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The sixth month of the year marks Pride Month--thirty days of celebrating sexual identity, advocating for awareness and acceptance. The Nepali LGBTQIA++ community usually celebrates the month with the Pride Parade and organizing awareness campaigns. 

But this year's celebrations are a bit different. The march is now going to be held virtually on June 12 and much of the in-persons programs were planned by LGBTQIA++ organizations are on hold indefinitely. 

“The second lockdown has put a damper on things,” says 22-year-old transwoman Samaira Shrestha. “But we’re not going to let it ruin our plans.” Instead of visiting different NGOs, she’ll be working with notable organizations to enhance the quality of life of transgender people in Nepal, and she’ll be doing it mostly online. 

“Having seen how social media is playing such a key role during the pandemic, I believe that various media campaigns and the virtual Pride Parade will be just as efficient in inviting more queer individuals into the platform,” Shrestha continues. “Nowadays, just simple posts can hold a lot of information regarding queer activism. I’ll be working to create and share more documents that contain information about the community’s statistics, the problems we face and how we can resolve them.”

While Shrestha agrees that going out is risky right now, she’s trying her best to participate physically in as many places as she can. “I just returned from an interview regarding and will be going to a few podcasts throughout this month,” she says. Besides this, she’ll be conducting discussions in ‘LGBTIQ+ dunia’ a room on Clubhouse, and launching her podcast where she’ll be inviting champions from the community.

Similarly, transman Nipen Wong Lama will be working with Unity for Change, a non-profit organization working for the betterment of LBT groups. Because he was alone during his transition process, he doesn’t have links with many LGBTIQA++ institutions. However, this year, he’s making a change. “Unity for Change is holding mental health awareness programs for sexual minorities,” he tells ApEx. “They’re also making short video clips that shed light on the underlying issues inside the community. I’ll be helping out with those projects.”

Like Shrestha, he’ll be more active on his socials, posting different projects and sharing infographics, videos and inspirational representations on various platforms.

Sanket Bashyal, who identifies as a gay man, says that he’s been participating in a lot of programs till date and he will continue doing so during Pride Month. “Aside from the virtual Pride Parade organized by Queer Youth Group Nepal, I’ll also be in events organized by Rotaract Club of Chabdibarahi on June 17-18,” he shares. “Many social welfare institutions have been calling members of the LGBTQIA++ community to attend their online programs and I’ll try to visit as many as I can.”

For Samip Niraula, another member of the gay community, the month of June is so much more than just marching on the streets. “It’s the promotion of the community’s visibility in society,” he says. “It’s been amazing to see people engage in activities with objectives of creating a safe space for queer folks and I have been supporting these initiations, while also organizing some events for now.”

Besides Pride Parade, there are a ton of events he’s looking forward to attending. “I will be sharing my experiences and thoughts on some of those events, while also listening to the experiences of other great speakers,” Niraula shares. “I believe that every day is a teaching-learning time for the people of the LGBTIQA+ community, but with all these platforms, it’s even more important to participate.”

19-year old Sanjivani has been educating herself regarding the community since she was a teenager and just came out as bisexual last year. Following that, she took part in the pride exhibition organized by Kaalo. Since the beginning of June, she’s been very active on Clubhouse, making public rooms and discussing issues with various members. “We talk about all kinds of subjects,” she says. “Sometimes about the joyful moments of acceptance and coming out and other times about the problems we face regarding our identities. We’re educating each other and embracing the LGBTQIA++ community.”

“Each coming out journey is unique to the individual,” Sanjivani adds. “But having public discussions with members of the community on online platforms makes it easy for closeted individuals to feel like a part of the community.”

Ishaan Prajapati (name changed), who is still coming to terms with his asexuality and has only come out to a few people so far says that public queer identity discourses help him understand what’s going on with him. “I’ve always found Pride Parades to be intimidating so I never went at all,” he confesses. 

Very few members of the LGBTQIA++ community in Nepal are asexual, and even fewer of them are men. He finds that only a small group of people in Nepal are talking about this section of the queer spectrum. Because of this, Prajapati usually finds solace in the global asexual community.

“Pride month means that there will be larger discussions with more people in different Facebook and Instagram groups, and I’m looking forward to them,” he shares. “This is probably the first time I’ll be attending Nepali LGBTIQA++ community discussions,” he confesses. Online forum participation means that he can stay anonymous while still being able to participate—and he considers that a luxury.

When much of the community’s plans had to be shelved due to the third wave of the pandemic, many members of the LGBTIQA++ groups were worried that it would hinder their growth. There was an increase in suicide rates among the community, especially transgender, during the lockdown and many saw a frightening surge in mental health issues. 

But the community has strengthened its resolve to extend more support to everyone that is struggling. 

“Even though we might not get as much media coverage during Pride Month,” says Samaira Shreshta, “we will still make our presence known in every social media platform.” The people behind Nepal Pride Parade 2021 are launching Tweetathon and Instathon, a telethon-type event that’s held on Twitter and Instagram to increase engagement and web traffic. 

The media might not cover us, says Lama, but we will be covering all media.

A recent Niti Foundation survey noted an alarming rise in mental health issues among Nepali youths (aged 18-40) during the pandemic.

A whopping 84 percent of participants reported high anxiety levels. Others said they were living with depression and alcoholism and other forms of substance abuse. While a fraction had access to mental healthcare after Covid-19 restrictions were gradually lifted early this year, even they have been deprived of such services due to the latest lockdowns across the country.

Mental healthcare providers have no other option but to go online, run awareness campaigns on social media and 24/7 helplines. This is a big change for those who give and take mental help and one fraught with challenges.  

“Seeking therapy for mental wellbeing is a fairly new concept,” says 27-year-old Rojisha Shahi, a psychologist at Healthy Minds Nepal. “As a society that is still suspicious of anything on the internet, people are now even more skeptical of online counseling and its authenticity.”

Therapy stands on the foundation of trust and confidentiality. In-person sessions usually familiarize clients with the psychologist and the space they’ll be speaking in. Shahi says she decorates her office with plants and a lot of natural light to help her clients relax.

However, in an online setting, people seeking help are confined to their own space, often the very place they wish to escape. “Many can’t speak freely in an environment where their family can hear them,” Shahi continues. “In the absence of a private space, they have a hard time opening up.”

Saluja Chand, a counselor at St. Xavier’s College, also highlights this issue. “Teenagers are at the receiving end of both academic and familial pressure. So to make themselves vulnerable under these settings takes a lot of courage on their part.”

Where therapy sessions are new, the clients get suspicious about the psychologists and whether someone is listening in on their interaction.

On the other end of the spectrum, there are also instances of severe attachment to the counselor. Kripa Sigdel, psychologist at Psychbigyan Network Nepal, brings up a recent incident of a client who was constantly texting her for comfort. “During in-person therapy, there is a limited time and place on how much the two of you can speak,” she says. “But when that relationship goes online, counselors are easier to reach. The boundaries blur and the client expects you to be there for them 24/7, which isn’t possible for us.”

The relationship between a counselor and a client plays a key role in therapy. And while first introductions and conversation flow usually depend on the individuals and the therapist’s skill, online counseling hasn’t made it any simpler.

“It’s easier to form personal connections with clients when they’re physically present,” Shahi confesses. “Making a person comfortable online completely depends on your verbal skills. It feels more impersonal as there are distractions on both sides.”

Chand seconds this idea, adding that it completely depends on the individuals. “Some find it much easier to open up because of the detachment when you don’t have to show your face or look at the other person.” But for psychologists who also take note of body language and gestures, this is a downside as it blocks one of their main factors of observation.

For instance, Sigdel, who uses holistic activity-based observation methods, finds the sudden shift to online counseling challenging. “Getting quieter clients to open up solely based on conversations is quite difficult,” she says. “And interactive activities are harder to execute online.”

The lack of technological support isn’t helping either. Even during one of the worst crises in history, many parts of Nepal are still facing regular and unpredictable power cuts that don’t just interrupt counseling sessions but also take away the biggest communication channel between the help-seeker and the help-giver.

Similarly, many people from Kathmandu have gone to their villages during the lockdown. Says Pratima Tamrakar, counselor at Helping and Smiling, “Those without Wi-Fi access are solely dependent on mobile data for the internet. For them, help isn’t just far away, but also expensive.”

The expenses aren’t limited to the internet as most psychologists charge for their sessions. Because of the rise of mental health issues during the pandemic and the shift to online counseling, many have slashed their regular fees.

While the charges vary depending on the case’s severity and client demand, average fees for most online counselors ApEx spoke to ranges from Rs 1,000 to Rs 2,500 a session.  

The situation is tough for many. Shahi shares that she has clients who have lost multiple family members to the virus and are now completely lost.

While online counseling has its limitations, it’s also the only alternative right now for people with mental health problems--and it has its benefits. 

A 20-year-old ApEx spoke to had been taking online counseling for the past seven months. Since the lockdown, she’d been having a hard time getting out of her room, her anxiety levels reaching the highest they have ever been. But after receiving help online, she has grown out of her shell and learned to deal with life in a healthier way. When asked if she’d shift to in-person therapy after the second lockdown ends, she admitted that she’d received the help she wanted and wouldn’t be meeting her therapist physically.

Psychologist Sigdel confirms the effectiveness of online counseling, reporting that she herself had taken on newer clients during the first lockdown and finished their sessions before the country reopened.

Karuna Kunwar, psychologist at CMC Nepal, shares that during the beginning of the first lockdown many people were overrun with paranoia and spam-called medical institutes, convinced that they had caught the virus. This occurred so often that hospitals had to provide individual hotlines just to calm and comfort people on their symptoms, with experts speaking on the other end.

According to Sigdel, it was during the very first lockdown in Nepal that Man Ka Kura, an online platform connecting Nepalis all over the world to Nepali psychologists, was established.  

Despite these developments, almost all psychologists ApEx spoke to agreed that they would hesitate to see clients with severe mental illness for online counseling. Because critical psychological disorders can’t be treated with just therapy and online therapy is still in its infancy in Nepal, psychologists are irresolute about taking on severe and violent cases. Instead, for this purpose, they recommend emergency hotlines or seeing a psychiatrist.

The Covid-19 pandemic has brought to sharp relief many infrastructure-related hurdles in Nepal, one of them being access to transport. Moving infected patients who are in the same enclosed space as them is a challenge for frontline workers even during land transport. For helicopter pilots doing so in the air, even as they navigate Nepal’s difficult terrains, it’s doubly challenging. 

As with most frontline workers, the pilots usually wear personal protective equipment (PPE). Most pilots ApEx spoke to said their helicopters are completely sealed in order to contain the virus--further adding to the risk of contagion within. 

When patients need to be airlifted from the Tarai region, where the temperature rises up to 40 degrees in summer, the pilots in PPEs are drenched in their own sweat. They can’t even drink water as they need to be in masks, face shields and gloves at all times.

Captain Pasang Norbu Sherpa
Prabhu Helicopter

Sherpa is one of those pilots still carrying out rescue missions that aren’t just Covid-related. The pilot, who started out in 1995, works 10 hours a day, six days a week even during the lockdown. He’s on call for rescue missions, usually to the mountains. As it’s difficult to get PCR tests in remote areas, he doesn’t always know if the people he’s rescuing are infected or not. However, he still wears double masks and a face shield to be safe.

Just recently, Sherpa rescued a team of mountaineers from Everest Base Camp. Following that, he led another rescue mission to Dhaulagiri Base Camp. In addition to leading rescue missions, on average, he airlifts around three patients from different areas of the country and brings them to their designated hospitals.

While flying with a double mask and a face shield is uncomfortable, Sherpa confesses that the biggest issue during rescue missions is still the bureaucratic red tape. “During missions, we cannot fly until we get full details from ward offices or until we receive approval from the authorities. This takes a long time,” the captain says. “This isn’t feasible during emergency situations where the patients are already on the brink of death.”

Captain Hare Ram Thapa
Simrik Air

Captain Thapa has been on countless rescue missions since he started flying in 2010. He’s witnessed health emergencies and travel accidents throughout his career. Since his first Covid-related airlifting on October 12, 2020, pilot Hari Ram Thapa has transported over fifty Covid-infected patients from all over Nepal.

With ten hours of office time in which seven hours is allocated for flights, Thapa airlifts anywhere from one to three patients a day. Since he works in a department that has been exclusively assigned to look after Covid emergencies, he’s moving all over the country, according to demand. When ApEx spoke to Thapa, he was in Pokhara after just transferring patients from a remote area to a hospital there.

Captain Deepak Garbuja Pun
Kailash Helicopter Services

Pun’s department airline began rescue operations in late October. Since the captain started at a time when infection rates were still containable, he used to get one patient per day. However, as  the pandemic raged, he now ferries two-three patients a day on average.

Before the pandemic, Pun used to fly patients from remote areas to well-equipped hospitals inside Kathmandu. When the hospitals in the valley stopped taking new patients due to shortages in ventilator, oxygen, and bed shortage, much of his flights had to stop. Even when it was resumed, he had to take patients from Kathmandu outside the valley for treatment. He recalls incidents when he took sick individuals from the capital to Biratnagar.

As the situation improved, he’s been bringing in patients from Bhairahawa, Nepalgunj, and Pokhara. Pun, who has been flying for the last 22 years, also finds the heat very challenging. “We are double-masked and double-gloved inside PPE, and it gets very sweaty,” the captain tells ApEx.

Captain Ananda Thapa
Altitude Air

Captain Ananda Thapa’s airlifting missions are mostly focused in the Western Terai of Nepal, including areas such as Biratnagar, Siraha, Janakpur, Birgunj, Bhairahawa, Nepalgunj, and Chitwan. Among the hilly areas, he’s received emergency calls from Rukum and Surkhet. 

Normally, the captain works anywhere from 7-10 hours. However, because many of his missions need him to fly to areas with high temperatures, he has limited his flight time to five hours as a precaution.

“It’s extremely daunting for us to push our physical limits and fly in hot temperatures whilst wearing PPE,” he says. “Most of us are drenched in our own sweat when we land back in Kathmandu.” Thapa is flying three-four patients a day on average.

In his 14 years of career, this is also the first time he’s been forced to isolate himself from his family due to his job. The captain usually stays alone in his own room. An ex-army man, Thapa is used to risky situations, but the pandemic has brought the danger to his family as well, but he’s determined to fight it any way he can.

On days when the rest of the world goes to school or work, Swornim Shakya sits in front of a computer in this room holding a pen and a tablet.

Even though the 24-year-old grew up around a family of artists, he hadn’t thought of making a career out of digital illustration. 

“I was more into photography,” Shakya shares. 

“I wanted to do something in that field, but back then, it was hard to find work as a photographer unless you did event shoots.” While shooting at events would help him earn money, he couldn’t do it as it wouldn’t give him a creative outlet.

However, his hobby taught him image manipulation software at an early age. As Instagram’s popularity grew, Shakya was inspired by foreign creators who drew digitally and used their art skills to earn their livelihood.

“I started out by making handicrafts and carving wood,” remembers Shakya. He saved up his salary for a while and finally bought a Wacom tablet.

“Back in 2017, digital illustration was still in its fetal stage in Nepal,” he says. There were only a handful of art pages from the country and even fewer related to digital drawing. For Shakya, it was hard to find critics for his works. “I had to be my own critic for a long time,” he confesses. 

“And I’m still very careful about what I put out. I don’t post my artwork unless I think they’re worth showing.”

It’s hard to pin down Shakya’s art style for he draws everything from cartoon-like characters to large, detailed portraits and fictional creatures. When asked if he’s influenced by his family’s Thankas, Shakya said that while his artistic family background might have affected him as he grew up, he’s now more interested in branching away from the religious and traditional aspects of it and taking up newer challenges. “I’m more inspired by digital artists right now,” he says.

Some may think that being exposed to art from a young age makes people more skilled, but that rarely holds for digital illustrations because, even though the concept of the art is similar, the process of it is completely different. You have to go back and relearn all the basics of art to get a hold of digital drawings. And the same holds for Shakya.

Right now, most of his work includes freelancing for different companies and institutions to make designs for posters, merchandise, and stills for videos. He’s also busy experimenting with different tools and sharpening his skills and styles. Most of what he makes independently also shows up on his Instagram.

“I make art for myself,” he says. “But I also want people to take something from my work, from what I portray.”

While he is doing well for himself today, this success didn’t come to him easy. In addition to the lack of feedback, Shakya also had a hard time building a career in illustration at a time when people didn’t know what it was. 

Even though everything was in the process of becoming digitalized, people were still skeptical of anything that came from a computer and the internet. 

The lack of digital space community also contributed to his loneliness. He was struggling alone, with no one to reach out to for advice or applause. Shakya drew for himself, posted for himself, but he was always aware of how alone he was. That’s also why he’s named his Instagram page, Ekanta Pana, a tribute to the peaceful but isolated journey he’s had.

After all these hurdles, today, Swornim Shakya stands as one of the first few people in Nepal to run a digital art page. Most days, he makes his own schedule and you can find him working from home, drawing for a living on the same tablet that he bought years ago.

Long practice hours, complicated studio deals, and puzzling financial management—making music isn’t that easy these days. But the biggest issue of all is the limitations in options for launching new albums in a community that isn’t as interactive as it used to be, a group of music enthusiast friends realized. So they decided it was time to do something about it.

“Who said music is easy?” asks Ritavrat Joshi, a member of the group. 

The solution was to build an interactive community that grows together, an app to bring musicians and their audience in direct contact with each other by sharing songs, albums, merchandise, gig alerts or, even regular updates.

The app was released on April 10, 2021, in collaboration with artists and avid music listeners. The grand vision of the makers of the app is to change the listening culture in Nepal, to give the audience the best music experiences all while serving the artists so that they too can receive their fair share without the hassle of mediators in between. When toying with the idea of doing something for the music industry, Joshi had been talking to different new portals and platforms that are here to support the music scene, but couldn’t find any that supported big and small artists in terms of payment ratios and copyrights issues. He then talked to singer Bartika Rai about his ideas and together, they developed a basic concept for the app.

With Sushant Roy at the back-end and design, the idea finally came to life. After Avishek KC and Suzeena Shrestha joined the team, they finally moved forward with the app with Gorato Works as the developer team.

Since its launch, Noodle has been involved in various gigs and tours in direct coordination with artists such as Zero Brains and Retro Rockets, and the recent launch of ASM’s album at Beers N’ Cheers. But the main focus is still on the virtual service app. This means that NoodleRex has many more features to be announced and not just limited to music sales.

Noodle is built with a user-friendly interface that allows guests to get the full experience of Nepali music. After the login credentials are confirmed, app users can see 30-second previews of songs from various artists. The full songs can be purchased in HD straight to your phone. The downloaded music hence is available to you even when you’re offline.

The app doesn’t charge artists who want to upload their work on the platform. Anyone interested can simply contact them and answer a few of their questions. However, their songs must be original and of high quality since Noodle wants to bring HD audio experience back in style.

Any genre of music is welcome. The team provides the artists with a personal dashboard where they can see sales and unit shifts in real life. The artist will be paid according to those numbers.

“Streaming platforms and fair payment ratios are still far-fetched ideas in Nepal,” Sushant Roy shares. “What we’re trying to assure is a sustainable future for all artists. Here, the support they receive, both social and financial, is immediate and first-hand.”

The price of one song is minimum Rs 99. However, the artists have the freedom to change that. The price of an album can be decided after rounding off the number of tracks or by the artists themselves.

Users who are logged in can use digital payment services such as eSewa, Khalti, and FonePay. Users outside Nepal can use PayPal, VISA, and Mastercard services are being introduced soon. Cash on delivery will be available for the merchandise sales feature of the app

So far, artists in Nepal have been supportive of the idea.

However, the biggest surprise came from the audience's side of things. The recently launched ASM album has already made more than 60 sales as of April 20, 2021, and that was within ten days of the app’s launch.

Consumers have also been buying older albums of Astha Tamang Maskey, Jerusha Rai, and many other artists who have a niche fan following.

Why did you name it Noodle?

 Naming the app was a long process but ‘Noodle’ stuck with us because we see the app like a bowl of noodles—full of different tastes and flavors. We are also “noodling” around ideas to make the Nepali music scene better. So the name just clicked.

Before Mandip Bakhunchhe co-founded Chhalaang, a broadcasting and media production company, his audience knew him as YouTuber SuperMandip.

One of the few content creators in the country when YouTube was relatively new, SuperMandip became a household name among teenagers, winning hearts through the screen with his quick-witted charm and short comedy sketches.

It had all started when he began creating content for a short-form video hosting service, Vine. When the app shut in 2016, he started uploading compilation videos of vines along with a few comedy skits of his own. “I was 16 when I uploaded my first video on the SuperMandip channel,” he tells ApEx. And since then, it’s been a strange journey.

Throughout the years, he has collaborated with popular Nepali content creators such as Sabin Karki and Fun Revolution TV. Since he started his channel in 2016, he has garnered almost 50,000 subscribers and more than 4.3 million views on the video-sharing platform.

While his uploads have dwindled in the last year, SuperMandip is still known for his comedy sketches to satirical skits, and long video series. His Vine compilation videos alone have hundreds of thousands of views.

Mandip has now found his true passion in making short movies. “I have always been in love with filmmaking,” he shares. “I remember watching Spiderman movies as a child and wondering how they were able to create such an iconic masterpiece.”

His love for the movie industry only grew as the years went by and he started making videos on his father’s phone and old cameras. It was this hobby that had led him to create content on Vine and eventually on YouTube.

“Most people know me as a YouTuber. But I want to be known for my movies,” he says.

And that’s exactly what he’s going after right now.

He has penned countless scripts for skits, movies and TV show— while some of it has been converted into videos others haven’t seen the light of day.

These days, Mandip is busy working as the head of production at Chhalaang. But he hasn’t given up his dream of making movies of his own.

He believes that his experience in the company is only fueling his passion. He is constantly surrounded by artists and creators of all kind. And when he’s not working, he’s writing.

He has even found an outlet in poetry. And some of his verses have been transformed into songs. “I’ve been playing guitar for almost a decade now,” he says, talking about how his songs came to be. He was just humming a few songs when he started singing a few of his own lyrics.

“It wasn’t really supposed to be anything, but I played it for a few of my friends and they encouraged me to turn it into a song.” In the last nine months, SuperMandip’s channel has released Afno ta aafu matrai. The song has received half a million views,.

Even though he plans on releasing more of his music work in the future, and has already recorded more than two songs, he doesn’t consider himself a musician. “It’s a hobby more than anything,” he says. “And I truly enjoy the process. But my passion is filmmaking.”

Despite his love for creating content, one could easily see the lack of consistency in his YouTube uploads. When asked about this, he told ApEx that he believes his time as a content creator has come to an end.

“I’m not giving up on YouTube,” he says. “I will be uploading videos every once in a while. But I want to focus more on my career in the movie industry rather than on the YouTube space.”

Even though the online platform has given him much-needed experience and growth, he’s found it difficult to build a career on it, one of his biggest issues being financial compensation. “It’s hard to get sponsors when you are small creator,” he confesses. “And even when you do get paid, it’s irregular.” The last few years have been a wake-up call for him, forcing him to do a reality check on his priorities.

“I believe that everything has a right place and a right time,” he says. “I am grateful for everything that YouTube has given me, but I’m also happy to be known as a former content creator because it’s time to explore newer, larger things.”

According to him, the right delivery to the right audience is what makes a story great. His audience has evolved since the creation of SuperMandip. And since he has a fair share of his stories to tell, he’s now only waiting for the right time to deliver them.

Arguably, the valley’s street animals were the biggest sufferers during Kathmandu’s previous Covid-19 lockdown. Stray dogs couldn’t find enough discarded food, monkeys living in the proximity of various temples also battled hunger pangs as devotees stopped going to places of worship with their food offerings. Stray cats faced a similar fate. As we stare at another possible lockdown, they are likely to suffer more.

The lives of these stray animals were only marginally better before and after the end of the lockdown.

On April 12, hundreds took to Kathmandu’s streets after a video of two men brutally killing a street dog went viral on social media. According to media reports, the dog named Khairey had allegedly bitten a child, which in turn prompted the men to beat the mongrel to death.

“Justice for Khairey,” the protestors demanded as they stood in line at Maitighar with various placards.

For animal rights activists, the outrage has been long overdue. While the government rarely takes action against alleged perpetrators of violence against animals, the society has normalized it on the pretext of cultural and religious norms despite legal provisions against such practices.

“All we want is justice for Khairey. Why are authorities so reluctant?” 43-year-old Erika Dhungana asks. An appalled Dhungana, who has been working in animal welfare for over half a decade, adds: “If the law has been made, then shouldn’t the guilty be punished?”

The Criminal (Code) Act, 2017, states, “No person shall subject any animal or bird to torture by beating or hitting it”. A breach of this law could result in imprisonment not exceeding three months or a fine not exceeding Rs 5,000. However, alleged perpetrators of violence against animals rarely get caught in the act, and if they do, they usually go unpunished.

“Every year or so we hear authorities promising animal abuse is going to be ethically dealt with. And every year is another disappointment,” says Dhungana, who has witnessed countless incidents of violence against animals since the 80s.

No laughing matter

Pramada Shah, founder and president of Animal Nepal, a non-profit working for animal welfare since 2004, confesses that complains about animal abuse is never taken seriously. “There’s been a number of times when I’ve gone to the police station to report cases, but the officials never investigate it,” she says. “Most will take the subject lightly, some will even laugh, saying, ‘it’s just an animal’.”

For young activists, however, the problem is not just lack of laws or their selective implementation. The issue is more deeply rooted. “People have normalized cruelty against animals,” says Sanjivani, 19, the founder of Life with Furs.

“Parents tell their children that animals will hurt them if they get too close. And while they intend to safeguard their kids, it usually leaves a negative impression on the young mind,” she adds. Sanjivani has seen children throw stones at dogs and try to hurt them from a distance. “As these actions don’t raise red flags, they might reinforce children’s indifference to animals’ pain.”

Upama Poudel, psychotherapist at Nava Jeevan Counseling Center and Research Institute, agrees with Sanjivani. “Young people unconsciously imitate the habits and behaviors of elder family members,” says Poudel. “The same with their perception of animal rights.”

The attitudes are further shaped by Nepali lifestyle which has normalized open butcher shops in narrow alleys, dead animals lying around on the streets, and sacrifices in the name of religion, activists say. These are areas even the law is unable to touch.

While The Criminal (Code) Act, 2017 outlaws brutal killings, it condones religious sacrifices. The law states, “No person shall kill any animal or bird in any public place other than a religious place where there is a tradition of animal or bird sacrifice.” However, as the Valley is full of religious places—from stone idols on street corners to large temples—this exemption creates a big loophole.

“Religion does play a role in how people view animals,” shares Irfan Khan, founder of Adopt a Dog Nepal and Paaila, where he also works as a vet in an animal rescue team. “Dogs are often considered impure in Islam. Growing up in a Muslim family didn’t stop me from playing with street dogs. But when I returned home, I was always asked to take a shower and change my clothes.”

Twisting religions

But Karuna Kunwar, psychologist at CMC Nepal, disagrees with the notion that religion is responsible for animal cruelty. “No religion teaches you to be unkind. No god tells you to hurt innocent creatures,” she argues. “People have taken the teachings of holy books and twisted them to fit their narratives. They’ve turned sacred rituals into sadistic festivals.”

Kunwar adds that many religions associate deities with animas and believe they embody divinity. Throughout history, animals have been worshipped as gods in disguise. Buddhist faith builds on the concept of ‘ahimsa’ which denotes that no harm must be inflicted upon any other living creature. Hinduism too teaches that humans and animals are all part of a large family and every animal must be treated with respect. Ancient Egyptian and Iraqi stone carvings show humans and dogs being friends. It was only around 200 years ago that dogs began being associated with widespread diseases and people started banishing them from cities. Thus the idea of them being ritually impure came into being. Religion is not the problem here, Kunwar says, “the way people use it as a tool to justify violence is”.

But more than religion or family, Khan thinks it’s the collective mindset that needs to change. “The way street animals are perceived as ‘dirty’ and ‘untouchable’ sets the tone for how they will be treated by the locals,” Khan tells ApEx. “It’s difficult to get rid the mindset that all street animals are disease-ridden and deadly from a community that has believed it for so long.”

“No normal person would go outside thinking they’re going to hurt someone,” psychologist Kunwar says. “If they do, they have mental health issues. People who beat and kill animals are no different. Violence is not a way to deal with emotions. The issue of animal cruelty in Nepal is largely individualistic and the causes for it cannot be easily generalized,” she adds.

Rohit Shrestha, 22, founder of Four Paws Clinic, seconds her emphasis on the roles of individuals. “As street animals don’t have any owners, anyone can hurt them without any repercussion,” he says. “No one speaks up for them, and culprits can stay anonymous.”

Most people who abuse animals have been found to have faced abuse themselves. “It is usually the oppressed and angry who abuse animals,” psychotherapist Poudel says. “It’s a form of the strong exerting power over the meek.”

People suffer too

In an unequal society like Nepal, there is a lot of pent-up rage against all forms of discriminations, especially economic, she says. “When people are struggling to make their ends meet, they are unlikely to be worried about dignified existence of another species. The resources that developed countries allocate for animal welfare is spent on people here and it’s still not enough.”

Seema Bhandari, 27, founder of Helping Animals of Nepal, seconds Poudel’s statement. “Many Nepalis don’t have the kind of lifestyle that allows them to care for animal,” she says. “They’re busy fulfilling their own basic needs.” According to her, very few people can afford to have pets, and for those who do, they mostly don’t care about their pets.

Shah, however, believes that even if the socioeconomic status of the country were to improve, it wouldn’t lessen animal cruelty. “Instead of being abandoned on the streets, they will be put in cages,” she tells ApEx. “Because we don’t see animals being openly abused in foreign countries, we believe that they aren’t being abused at all. But that’s untrue. Industrialization will only push animal cruelty to greater heights. They’ll be used for consumption and experimentation. Commercialization of livestock sector isn’t going to lessen violence against animals; it’s only going to make it more systematic.”

In fact, Shah adds, that is one of our biggest issues—the way we perceive animals as commodities. “School curriculums that talk about compassion for animals often push a narrative that they are ‘useful’ or ‘profitable’. Cows give milk. Dogs guard us. Hens lay eggs. Because they’re useful, they must be protected and cared for,” she says. “There are no books that talk about respecting animals because they are living creatures. Because they’re important in our ecosystem. It is only when a species is on the brink of extinction that they’re given any attention. But by then, it’s usually too late.”

She brings up the recent incident of at least 67 endangered vultures that died after feeding on the dead bodies of poisoned dogs. “Everything effects everything else,” she says. “The haphazard breeding of dogs, violence against wildlife for tourism, using domestic animals for industrial purpose—every animal that exists in Nepal is being abused. The government needs to step in and put an end to it.”

However, things are changing, if slowly. Dhungana says youngsters today are more involved in taking care of street animals. With non-profits conducting awareness and donation campaigns, more people are taking up the cause.

Khan believes that the youths are capable of ushering in change in attitudes. “Seeing how I’ve built my career on caring for animals, my family is a lot more supportive now,” he shares. “They even go out to feed the stray dogs in our neighborhood.”

Bhandari says media plays a significant role in how cases of animal cruelties are handled. “When animal abuse is a hot topic, it’s very well-covered. People’s outrage is news,” she says. “But protests don’t last forever and eventually the media moves on. But the reason behind the protest, the justice for the abused animal is rarely served.” Khan agrees with Bhandari. “When the protest for Khairey was happening, many news outlets reported that we instigated violence against the child who was attacked by Khairey, which is completely false. We never harmed the child,” he says. “It’s not right that we are being vilified when all we are asking for is for the law to be implemented.”

Meanwhile, animal rights activists are determined to get the perpetrators of violence against animals punished. And they want to begin by getting justice for Khairey.

“We hope the government takes legal action against the two alleged culprits,” Sanjivani says. “Until then, we won’t stop.”

Instances of animal abuse and neglect in Nepal

1. In the 1960s, Nepal’s rhino population declined to under 100 due to habitat degradation and widespread poaching. After conservation plans were put in place, the number rose to over 600. However, poaching started again. A total of 36 cases of rhino-hunting was recorded in Chitwan National Park in 2002. Between 1996 and 2006, 157 rhinos were killed. The cases dwindled around 2014 when government implemented Zero Poaching strategies. However, again in 2020, poachers killed four one-horned rhinos.

2. In 2002, tuberculosis was spotted in Sauraha-based captive elephants. It was believed to be a result of reduced immunity, overwork and lack of nutrition. Aside from the disease, elephants were also carrying injuries caused by beatings and inappropriate harness with little to no medical care. Visit Nepal 2020 campaign boosted elephant abuse in Chitwan district as many geared up for elephant safaris, rides and games.

3. Until 2009, more than 6,500 equines (donkey, horse and mule) were used in brick kilns, rice mills and milk chilling centers for carrying heavy loads. They were usually overworked, diseased and had unfulfilled basic needs. They are still used in these industries, although their condition has improved.

4. According to a 2018 data by Animal Nepal, there are over 1,200 stray cattle in Kathmandu including cows—our national animal—bulls and calves. The number is close to half a million throughout Nepal. Most of them survive by feeding on garbage, drinking toxic water and suffer from vehicular injuries.

5. In the 2000s, culling and poisoning of street dogs was rampant in Lalitpur district. According to a 2005 NHRC research, only 30 percent of dog owners in the Valley were against dog control by poisoning. In 2019, Khotang District Police received a complaint against three officials, including the mayor, for poisoning around 200 dogs, beating them unconscious and burying them alive.

6. In July 2020, a tiktoker uploaded a video of a white dog being thrown off a cliff in Kaski. In March 2021, a street dog named Khairey was beaten to death with an iron rod and a spade in Dhulikhel. In April 2021, at least four dogs were poisoned in Nawalparasi district, and at least 67 endangered vultures that fed on their discarded bodies were also found dead.

When Sristi KC, signed up for a class during her Masters in Anthropology, she was denied a place. The reason: She was blind and the professor thought it would be difficult to teach her.

This was not the first time that KC, who grew up in the hubbub of Kathmandu’s Baneshwor, faced discrimination because of her blindness.

After completing her School Leaving Certificate Exam, KC applied to a high school to complete her 11th and 12th. But the whole process left her shocked. “Most of the schools were reluctant to admit a blind person,” KC recalls her first encounter in discrimination in academia.

“I remember that a friend had also applied to the same school,” KC says. “We had studied under the same teachers in the same classroom. We even received similar marks in our SLC,” she added. While her friend received a 30 percent discount on her college fees—based on her grades, KC’s application wasn’t even considered.

The situation she found herself in would have been unthinkable for her friends and teachers who, until two years back, knew her school as an outstanding conversationalist and orator—qualities that could help her pursue a career in law.

But her life took an unexpected turn when she lost her eyesight while she was in the 8th grade. She was prescribed a medicine for an eye allergy, however, the use of it went unmonitored and her vision only got worse. As hopes of getting her sight back dwindled with time, KC knew she had no option but to live with it. Determined not to let her life stagnate, she continued with her studies.

Although she couldn’t pursue a career in law, the skills she honed during her school days would come in handy later. KC, who holds a Masters in Anthropology from an international university, founded Blind Rocks!--a non-profit that focuses on improving the lives of blind people in Nepal.

But that’s not the only hat she wears. KC, who infuses energy into young people with her motivational speeches, is already planning to start her own talk show on TV after winning the hearts of millions of viewers through her performance in the reality TV show ‘Dancing With the Stars’.

According to KC, she decided to participate in the show as disability of any kind is hardly ever portrayed in a good light in Nepal. “I wanted to portray my life as something positive,” she tells the ApEX.

Before KC hit the stage with her dance, stage performances by blind people were rare in the country. People were being denied the opportunity just because they were blind, she argues. “When you generalize an entire group with a narrow-minded stereotype, you’re closing the door of opportunities for them. And when you present them in a bad light, the legacy carries on and it’s hard to dismantle it,” she says.

While her accomplishments have required great courage and strength, KC also had her fair share of struggles, the foremost being people’s view towards differently-abled individuals that they always need to prove themselves. “When blind people try to do something for themselves, society thinks ‘they’re trying to prove that they’re capable’,” she adds. “But we must be allowed to exist without having to carry the burden of having to ‘prove something’.”

Many would say the lack of disabled-friendly infrastructure in the country is the main reason why people living with disabilities can’t realize their full potential. But KC doesn’t believe that. She rather points her finger towards people’s mindset. “Yes, the infrastructure in our country isn’t friendly to us,” she says. “But it’s when society views a disabled person as helpless that creates an even bigger obstacle. We are often looked down as beings who are incapable. But the truth is that we’re just as capable as any other human. Our way of contributing to society might differ from the rest, but it is a contribution nonetheless.”

The social activist also brings up the issue of the lack of job opportunities. “Oftentimes, our careers are forced to be based on our disability. It’s instilled in us from a young age,” she confesses.

“When I lost my eyesight, I still wanted to continue dancing. But people told me to quit and opt for music instead. Our options are taken away from us before we even get a chance to try them out.”

KC’s life has taken many turns, but she has navigated through them all with the help of her perseverance. She resolved not to allow anyone else to decide for her. That’s the one piece of advice she has for every young person, “Be in charge, be responsible for your life because no one else will.”

That’s what she had done back at her university. She fought for her place in the class, and when she was denied, she studied the subject anyway, completing it with an A+.