival of a few more audience members. As the latecomers find their way to their seats, a particularly blunt member of the audience complains about how Nepalis have a loose sense of time. The announcer then gives a peculiar permission to the audience—that, once the play is over, they can shout and scold the actor but should refrain from manhandling him. The audience bursts out in laughter.

As the stage light goes on and the audience sees, for the first time, Bharati, who is playing Prayas naked except in short tights, rocking back and forth on his back, in sync with the ticking sound, it is immediately evident that the character doesn’t plan on being coy.

Bharati himself is keen on knowing on which basket of genres people who watch the play will toss it in. Some have called it “genre-defying”. Others haven’t bothered. And it is certainly a difficult task to typecast the play. The play is a melodrama in the sense that it dances in extremes. It is a tragedy because the great sorrow of not knowing who one truly is burns the character from within. And if an existentialist like Sartre was in the audience, he would certainly empathize with the character but would perhaps also have a succinct answer to his qualms—that his attempts to find a rational order in life are futile.

The play, however, is less about finding the answer to why he is in this world and more about finding the answer to who he is. It reminds one of Charles Horton Cooley’s famous lines—“I am not who you think I am; I am not who I think I am; I am who I think you think I am.” Prayas isn’t unaware of this dilemma but he gives the impression that he is already disenchanted by the answer. He isn’t ready to accept that he is who he thinks people think he is. But for that matter, he also isn’t ready to accept any answer at all. This philosophical and emotionally charged vertigo he puts himself through seems to originate from his own guilt and a sense of regret, the exactness of which the audience has a hard time figuring out.

I was planning to ask Bharati, who also wrote the play, later whether that was the case and if it resonated with his own life. It was a foolish question because often a writer finds the depths of his characters alongside his own depths and also because the play was filled with reflections on his own life as an artist. So I instead asked him how honest he thought he was in portraying that through Prayas. This time, it wasn’t me who thought it was a foolish question. Bharati, unintentionally, did that for me. He said that as an artist he always strives to be honest and it was not him but me who should be able to tell how honest he was. 

And honest he was. The black box theatre was designed with props in a way that made one feel that one was prying the character’s psyche. Each prop was a metaphor, some used throughout the play while others just laid there, open for interpretation. On either side of the wall hung shards of broken mirrors which Prayas refers to as unchangeable windows of perceptions. It was as if he saw society’s perceptions of him in them and vehemently disliked them. The other times, he would look into the audience proudly announcing in wails that he was a demon.

By the end of the play, it was clear what he was doing. He was accepting society’s claims about him, internalizing them, questioning them, disliking them, and tearing them off him. But every time he did that, he seemed more distraught. The constant association and dissociation with identities didn’t only take a toll on Prayas but the audience, too.

But those were moments where the brilliance of the actor shone through. To add to the effect, as each character changed into another, the lights would go off and Bharati would appear again as a different man, evolving with each blackout. 

In one of the monologues, Prayas announces a revelation he’s had. When reflecting on what acting truly meant, he exclaims that it was in not trying that the secret lay. It feels like he finally fully understood the paradox of his own craft. But like all revelations, it also took away something—the sense of wonder attached to actors he once saw as idols.

Bharati in “Ma” constructs plays within the play. He is acting as Prayas but Prayas is also reenacting the plays he has done throughout his life. Bharati is acting as Prayas but then Prayas is acting as numerous other characters.  Somewhere, one can’t help but wonder where Bharati ends and Prayas begins.

Bharati later reveals off-stage where he felt he was acting most naturally. In the play, after reenacting the role of a lying politician who churns out false promises without flinching, Prayas turns to a bhatti at the end of the day. “The most authentic act we all do is when we’re going through life trying to be who we think we are,” Bharati said. “For me, the most authentic act I did in the play was when I asked the didi in the bhatti for a drink because I didn’t have to be anyone else. I just had to be myself.”

Throughout the play, clothes hanging on a thread move up and down for Prayas to pick one up and mold himself into the character wearing the costume. As the time for one character ends, he takes the clothes off, hangs them on the thread again which then is pulled upwards. This effect, along with the occasional disappearance of Prayas into the darkness, creates a dream-like effect. A dream where Prayas is taking the audience on a ride, nitpicking his conscience, and asking them questions that strangely reflect the moral see-sawing of all humans. And it is when Prayas isn’t wearing any costume, when he is in his short tights that don’t leave much for the imagination, that he truly looks vulnerable. As almost everything that was present in the carefully designed black box, at the center lay a circle where Prayas could be truly alone. It was there that his most profound and honest realizations came to him; the closest he could get to his Jungian archetypal self.

“Ma” by Bharati is a cry for answers. It is an emotional roller-coaster and yet a violent in-your-face round-robin between the people inside Prayas, and maybe even Bharati himself. What it isn’t, however, is a masquerade. Although repetitive in its narrative storytelling in some places, and borderline overuse of rhetorics, the play largely manages to stay on course. And it is in some special moments, where the play manages to kiss the silver lining of the perfect flow, that one gets to know the range of Bharati’s performance. 

At one point in the play, Prayas says, “We all need fantasy to go to sleep.” Maybe Bharati also fantasizes about finding who he truly is when he goes to sleep.

The play runs from September 17 to October 6 at Purano Ghar, Sinamangal.

Organized by the Delegation of the European Union to Nepal, the annual collaborative festival has completed its tenth edition this year. Like its previous editions, this year’s festival showcased a diverse selection of films, with different cultural origins, flaunting disparate narrative techniques, albeit in a virtual mode.

Representing Nepal at the fest were Dhondup Tsering’s “Ama Khando,” Binod Paudel’s “Bulbul,” Ganesh Panday’s “Co-Husband,” Sergio Basso’s “Sarita—Tell Me Who I Am,” and Rajan Kathet’s “Split Ends”.

The films, by and large, brought to screen subjects seldom explored and talked about in mainstream discourse. One such film, “Bulbul”, ricochets between the excitement of an incipient romance and the melancholy of having been away from her husband experienced by a woman tempo driver in Kathmandu. The film talks about relationships and not just any. It talks about the taxation of love when it is far away but also how the protagonist carefully  unshackles her inhibitions to an affair she thought was love. The film reaches its resolution abruptly but one could argue that it didn’t need one because that is how life often functions.

Another film, “Co-husband”, a documentary, revolves around the practice of polyandry in western Nepal and shows the many strands of family dynamic, subtly, and sometimes, crudely. The documentary doesn’t arrive in the usual bandwagon carrying an insufferable  mood and a paternalistic gaze but almost gleefully captures the story. One can’t help but notice how capital, especially political, helps shield oneself from social castrating.

Many panel discussions ran concurrently with the screenings at the fest. Nepali and European filmmakers engaged in discussions on various topics, notably “Women in Films”; more specifically, the fest featured a masterclass on “Green Filmmaking.”

The panel discussion on “Women in Films” shed light on some of the explicit and implicit issues that women in the filmmaking industry are bound to face disproportionately in both Europe and Nepal.

As part of the panel, Alexia Muinos Ruiz, director of the European Women’s Audiovisual Network, presented a research paper that documented the unequal funding, networking, and recruitment that women face in the filmmaking industries across Europe.

“The majority of funding resources go into films that are not directed by women,” Ruiz said. “Low funding perpetuates the scarcity of women-directed films.”

Ramyata Limbu, director of the Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival, agreed with Ruiz. There are parallels to the plight of women in Nepal’s filmmaking industry, Limbu said. “However, as far as I am aware, no research has been conducted in the field [in Nepal], leaving us without gendered data,” she added.

Marie Vermeiren, director of the Women’s Film Festival, stressed on the importance of creating a larger network of women-led film festivals so that women professionals from all over the world can connect and exchange ideas about film and work.

Among the panelists was Nepali filmmaker Sampada Malla, who is currently in charge of creating Crime Patrol Nepal, a crime-fiction show that Malla proudly claims is the largest television show produced in Nepal. 

“I am currently in charge of a 200-person crew that includes about a dozen directors and writers,” Malla said. 

“I was 21 when I moved to Mumbai to work on a top-tier Hindi movie series, and I was the first Nepali woman there,” Malla said. “The idea of a creative career is fairly new in Nepal, particularly for women, so it all starts at home and with the upbringing children receive.”

Dr. Alberto Battochi, Film Commissioner at Trentino Film Commission in the Autonomous Province of Trento, Italy, moderated a discussion on Green Filmmaking. He explained that the Film Commission for which he works, one of 20 in Italy (one for each region), is a public office aimed at attracting investments, and thus talent, for Trentino films.

He described the working model of a film commission, which is virtually non-existent in Nepal. The commission provides a variety of services to production companies filming in Trentino, including scouting locations, contacting local authorities and professionals, facilitating the process of obtaining permits and special deals in hospitality, and finding logistical and technical solutions.

The “Green Film Rating System” hopes to reduce power consumption on sets, reduce vehicle use, improve material selection, manage waste more effectively, and communicate that film production must also be done in an environmentally sustainable manner.

But it was the introduction of a system of checks and guidelines for production companies to follow on a voluntary basis, known as the “Green Film Rating System”, that really stole the show in Dr. Battochi’s presentation; the system ensures that films in Trentino were made in an environmentally sustainable way. These productions would then be certified and prized as “Green Film.”

Dr. Battochi added that the Green Film rating system hopes to reduce power consumption on sets, reduce vehicle use, improve material selection, manage waste more effectively, and communicate that film production must also be done in an environmentally sustainable manner.

Responding to Dr. Battochi, filmmaker Akash Adhikari confirmed that there are no Film Commissions in Nepal, and that a Green Film Rating System is a pipe dream.

Dr. Battochii concluded the session by saying that the Trentino Film Commission would be delighted to assist the Nepal Film Development Board in incorporating the Green Film Rating System for Nepali production companies.

The Nepal-European Virtual Film Festival 2021 was an eye-opening event that screened films from both Europe and Nepal, but it was also a humbling experience for Nepali film officials in terms of the institutional deficiencies Nepali Film Development Board must overcome if Nepal is to produce better films in the future.