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Dashain has officially begun and preparations in most households are in full swing. The atmosphere is one of chaos and merriment. The same is true at various alcohol and drug rehabilitation centers in Kathmandu that are busy trying to ensure that those admitted in their facilities don’t feel like they are missing out on the festive time. The atmosphere of Dashain breaks the monotony of hectic sessions at treatment centers and, while they are grateful for it, it’s a lot of additional work.

Sanjeev Shahi, program coordinator at Alcoholic Recovering Voice Nepal, says they have always made it a point to mark all kinds of festivals throughout the year, be it the New Year, Eid, Losar, or other cultural and religious events. They have to keep in mind the different backgrounds of people at the facility. However, Dashain is celebrated with much aplomb because it’s a long holiday and the vibe is just different.

“Dashain gives us a chance to normalize things around here a bit,” says Shahi. Rehabilitation is a lengthy and tedious process. Most people at the center are there upon their family’s insistence, and so they aren’t happy or willing participants in their treatment. A festival, when regular sessions are suspended, is thus a breath of fresh air. And with Dashain, they get several days off, which makes it a much-cherished time.

Shahi says Dashain is a good time for the residents at the center to get to know one another and bond over their shared circumstances. This will later help them rely on and help one another during treatment. The people at the center including the staff play games together, cook meals other than what’s regularly prepared in the kitchen, and have dance parties for almost a week. There is a session or two that can’t be missed but these are usually held early in the morning or late in the evening, thus freeing up entire afternoons to revel in the festive spirit.

The scenario is replicated at most rehabilitation centers in Kathmandu. Every center has elaborate plans for Dashain. The intent is to make people forget, at least for a while, where they are and why they are there. Some centers hold various sports tournaments and competitions. Sanjeev Kumar Singh, program coordinator at Sober Recovery and Rehabilitation Center (SRRC), says it takes them a month to prepare for Dashain. The challenge is to keep the residents occupied and entertained. “Generally, people are busy with sessions and they can’t dwell on their situation. But with regular sessions on hold during Dashain, we have to make sure they don’t get bored and listless,” says Singh.

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Which is why over at Hamro Sankalpa Drug and Alcohol Treatment and Rehabilitation Center, the focus is on interactive games, those that keep the residents mentally and physically active. From flying kites to breaking pinatas, the activities they plan for residents during Dashain must be entertaining and engaging. Sajan Shrestha, director at the facility, says they organize dance programs and let the residents watch a movie or two on TV so that they regain some semblance of normalcy at a time when everybody in the country is celebrating.

“Some residents are even allowed to go home for tika while others are accompanied by a staff. But the decision, as in who gets to go, is made by the counsellor depending on individual progress,” says Shrestha.

Authorities at rehabilitation centers have a lot of things to take care of during Dashain. Celebrations aside, Dashain also requires them to up their vigilance and be better attuned to the changing moods of the residents. Tsering Wangdu, founder of SRRC, says Dashain is a challenging time because, as it is, those admitted at rehabilitation centers don’t want to stay there. Dashain, he says, exacerbates that feeling and thus the risk of runaways is more. Sometimes, the residents’ family members want to take them home for Dashain and it’s quite a task to convince them that isn’t a good idea. “Chances of relapse are high during Dashain,” says Wangdu. Many people have a ‘just-this-once’ mindset that spirals out of control, negating all the progress made thus far.

Another challenge that Dashain brings for those who work at rehabilitation centers is finding a way to balance work and family obligations. Theirs isn’t a job that allows them much freedom, says Wangdu, and Dashain brings on added responsibilities. The staff have to arrange the duty roster according to their individual tika schedules and sometimes some have to forgo plans they have made with family altogether. Wangdu says it has been 15 years that he has not said ‘yes’ to any Dashain gathering invitation. The priority is always the center and he has made peace with it, he says.

Buddha Dhoj Adhikari, program officer at Cripa Nepal, says preparations are underway at the center to make Dashain an enjoyable affair. The focus is to make the residents happy, adds founder Shisir Thapa, because festivals can be tricky especially for those who are undergoing treatment for alcohol addiction. They are often there against their will—brought in by wives, siblings or children—and want to go home during Dashain. But their family members, having faced one too many incident of relapse, don’t want them to leave rehab.

“It’s not unusual for people, especially older men, to be upset and angry during Dashain. So, we have to do our best to cheer them up and try and make them understand that what’s happening is for their own good. That if all goes well, they will be home next Dashain,” concludes Thapa.

Time brings many changes and while that is mostly good and perhaps the only way forward, you wish some things would remain the same. Dashain seems to evoke that sentiment. Most people ApEx spoke to confessed that there was a time when Dashain was highly anticipated and while it’s still a fun festival, the vibe just isn’t the same. The unanimous opinion was that our memories of Dashain are far more heartwarming than how we celebrate the festival these days.

Ujjal Rayamajhi, food technologist, says Dashain is the only time he gets to go on a mini-vacation with his family so it’s more of an opportunity to rest, recharge, and reconnect than anything else. This time, he is planning a trip to Sauraha, Chitwan before the holidays are over and he has to get back to the daily grind. However, Dashain had a different appeal when he was growing up. He fondly remembers all the fun he used to have during Dashain as a child and says he misses that.

“Dashain holidays were all about meeting cousins, playing games, and eating a lot of meat,” he says. While he still does that, he laments the charm is lost and that he partakes in the rituals more out of a sense of responsibility than for enjoyment. Kiran Shrestha, of Action Waste Pvt. Ltd, says as you age, bogged down by chores and work, you are always occupied with one thing or the other. You are unable to unwind and appreciate the little things, which is why Dashain, and other festivals too, lose their appeal. When he thinks back to his school days, he recalls relishing the festive feel and being really happy during this time.

“There used to be kite-flying competitions in my neighborhood and I used to wait for a kite to fall so that I could run after it,” he says. He also recalls sitting on his sister’s lap on the large swings built especially for Dashain as he used to be too scared to get on them alone. Dashain brings back fond memories and though things might have changed, he wishes to indulge in the activities he did when he was child once more. But this is going to be a working Dashain for Shrestha as his company wants to make the most of the holiday season to clean up their localities after the recent waste-management fiasco. Responsibilities take precedence as you get older, he says.

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But life is what you make of it, argues Pinky Gurung, president of the Blue Diamond Society. Everybody needs and deserves a break and Dashain provides the perfect excuse for it. Gurung loves the Dashain ambience—it makes her happy and hopeful. Everything about this time of the year—the melodious music (mangal dhun), the breezy weather, and the busy markets with festive sales—is just so soothing, she says. “I feel people are a lot more amicable and respectful towards one another during this season.”

She feels there’s a lot to be joyful about and it’s not that difficult to get into the festive spirit when you are surrounded by it. But Dashain today definitely isn’t like Dashain before; it hasn’t been for a while, she adds. Earlier, festivals were generally a rather communal affair, especially in villages where people came together to celebrate special events. Theater artist Deepmala Pariyar recalls Dashain in her village in Hetauda during her childhood days. She says the festival used to be fun and eventful. Regular life was suspended for a few days and you could do anything you wished. Dashain chores felt like fun park activities, she says.

Preparations for the festival, adds Pariyar, used to start a month before tika day. The focus would be on decorating homes with bright colors. There used to be an undeclared competition of sorts to see which house was decked up in the prettiest way possible. The artist remembers it as a time everything seemed at its very best, with people’s mood matching the merry environment.

“I used to look forward to my parents coming home for Dashain. They would bring me new clothes. It’s a tradition I still give continuity to, even though I buy new clothes round the year. I get clothes for my nephews now during Dashain,” she says. This, is her way of holding on to little things that spark joy.

Though people might not indulge in the same activities that they once did, they definitely look forward to the family gatherings that Dashain has always been about. Meenashi Pokhrel, counseling psychologist, says Dashain brings people together. “We get to meet all those who we have not met for a long time,” she says. Pokhrel, who is getting married this Dashain, has always looked forward to the festival as a time to bond with her cousins and relatives.

Gurung of BDS feels Dashain provides the perfect opportunity to make up for past mistakes and let go of grudges and discords. “Everything is so resplendent that you just can’t stay upset. Also, our memories of Dashain that we shared with our loved ones make it easy for us to let go of the past and begin anew,” she concludes.

We come into this world wailing, distressed. Our needs, which at that point are few and basic, must be met for us to be content and quiet. Unfortunately, for many, the sense of unfulfillment and anguish stays for a lifetime. It’s our nature to always want more, to compare ourselves, and find flaws in our otherwise pretty good, if not great, lives. We could have everything we ever wanted—good health, a stable job, et al, and still be unhappy.

Mental health issues aside, it’s often sheer unwillingness to value what we have that causes us so much pain. While cultivating a positive mindset could put an end to most of our worries and is thus really crucial, it’s easier said than done. It’s a skill that must be honed over time, say some really happy people I know. And being grateful, for things big and small, is a good place to start.

I have a friend who is the most charming and cheerful person I know. I can say without an iota of doubt that there isn’t anyone who has anything bad to say about her. I’ve never heard her utter an unkind word. For as long as I’ve known her, and it’s perhaps been over a decade, she’s been gracious, always willing to help others, and ready with a compliment or a word of encouragement when needed.

I’m not exaggerating when I say she radiates warmth and positivity. And she makes it all look so easy. But she recently confessed that it doesn’t come naturally to her. Her first thoughts, about people and situations, are vicious. It’s a conscious effort to look beyond what annoys her and dig out the good bits that she chooses to focus on. The result: She is much happier and isn’t bogged down by unnecessary, petty things.

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This mindset, she said, stems from the extreme gratitude she feels for all the good things that happen in her life. So many things could’ve gone wrong but they haven’t very often. And even when they sometimes have, as bad things invariably do, focusing on positive things has helped her overcome them without going into panic-mode. However, it’s natural for negative thoughts to creep in, making it difficult to be grateful. That is where a conscious effort to shift your focus comes handy.

Robert Emmons, world’s leading scientific expert on gratitude and author of the bestselling book ‘Thanks!: How Practicing Gratitude Can Make You Happier’, says “gratitude is an affirmation of goodness. We affirm that there are good things in the world, gifts and benefits we’ve received. We recognize that the sources of this goodness are outside of ourselves.” Gratitude isn’t about ignoring the hassles and problems in life. But a grateful outlook helps you take things as a whole, and no particular experience as an isolated one, designed to torment you. You are better able to identify the good things in your life, despite your circumstances.

Emmons, who has been studying the effects of gratitude on physical health, psychological well-being, and our relationships, says being grateful makes you more likely to take better care of yourself. A friend recently had some health issues. The doctor ran some tests and said her heart looked just fine. She says she saw her heart beat and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Up until then she hadn’t paid much attention to her eating habits and didn’t exercise at all. She now goes on walks, cycles when she can, and tries to eat well. Thankful to what she considers her good luck, she’s determined to be healthier and happier.

Apparently, it helps if you write down things for which you are grateful. In a series of studies, Emmons and his colleagues have helped over a thousand people, from the ages eight to 80, cultivate gratitude by maintaining a gratitude journal. People who practice gratitude consistently were found to be forgiving, compassionate, and were less likely to feel lonely. They also had stronger immune systems, lower blood pressure, and slept well. On the psychological side, grateful people had higher levels of positive emotions and were optimistic and happy.

At a risk of embarrassing myself, I must confess that, for the longest time, I was the stubborn sort, grumpy unless things went exactly the way I wanted them to. My mother once jokingly said that I take after my father’s side of the family—a delight to be around only when everything is hunky-dory. But I believe that is true for most of us (though in my case the obstinate trait is largely genetic). Most of us aren’t able to handle criticism or that sometimes we could be wrong too. It’s difficult, impossible even, to own up to your mistakes, say sorry, and move on. We value ourselves and nurse our egos far too much to ever back down.

This ‘I-deserve-the-best’ mindset makes us defensive, easily hurt, and worse, wallow in self-pity. It took a couple of major health scares in my family, several years ago, for me to value life and the people in it, to come to the stark realization that perhaps many issues aren’t as important as we make them out to be. It was only then that I started being so much more grateful for all that I had and that has quite drastically upped the quality of my life.

I’m a lot less stressed and it’s easier for me to let go of things I can’t control than ever before. Being grateful—for those books I was able to buy, that delicious rice pudding my mother made, the time I was able to spend in the company of my loved ones, and being alive for another day—helps me deal with the inevitable hiccups with a ‘this-too-shall-pass’ approach. Life’s far from perfect but I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. 

Earlier this month, an eight-year-old girl was rushed to Kathmandu Medical College and Teaching Hospital in Sinamangal after she poured herself a cup of pesticide and drank it, mistaking it for milk. She died four days later. At that time, her seven-year-old friend, to whom she had offered the same drink, was still battling for life at the hospital. The girl’s relative said the distraught mother blamed herself. She should have kept the pesticide out of her daughter’s reach. It was her carelessness that killed her daughter, she kept repeating.

“Accidental deaths are largely preventable,” says Dr Harihar Wasti, forensic expert at Tribhuvan University Teaching Hospital. While accidental deaths happen across all age groups, it’s more common among those with little knowledge of risk assessment—mainly children and workers with low skills and training. Nepal Police data recorded 596 accidental deaths in the fiscal year 2018/19, 536 in 2019/20, and 551 in 2020/21. “While the numbers might not be as staggeringly high as cases of suicide, rape, and other crimes,” says SP Ramesh Kumar Basnet, “most of these lives could have been saved with minimal precaution. And that is why it shouldn’t be sidelined as a trivial issue anymore”.

Road traffic accidents are the most common cause of accidental deaths. But other incidents like poisoning, electric shock, being swept away by rivers, and falling in bathrooms, stairs and from high areas also cause grave injuries and claim more lives than they would if some safety protocols were in place. Dr Wasti says except being struck by lightning every other accidental death is avoidable. It’s either a momentary lapse of judgement or little awareness about protecting yourself that leads to accidental injuries and fatalities.

However, there isn’t a one-size fits all solution to this, agree Dr Wasti and SP Basnet. Besides a general need to exercise more caution in day-to-day life, we also need to talk about these kinds of incidents and how they can be prevented. Apart from a lack of awareness about seemingly simple things—for instance not leaving electric wires exposed or labeling toxic materials properly and keeping them away from everyday items—easy access to acids and poisons also put lives at risk, say the experts.

SP Basnet recalls an incident that took place in Sankhu, a town 17 kilometers north-east of Kathmandu, during Holi this past year. Some boys mistook a bottle of acid for water and a girl ended up with injuries on her face and arms. A case was lodged against the boys and one of them was sent to the Juvenile Detention Center in Thimi, Bhaktapur. “It was an accident but action had to be taken because the girl was badly hurt,” says the SP. Just the fact that acid was lying around the house is appalling, something that should never have happened.

Dr Suyash Timilsina, medical coordinator at Danphe Care, a Kathmandu-based healthcare management company, says infrastructural and economic issues often lead to unfortunate incidents. Road accidents aren’t always due to driver’s negligence as faultily engineered roads make mishaps more likely. Many daily wage earners live in single rooms with their families where everybody has access to everything that’s there, from acid to rat poison. Not just that, very often, in these families, small children are left in care of other small children when their parents go out to work. This makes them vulnerable to all sorts of incidents, many of which could be fatal. SP Basnet says it’s not uncommon for newborn babies to die of suffocation in small, unventilated spaces.

Photo: iStock

“Many people simply aren’t aware of the dangers of leaving children unsupervised. Many accidents also happen because of people’s reckless attitude towards safety,” adds SP Basnet. There’s a sense of invincibility that comes with experience or age, which can prove to be disastrous.  

Dr Timilsina says there needs to be better regulation and monitoring of who’s selling pesticides and other hazardous agents, and to whom. An effective tracing system, where anything lethal can be traced back to the seller, could help control its easy market availability. But not everything can be regulated, especially in Nepal where laws are mostly limited to paper and there are roundabout ways to get anything done.

An effective way to curb this problem from snowballing is making people aware of the danger signs and the importance of strict adherence to safety protocols, says Dr Wasti. Radio talk shows and discussions on hazard minimization can make people more attuned to their surroundings. The target, Dr Timilsina adds, should be people who have no access to smartphones since those who lack information are the most vulnerable ones.

Prevention and management of accidents and injuries and deaths due to them is a neglected aspect of healthcare in Nepal. Dr Ramu Kharel, emergency medicine specialist, Brown University, and founder of HAPSA Nepal, a non-profit that has been working to strengthen Nepal’s health system, says emergency healthcare requires specific types of handling and that knowledge is missing in Nepal. “People panic during emergencies, it is human nature,” he says. An emergency hotline where you can call and have an expert guide you, step-by-step, is thus crucial for on-scene management of injuries. This, Dr Kharel adds, helps to control and stabilize a situation on-scene which is the first step of emergency medicine.

“How you handle an accidental case on-scene largely determines its outcome. Sometimes mishandling of cases causes further damage and by the time the patient reaches the hospital, it’s too late,” he says. What’s also crucial is an effective transport system where correct protocols are followed depending on whether it’s a case of poisoning, shock, or falling from trees. These two factors could make treatment hassle-free and efficient after the patient reaches a healthcare facility.

The problem, however, in Nepal is that there aren’t many trained staff or services in emergency management. Our emergency hotlines also don’t function smoothly—you are often made to wait as staff discuss what to do and then given a mobile number which will probably prove to be unhelpful. There isn’t a central helpline like 911 that directs your call to the police, or the ambulance or fire services depending on the nature of your emergency. A lot of precious time is lost trying to get someone to attend to you.

The only way to prevent worsening of accidental injuries and death, Dr Kharel insists, “is by building a system geared towards proper management of emergencies where the emphasis is on pre-hospital care as much as treatment”. But awareness on preventive measures and safety regulations can go a long way in lessening the number of accidental cases Nepal sees year after year.

The origin of Mithila art is rooted in a legend. King Janak had the walls of homes in his kingdom painted in vibrant color patterns and scenes to welcome Lord Ram when he came to ask for Sita’s hand in marriage. Thereafter, the art was done on walls during weddings and religious festivals, mainly by women, and was passed down generations in the Mithila region—comprising parts of the Indian states of Bihar and Jharkhand and, on Nepal’s side, eastern Tarai. Janakpur, home to the grand white marble structure that is the Janaki Mandir, is popular for Mithila art.

Today, with its one-dimensional portraits, a variety of birds and animals, and other motifs, Mithila art isn’t limited to walls and paper. It has creeped into home décor, clothes, bags, and other accessories—thanks to young entrepreneurs and artists who believe this culturally rich form of art needs to be preserved and promoted.

“I feel the only possible way to do that is by making the art accessible,” says Trishna Singh Bhandari, founder, Mithila House, a social enterprise in Sanepa, Lalitpur. Out of this need came the idea of incorporating Mithila art in just about anything people might use on a regular basis. On display at Mithila House are water bottles, jewelry boxes, kettles, bags, and saris among other things, with intricate Mithila art on them. The main purpose here, adds Bhandari, is a revival of still largely-unknown Mithila art in Nepal. Mithila House intends to do this by making Mithila art a point of conversation.

Mithila art, she says, brings back fond childhood memories and fascinates her. Not only does it have a traditional and cultural background with its depictions of the way of life in Tarai, it has evolved to include stories of women empowerment and that Bhandari finds intriguing and thus worthy of pursuing. Also, Nepali art is mountain and hill centric. There is no representation of Tarai. Mithila art fills that void.

Varsha Jha, a 26-year-old architect, says she is determined to save this art form as it’s close to her heart. Jha grew up in Rajbiraj in the south-eastern part of Province 2 where the walls were always adorned with bright paintings. “I was charmed by all the art I saw around me,” she says. Having always had a penchant for art, Jha decided to teach herself the basics of Mithila art and, in the past five years, she has gone from strength to strength. She now works as a full-time artist at Mithila House. Jha wants to do her masters in Mithila art.

What was once mostly women painting whatever they saw around them has evolved to incorporate so much more. “It’s important to give continuity to that and let it thrive for generations to come,” says Jha. According to Bhandari, the art has international appeal and many companies are exporting Mithila paintings and crafts. Unfortunately, the local art market isn’t as lively. There are people interested in it but it’s still a niche market. One reason for this is that many people don’t understand Mithila art and think it’s juvenile.

“But Mithila art requires a lot of patience and attention to details,” says Sudeshna Maharjan, a 22-year-old fashion designer who is also a self-taught Mithila artist. The techniques of this art form, she adds, is hard to master and takes years of practice. It's not as easy as it looks. It’s a lengthy process—you have to sketch, color, outline and then decorate. Plus, the repetitiveness of designs is time-consuming and the clear separation of patterns, with no room for blending, requires extreme focus and a steady hand. Often, artists are holding their breath while working because a slight out of control movement can cause wobbly lines.

Apart from the fact that Mithila art requires a lot of brain muscle and is labor intensive, what makes it all the more special is that every image has some significance. For instance, peacock stands for love, fish is for purity and fertility, and elephants symbolize friendship. Artist Vaishali Chhetri, 22, says Mithila art is a very diverse genre. While there are strict rules you can’t deviate from, you are free to exercise your creativity and make it as colorful and elaborate as you like.

For her, making Mithila art is meditative because of the various elements she needs to consider while working on a piece. From paint consistency to the pressure on the brush, every aspect requires you to be completely in the present, she says. It takes her four to five days to finish a project. The process is so immersive that she forgets everything else in those days.

Twenty-three-year-old Anisha Das, an engineering student and freelance Mithila artist, says Mithila art is an important part of her culture especially during festivals and weddings. But Das believes such a meaningful art form shouldn’t be limited to special occasions. She grew up watching her aunt paint and when she tried it herself, she couldn’t get enough of it. “I go into a trance when I paint. It’s so soothing,” she says. She wishes people would understand and value this art that is not only visually appealing but documents important stories of women.

Artist Binita Jha, 32, agrees. Mithila art is an identity, she says. It not only connects her to her roots but also keeps her mind agile. After nine years of experience, she has no problem coming up with fresh ideas and even tweaking a painting halfway through when something invariably goes wrong. Like most things traditional and cultural, she says the new generation must take it up to ensure it survives the test of time and the modernization that comes with it.

Chhetri believes a good way to keep Mithila art alive is by incorporating it in our school curriculum. Maharjan thinks online promotions are crucial to reach the masses. Art workshops, on the other hand, can give those who are interested in it a platform to learn. Mithila House has conducted a few in the past and plans to do so in the future too. Bhandari, meanwhile, is focusing on collaborating with other businesses to promote Mithila art. The market, she says, is small, and the only way to grow is through collaborative effort.

Jay Prakash Mandal of ‘Mithila Art Center by Relative Nepal’ says, similar to Mithila House’s objectives, their mission is to increase the visibility of Mithila art by painting it on everyday objects like shopping bags, greeting cards, and jewelry boxes. The organization has also commissioned artists to make Mithila art murals in parts of Kathmandu. The more people see it, the more they will take to it and help keep it alive, he concludes.

There’s a huge heap or two of garbage in almost every street in Kathmandu right now. And it’s getting bigger by the day—men in hoodies and women with shawls wrapped around their heads consistently add bulging blue polythene bags to the piles as furtively as possible.

With incessant rainfall cutting off access to the Sisdol landfill site in Kakani rural municipality, Nuwakot, 75 private companies and municipalities have stopped collecting trash from homes and offices in Kathmandu valley. In the meanwhile, most people’s modus operandi of keeping their homes trash-free has been to dump their household wastes under a bridge or on a garbage pile nearby. This has resulted in a city that is slowly, quite literally, starting to stink to high heavens.

This is an all-too-familiar scene in Kathmandu. Without a proper waste management system, trash lines the roadsides and litters the riverbanks on a fairly regular basis. Before blaming the government, that’s inept and apathetic at best and immoral and corrupt at worst, perhaps we should look at our own actions. After all, we are the ones producing all that waste. So, does your dustbin have everything from paper, plastic, and fabric to electronics, leftover food and soiled pads?

Dhurba Acharya of Solid Waste Management Association Nepal (SWMAN) says every household could significantly reduce their trash if they segregated it. A simple system to keep your dry and wet waste separate would take care of problems like filth and stench too. “It’s as easy as having two different bins, one for dry waste like plastic and paper and the other for kitchen waste. Mixing the two increases the volume of trash and ensures everything, including things that could have been recycled, ends up in the landfill,” he says.

Unfortunately, Kathmandu has never been interested in segregating its waste. Acharya says people cite time and space constraints as reasons for their inability and unwillingness to do so. Trash, for most, is somebody else’s problem. The popular opinion seems to be it’s either the private companies’—that we pay to collect our garbage—or the government’s responsibility. While effectives policies and investments are needed to tackle the insurmountable problem that waste management has become in Kathmandu, our collective efforts can go a long way in lessening the load on a landfill that is already brimful.

Stuti Sharma, communications and advocacy coordinator at Doko Recyclers, says composting organic waste at home will solve half the problem. According to an ADB study, on average, 66 percent of the waste we produce is organic. At restaurants, 55 percent of the total waste produced is compostable. Kathmandu produces 1,200 tons of garbage daily out of 65 percent is organic waste, and 15-20 percent is recyclable. That leaves little for the landfill. But without segregation, all of it ends up at Sisdol. 

The problem right now is that we are throwing everything away and stuffing it all in the same trashcan. That seems to be the most convenient way to get rid of what we don’t need. We aren’t concerned with the long-term ramifications of our actions. Reusing and recycling require effort so it’s not unusual to see glass bottles and clothes spilling out of a bag that contains vegetable peels and other degradable items. We expect someone else to sort through our trash and while that is mostly what happens, it’s not always feasible.

Sharma segregates trash at home and says the volume that can’t be composted or recycled and needs to be sent to the landfill is minimal. She adds it’s possible to keep your home clean despite having trash lying around for months if you just separate what decays from that which does not. Kiran Shrestha, Action Waste Pvt. Ltd., says mixed waste always ends up in landfill. Sorting trash manually is risky as a single bag of waste will invariably contain everything from plastic cold drink bottles and cooked vegetables to broken glasses and blades.

“It would help if we were all a little mindful of our actions,” says Shrestha. We can choose to donate things we don’t need like books and clothes and hand over other recyclables like shampoo bottles and old gadgets to companies like Khalisisi and Doko Recyclers or sell them to one of the many laborers who collect them door-to-door. Doing so will not only prevent further inundation of Sisdol but contribute to a circular economy that will save valuable resources.

Most of us are aware of the three Rs of reducing waste—Refuse or Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle—but we don’t practice them. Yajaswi Rai, founder of Leklekk: The Green Wave, a service that provides eco-friendly products, says the focus should be on reducing consumption. While reusing and recycling are important, she believes it’s just extra work when we use more than we need. Sharma of Doko Recyclers agrees and says if every one of us were to become conscious consumers, it would guarantee less trash.

“They say the best clothes are the ones you have in your closet,” says Sharma adding that we don’t always need new things and that we must get creative and make do with what we have as far as possible. If we were to focus on reducing what we buy and bring into our homes, she says, that will definitely decrease the amount of things we throw out. Currently when the local government evidently has no clear plans and policies and often cities budget constraints to tackle waste management issues, that’s the only way we can hope to get the situation under control.

However, Aayushi KC, founder of Khaalisisi, says the results of our efforts aren’t going to be quick, especially when we have gone so long without a proper waste disposal system. But lifestyle changes on our part, she says, can collectively play a major role in coming up with a sustainable long-term solution. We must do our bit and start now, adds Acharya of SWMAN. He says the Solid Waste Management Act 2011 mandates segregation of waste at source but, so far, the rule has been ignored. He says that if we were to separate our trash into compostable, recyclable, and non-recyclable, it would be easy for trash collectors to dispose of it accordingly.

It would also be a humane thing to do as haphazardly disposed trash pose many health risks to the 4,000 laborers employed by various companies to collect trash across Kathmandu. Apart from small injuries and diseases, after many years in the job, most workers develop debilitating health problems. Segregation, thus, would be an empathetic gesture as well. “Each neighborhood can set up a communal compost pit in areas where space is an issue. This would ensure trash collectors don’t get decayed matter and grime on themselves while transferring your dustbin contents into the collection vehicle,” says Shrestha of Action Waste Pvt. Ltd. The reason trash ends up by the roadside or along riverbanks is because it starts stinking and people want to keep their homes clean, he adds. But dry waste won’t create such unhygienic conditions and could be kept in a corner of a room or apartment till it’s eventually collected.

If Kathmandu were to reduce consumption and segregate the waste it produces, Banchare Danda, an under-construction landfill site in Nuwakot expected to be complete by the (Nepali) year’s end, won’t go the Sisdol-way. Additionally, the laborers who handle our trash for us would be spared the humiliation of having to deal with dirty diapers and pads.

News of violence causes much furor. There are rallies and sit-ins, protesting against the violation of human rights and demanding the government punish the culprits immediately. As necessary as that might be to ensure justice, we should perhaps mull over the idea of violence-reduction rather than just reacting to its consequences. A good place to start, I believe, could be each one of us speaking up in situations that might trigger violence.

There is generally an eerie silence around violence until it results in a rape or murder. People would rather turn the other way and walk away than get involved in matters that don’t concern them. A public brawl will draw spectators but no one will try to stop it. We turn a blind eye to domestic violence, terming it ‘buda-budi ko jhagada’—something that must be resolved in private. We make many excuses for men’s acts of violence at home: He must have been stressed, the workload was immense and he snapped, he didn’t know what he was doing because he was drunk, being some of the most absurd yet common ones.

My next-door neighbors are raucous. The father and his two sons get into heated arguments and throw things around. The scathing language they use makes my ears bleed. My husband tells me they have always been nasty. Recently, one of the sons reportedly hit the father before leaving the house in a fit of rage. I’m sure everyone in the neighborhood stops doing whatever it is they were doing and listens in on the drama—there is never such pin-drop silence otherwise—but they all draw their curtains and shut their doors.

While it’s important to be mindful of people’s boundaries, maybe a simple ‘what’s wrong?’ might make these men more conscious of their actions. I think no one, not even the neighbors across the street whom they are super chummy with, ever inquiring about the hullabaloo they create has made them bolder. Their fights have gotten worse and they go on for longer.   

Advocate Ishan Raj Onta says intervening is a personal choice and there is no right or wrong. However, as a part of a society that is actively changing, it might be necessary to not let things slide as personal matters in order to stop them from spiraling out of control. Two years ago, Jenny Khadka’s husband threw acid at her because, having had enough of his abuses, she had run away from him. The incident occurred in Kalopul in Kathmandu where her family had been living for years. “There were many people around when my ex-husband was threatening to throw acid at me. Nobody said a word. They just gawked or hurried away. And most of them knew me and my family,” says Jenny.

She says she wished someone would say something. She believes it would have deterred him. The fact that no one spoke gave him courage and made him feel he could get away with it. Jenny suffered 20 percent burns and spent two months at hospital where she underwent nine surgeries. Her story makes me shudder every time I think about it. After Jenny was attacked, no one came to her rescue. It was only after a while that two people helped her: A man gave her a bottle of water to pour over the skin that acid was eating away and a lady passing by on a scooter stopped to see why she was yelling and made arrangements to take her to the hospital. Till then, it was all whispers and surreptitious glances. No one called the ambulance or the police. People watched while she screamed in pain. Doesn’t apathy make us equally guilty of a crime?

Onta says all it takes is for one person to break the silence and more voices will join in. The chain reaction is immense and impactful, he says. He shares a simple incident, as an example. Recently, on the airplane shuttle he was on he saw someone toss a food wrapper on the floor. He could feel many people stiffen but no one said a word. Onta decided to speak up and told the man to pick up his trash. At least five more people supported him. “There will be others like you who will eventually speak up. People tend to hesitate. Someone needs to start and that creates a ripple effect,” he says.

Every society has conflicts, he adds, but how we deal with them is an indicator of how far we have come. Conflict, he says, is a result of low tolerance and little interaction. It can be dealt with in a civilized way, without leading to violence, if people engage in constructive dialogue. But, according to psychologist Minakshi Rana, it’s people’s inability to accept views contrary to their own that prevents effective communication.

Rana adds that ours is a shy society that prefers to keep violence hidden rather than confront it. But that, she says, is a harmful practice. If we let it go on, the anger that simmers underneath will eventually boil over. Talking about my neighbors, the psychologist says the animosity that’s there in the family might spill over elsewhere. Studies have shown that the longer a situation is allowed to escalate the greater the risk that it will result in aggressive behavior and violence.

However, intervening doesn’t necessarily mean self-involvement, as in physically trying to break up the altercation. Onta says you should assess the risk before getting involved, lest you make matters worse. But you can call the police and report the incident. Rana says she has done that quite a few times. Recently, she saw a man beat up a woman in her locality and promptly dialed 100. Actions like these can prevent circumstances from worsening and nip violence in the bud.

We tend to hold the government accountable for everything that happens in our society. And while plans and policies are imperative long-term solutions, individual action is just as essential and could be the key in mitigating violence.

Before Tootle, a ride-sharing service, was launched in late 2016, followed by Pathao in September 2018, your transport options to get to college or to a friend’s birthday treat at that swanky new restaurant in Durbar Marg were limited.

It was either stuffy microbuses where you would definitely be seated cheek by jowl or limited-capacity safa tempos with, if you were lucky, someone else’s bulging bag poking your sides, or else a baby gurgling and kicking you with dirty shoes. The regular big buses, when you dared to take those, had you praying for dear life, if all your attention wasn’t on keeping a safe distance from the man with slicked back hair ogling at you. Taxis, oh how you wished you could afford those.

With Tootle and Pathao, you could book a scooter or motorbike ride at a nominal fee. Even better, you were picked up from your exact location. You didn’t have to walk to the bus stop or bargain with a taxi driver. It was a novelty that gave youngsters the option to travel comfortably and cheaply. But it didn’t go down well with transport entrepreneurs, especially the taxi association, who claimed that these services were not only eating into their businesses but also illegal. Time and again, taxi drivers in Kathmandu have demanded the government put an end to the use of private vehicles for public transport.

The Department of Transport Management, under the Ministry of Physical Infrastructure and Transport, has tried to ban Tootle and Pathao multiple times but each time, due to public uproar, the services have been resumed. In November 2020, another ride-sharing service, Sawarima, was launched. The popularity of ride-sharing services seems to have only grown. But the debate on whether they should be allowed to operate rages on. Ashok Dhamala, CEO, Book Cab Now, says red-plate vehicles are meant for private use only. These vehicles pay less tax than black-plate ones and letting them ferry passengers gives them an unfair market advantage.

However, Samikshya Adhikari says she doesn’t want the government to rule against ride-sharing services. Life without Pathao is unimaginable, says the 22-year-old post-grad student. If the service were to be unavailable, commuting in Kathmandu would be a nightmare. What takes 30 minutes on Pathao, would otherwise take an hour or more. It would also be expensive—used to the comforts of a private ride for two years now she doesn’t see herself getting on a crowded bus again. “I have a scooter but I have yet to learn how to ride it. Pathao is so convenient, plus you can totally escape the hassle of parking. If ride-sharing were to be discontinued, I’d have to buckle up and get a driving license, I suppose,” she says.

Majority of people who use Tootle or Pathao are young—either students or those who have newly joined the workforce. For them, commuting needs to be efficient and budget-friendly because two things youngsters are mostly strapped on are time and money. Those who use the services also say it’s the best way to commute in a city like Kathmandu that’s already choc-a-bloc with vehicles. Rozina Baral, 23, feels Kathmandu without Tootle or Pathao would just mean more two-wheelers on the road. Every other person would buy a scooter or bike as soon as they reached the legal age to drive. The consequences of that on the environment as well as city traffic are immense. Ride-sharing, she says, ensures less carbon-footprint.

Also, Kathmandu is mostly a network of alleys. Navigating them on bikes is much easier, say the users of ride-sharing services. No Tootle or Pathao, Adhikari adds, means having to get off at various inconveniently located stop points and walking for at least 15- 20 minutes to get to your destination. Not just that, there’s also the fact that ride-sharing services have given young women, who don’t own bikes or cars, the confidence to work late. Baral says not having to worry about wrapping up work in time to catch the last bus home puts her at ease and allows her to focus. If Kathmandu didn’t offer ride-sharing services, many, especially women without their own vehicles, wouldn’t be able to work odd hours that various competitive jobs sometimes ask for, further tipping the scale in men’s favor.

With over a million downloads each of the Tootle and Pathao app, there’s no denying that ride-sharing has become an essential service. So much so that many relying on them for their daily commutes claim to have been disappointed when they didn’t resume their services immediately after the Covid-19 lockdowns. The pandemic made ride-sharing even more popular because it felt safer, says marketing manager of Pathao, Surakshya Hamal. Currently, Patho has 30-35,000 active riders and gets around 50,000 ride requests in a day.

Sachhyam Man Singh Pradhan, 22, who has been using either Tootle or Pathao for four years now, says Kathmandu needs ride-sharing services. Without them, the cost of commuting would go up and a major chunk of your day would be wasted on getting from one place to another. Pradhan, who spends approximately Rs 10,000 a month on transport, adds that ride-sharing has, for many, also become a good source of secondary income. Anyone who has a bike can register with these services and at least make enough to cover fuel costs.

Sixit Bhatta, entrepreneur, co-founder/CEO of Tootle, says the goal behind the ride-sharing service was to find a solution for easy mobility and that his team wanted Tootle to grow organically, and it did. It wasn’t a possibility as much as an eventuality, says Bhatta. Innovation, he adds, is always accepted but it also gets a fair share of resistance when there is market monopoly.

But in the view of Sanjit Paudel, MD of Easy Taxi, if Tootle and Pathao weren’t around, it wouldn’t mean more business for taxis because the crowds they cater to are different. The opposition to ride-sharing services, he adds, is actually an opposition to a system with random rules that favors some and victimizes others.

“Taxi services are okay with competition as long as it is fair. Tootle and Pathao can have arbitrary pricing but the rest have to wait for a nod from the government for a fee hike. That is what doesn’t sit right with us,” he says. 

While there is a need to iron out the wrinkles, Tootle and Pathao are operating within the system and creating job opportunities while at it. Rajesh Shrestha, 40, a rider with Tootle for the past four and half years, says no ride-sharing in Kathmandu would increase the unemployment rate. Shrestha was a painter but the job was tiresome and left him exhausted. He also didn’t have the freedom to take a break. Being a rider for Tootle gives him the liberty to work at his own pace while earning as much as, if not more than, he did at his previous job.

“If there were no Tootle or Pathao, life would be inconvenient for some but for those who make a living from it, it would mean a lot of uncertainty and hardship,” says Shrestha.

Kathmandu’s public transport has always been problematic. Reckless driving aside, it’s insulting to have to contort yourself to fit a space that can’t even comfortably seat a child. Then the process of having to get out of a bus or tempo is even more harrowing. It’s a gradual unfurling out of the vehicle versus being spit out. Taking taxis every day just isn’t possible so without Tootle and Pathao, we would be back to that sad, uncomfortable reality.