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On May 10, Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli claimed from the rostrum of the House of Representatives, “Out of 27,000 hospital beds in Nepal, 16,000 belongs to the government hospitals. And only 8,000 beds in government-run hospitals are occupied.”

On the same day, the Ministry of Health and Population, in its daily briefing, disclosed that 139 people had died of Covid-19 while 9,127 tested positive for the disease in the past 24 hours, contradicting the prime minister.

The Covid-19 contagion in Nepal is going from bad to worse. In this situation, many people have taken up commendable personal initiatives, largely in order to fill the vacuum left by the government’s inaction. ApEx talked to four such enterprising youths.

Anamika Nehuray

A resident of Bhaktapur, Nehuray is an MBA in finance who runs a startup that imports various merchandise and sells them local markets.

Nehuray, 25 says she loves people’s company. “I get inspired by those around me,” she says.

During the first lockdown in Kathmandu valley, Nehuray one day received a call, asking whether she would like to volunteer with Covid Connect Nepal. A couple of her friends had initiated the digital platform to connect healthcare seekers and providers. She jumped at the opportunity. “I like helping people,” she says.

During the first wave of Covid-19 in Nepal, everyone learnt of the limited government capacity to deal with the crisis. At that time, she had wanted to help people in distress, but because she didn’t have a team to work with, she couldn’t do much on her own. 

Nehuray is now the co-lead of the data team at Covid Connect. Her team of almost 55 members prepares the list of hospitals (province-wise) and the services they provide. The dataset is updated every three hours.

“We often get requests for oxygen and other necessities from hospitals and stores,” Nehuray says, adding that the condition has worsened to an extent that those who were earlier offering help now need help themselves.

Nehuray says she feels proud to be a member of a hardworking and service-oriented team. But given the scale of the crisis, their effort is still not enough. She hence appeals to every Nepali citizen to come out and together fight this common enemy.

Dibyesh Giri

The 39-year-old owner of an IT company has a master’s degree from Pune University. These days, he is busy coordinating with a team of volunteers from Samartha Nepal—a non-profitable organization that conducts free medical checkup camps.

Giri completed high school in his hometown Janakpur and like others, grew up with the dream of becoming a doctor or an engineer.

Right after his graduation, the government and Maoist insurgents signed the Comprehensive Peace. Giri soon returned to Nepal, leaving his job with a multinational company in India.

His team started Plasma Connect back in late 2020 to verify and compile information on convalescent plasma, which is used to tread gravely ill Covid-19 patients, in one place. “Being an IT enthusiast, I tried to match and connect donors and receivers via our website,” Giri says, adding that his initiation has helped more than 300 people so far.

Besides Plasma Connect, he is working on another platform, Nepal Covid Support, which manages every kind of Covid-19 logistics in one place, where “our dedicated volunteers collect and verify data before providing it to the public.”

“In this period of crisis, Covid-19 related resources should be well verified, updated, and filtered—and fast—to save precious time,” Giri says. “Every second counts.” 

Sudikshya Ghimire

“Wherever I do, I need to do it to the best of my ability,” says a 21-year-old BA second year student Sudikshya Ghimire who hails from Tansen, Palpa.

She has recently been working as a frontline worker in Covid Connect Nepal. Every help request or offer passes through her as the team has designated her private number as a hotline. Patients or relatives directly connect with her and she verifies, locates, and filters the first layer of the database. “Their pain and problems are my own,” Ghimire says.

At this point, all her callers sound helpless and neither she nor her team can help them enough, however hard they work. There have been challenges: “Some patients have died while their relatives were asking me over the phone to arrange medical logistics.”

Ghimire expresses frustration at the government’s clumsiness. “They are not doing a thing and because of that, people are dying for want of basic health assistance.”

Saurav Thapa Shrestha

After working at a youth empowerment organization, Saurav Thapa Shrestha, 24, had learned how to effectively work in a team. The graphic designer now looks after the social media and design part of Plasma Connect. 

Shrestha had been following clinical trials and research on plasma therapy abroad. After finding that plasma therapy was also being used in Nepal to treat Covid patients, he joined forces with his friends to form an alliance to connect people in need of convalescent plasma with those willing to donate it. These days, he is busy collecting verified contact details of ambulances so that people do not have to waste valuable time looking for them.

Shrestha says he was interested in volunteering since his childhood. “In class 10, I had proposed and initiated a social club in my school,” Shrestha explains. The club collected funds to support needy students in his school. 

Birth: 6 June 1938, Sindhupalchok
Death: 6 May 2021, Kathmandu 

A Nepali singer gets an invitation from the organizers of the Filmfare Awards in India. He performs a couple of Hindi and Nepali songs and is greeted with resounding applause. The jury members are so mesmerized that they give him the title ‘The Golden Voice of Nepal’.

That title would remain with legendary singer and musician Prem Dhoj Pradhan, one of the most popular performers in Nepali and Nepal Bhasa music in the past five decades. 

Born to a mother who had recorded a couple of songs on Radio Nepal, Pradhan was drawn to music from an early age. Although his parents were separated, and he lived with his father, he regularly visited his mother. There, he used to learn to sing as well as play instruments such as tabla and harmonium. Pradhan got more time to hone his skills after completing his SLC, as he moved in with his mother.

Soon, he would emulate his mother in recording a song at Radio Nepal. In 1955, he recorded ‘Yo Nepali Sir Uchali’—his first-ever. Mother and son would talk about music all the time, and it was this conversation that led Pradhan to toy with the idea of a song that would go on to define his entire musical career. “A guy is being followed by an unknown girl every day near the turning of the road…” his mother had narrated to him. Pradhan then came up with the words ‘Ghumtima Na Aau Hai’.

A single child born to Ratna Dhoj Pradhan and Pran Devi Tamrakar, Pradhan and his family had to face emotional turbulence due to divisions within the Newa community. While the Pradhans were considered members of the high caste, the Tamrakars were looked down upon. His father was forced to tie the knot a second time when Pradhan was just six months old. But that didn’t stop Pradhan from following his destiny. 

In 1966, famed Bollywood composer Jaidev came to Nepal to arrange music for the Nepali movie Maitighar. It was then that Jaidev was enchanted by Pradhan’s voice. The voice of this aspiring Nepali singer needed some fine-tuning and Jaidev wanted to help the young singer do that in Bombay. Pradhan went to Bombay and lived there for a month to learn music. Again, in 1970, Pradhan traveled alone to India and stayed there for a year to learn about arrangement.

Apart from Jaidev, Ustad Ganesh Lal Shrestha also played an instrumental role in his musical career. Shrestha agreed to train him for 15 months. In 1954, he had a dream in which he was singing with the ustad. Pradhan later approached him to accept him as a disciple. 

In 1965, a group of American artists performed at Tudikhel and, for the first time, he saw an artist play guitar and sing at the same time. And the rest is history. Pradhan started various trends in the Nepali music industry; his guitar and vocals would become the most iconic of them all.

He was also the first musician to organize a solo concert—he did so to build a house for his mother. For three consecutive nights, Pradhan, aided by singers such as Tara Devi and Nati Kaji, entertained the guests. 

Swar Samrat Narayan Gopal and Pradhan were friends from a young age and were together almost for a decade between 1950 and 1960. The two used to go to the cinema together—at that time the only way to listen to new songs and memorize them was to watch movies.

In his decades-long career, Pradhan gifted his fans dozens of hits like ‘Para laijau phool haru’, ‘Namana laaj yesari’, ‘Goreto tyo gaun ko’ and ‘Rajamati kumani’.

A few days ago, he was admitted to the hospital after reporting fever and chest pain. He was said to be ‘out of danger’, but a heart attack on May 6 took his life at the age of 83. Pradhan is survived by a wife and two sons—Prasanna and Kabir.

The government of Finland provides a ‘Finnish Baby Box’ to every pregnant woman. The box contains all the required materials for infants and new mothers. Rewati Gurung, a 37-year-old social researcher, learnt about this scheme in 2016 and felt that someone had to start proving such boxes in Nepal as well.

Toying with the idea of doing it herself, Gurung tried to find out the best materials, including maternity garments, to be included in the box, if it were to be given to Nepali mothers.

It was time for the documentary-maker, who has visited different parts of Nepal while working with various organizations, to draw from her experience. Her objective was to not repeat the mistakes made by various other brands: “Some Nepali brands even lie to their customers and present false claims in their advertisements.”

Three years later, in 2019, Gurung launched the Nepali version of the Finnish Baby Box—she called it Kokroma. (Kokro in Nepali refers a traditional cradle made up of bamboo).

“I was worried about how the product would fare in the market,” said Gurung. But her confidence grew as supporters, friends, mentors, and co-workers encouraged her to continue. “Apart from earning money, I always work to leave a meaningful impact on the society,” Gurung tells ApEX.

Looking for opportunities amid the pandemic,
we started making masks for children

Launching the business from scratch was not easy. She started looking for clothes weaved in Nepal without using chemicals. Being a health-conscious mother, she previously had weaved kokro and tori ko sirani (pillow made of mustard seeds) for her child just the way it was done traditionally to ensure that the baby’s head assumes a proper round shape.

She even traced the source of raw textile production. This led her to various prisons, where male inmates weave clothes for prison use. Gurung encouraged them, provided new machines and explained to them how learning skills could help them in the long run.

She was highly motivated by the positive response from jailers and officers while working with the prisoners. “It was challenging, but I never thought government officers could be so accessible, helpful and friendly,” said Gurung.

Moreover, she employed women for further sewing and tailoring. She picked domestic migrant women who came to Kathmandu to provide quality education to their children. Gurung handles the technical parts and designs products.

The production process begins with the designers creating sketches and choosing color combinations. Then, the same samples are woven by the workers in the prisons. This again goes back to the designers who customize the size and the designs. The final cutting and stitching is completed by the women before it makes its way to the market.

A startup that began with an investment of Rs 200,000, Kokroma now exports to Switzerland, Belgium, and the UK. Gurung is soon opening an outlet in Bouddha. But for now, she sells from her website, Facebook, and Instagram. Various other outlets also sell her products.

The Covid-19 pandemic and the lockdown imposed to contain it have created new challenges for the company. But kudos to the Gurung and her team; the company has so far taken the challenges head-on. “Looking for opportunities in the midst of the pandemic, we started making masks for children,” says Gurung, who has also started customizing masks for companies.

“We have gained a decent recognition. In the coming days, certainly, we will make it huge,” says Gurung.

“I prefer to call myself a politician,” says Samaira Shrestha who was recently selected as a central committee member of the Bibeksheel Sajha Party. There, she leads the Indreni department, a cell especially dedicated to the LGBTIQ+ community, the first such section in a Nepali political party.

Shrestha, 22, a transwoman, has always dreamt of working for her community. She feels lucky to have her family’s “100 percent support” for her chosen sexual orientation. “But despite the family support I faced considerable challenges outside my home,” she says, recalling her days at school where she was bullied and harassed by teachers and colleagues alike. Things were no better in her home community.

“My family does not place any kind of restrictions on me,” she says, citing the reason for her active community participation these days. By profession, Shrestha is a model and a theater artist but now she is more into political and social activities.

Shrestha says her political involvement was not preordained even though her parents and grandparents always encouraged her to play an active part in the society. “It is hard dealing with our straight-patriarchal community yet I am determined to make a mark in it,” she says. For one, Shrestha wants more political and community leaders to emerge from the LGBTIQ+ community.

When nearly the whole world was under lockdowns, there came a major turning point in Shrestha’s life. She underwent a gender reassignment surgery and was on complete bed rest. Shortly, she started a YouTube channel to communicate and overcome her introverted nature. At that time, she heard about a woman in a Covid-19 quarantine facility being raped by a police constable in Sarlahi. “It surprised me that my friends took this incident as normal,” says Shrestha. Considering the social and emotional toll on the woman victim, “the government was completely incompetent to do her justice.”

In the meantime she also saw on social media posts about the “Enough is Enough” protests, partly organized against the government’s mishandling of the Covid-19 pandemic. She decided to join the nonviolent resistance, including by going on a hunger strike. “In those nine days of hunger strike, my whole outlook on life changed,” says Shrestha.

A pet lover, Shrestha slept with street dogs and homeless kids during her stay at Basantapur in course of the strike “At least I had a blanket with me. But what about the people who are forever homeless?” she questions.

In Basantapur, many people, mostly youths, visited her regularly and lent her strong support. “It was such a beautiful exchange of positivity,” Shrestha describes the anti-government protest. “I was lucky to be a part of the strike that helped create social consciousness among the youth.”

The social activist believes it is the responsibility of citizens to hold their government accountable. “In a democracy like Nepal, we the people are the kingmakers and it’s upon us to keep the government honest,” she says. “If you love your country, what you cannot do is turn away from politics saying it is a dirty game.”

Compared to the past, today’s youths, Shrestha reckons, are more concerned about their country’s fate. But she also worries a lot about members of the LGBTIQ+ community in Nepal who lack awareness, basic rights and education. They also face considerable mental and physical traumas. Also, the state treats them like strangers as same-sex marriage is yet to be officially recognized in Nepal. Moreover, even though she identifies as a woman, Shrestha still has a citizenship that categorizes her as a male.

People advocate for the better treatment of the LGBTIQ+ community but real acceptance is still rare. Shrestha hopes everyone was a little more empathetic to the members of the community and allowed them to live the way they want to.

For Muskan Khatun, a 17-year-old girl from the southern town of Birgunj, life stopped being ordinary about two years ago.

On 6 September 2019, when she was on her way to school, a teenage boy threw concentrated acid on her face after she turned down his love proposal. The boy and his two companions ran away, leaving Muskan paralyzed with excruciating pain on her face and neck.

The boys were set free after six months of juvenile detention. Muskan’s face, and life, changed forever. During her stay at Kirtipur Hospital in Kathmandu, she had already made up her mind—she would henceforth work to save girls from acid attacks and other gender-related crimes.

The way she emerged stronger from the trauma, and the courage she showed in lobbying with the prime minister in drafting harsher laws against acid attacks, have been widely reported. On 5 March 2021, the American Department of State conferred on her the prestigious International Women of Courage (IWOC) award.

“I was stunned to know that for a heinous crime like acid attack, our law mandated only three to eight years of prison. The jail term was determined based on the damage to the victim’s body,” says Khatun. She recalls two-and-a-half months at Kritipur Hospital, where she was referred by the Narayani Hospital of Birgunj. There, she realized that great injustice was being done to victims who suffered for life while the attackers walked free after a few years in prison and led normal lives. She resolved to lobby for a more just law.

From the hospital bed, with her bandaged right hand, Khatun wrote a letter to Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli, asking for stronger laws. “I had poured my emotions in the letter,” she recalls. “But I never got a reply.”

After several surgeries, Khatun was able to speak normally. She went to every forum to speak for justice for acid attack victims. “From then, I was determined to push for stricter laws to end such attacks,” she says. She and her family were under great pressure to stop speaking out. They even got life threats.

Among her many visitors in hospital, there was a girl with mangled hands who used to do chores with the help of her legs. “After seeing her, I got really motivated and encouraged,” Khatun says, adding, “I have learned that physical beauty is temporary; what makes us great is our struggle for a bigger cause.”

One day seven months ago, the then Attorney General Agni Kharel happened to hear Khatun talk on a television program. “As always, I was expressing my unfulfilled desire to meet the prime minister who had ignored my letter. But someone had heard.” She was excited when Kharel arranged an appointment with the prime minister.

In her meeting, she urged PM Oli to invite every acid attack survivor and listen to them. Shortly afterwards, the cabinet issued an ordinance that would punish even delinquent perpetrators and regulate the sale of acid and other concentrated chemicals.

Khatun’s initiative has been crucial in bringing about a bill (yet to be passed) proposing 20-year prison  term and seizing of property of acid attackers, as well as greater restrictions on acid sale. (Acid attackers aged 10-14 years have to spend five years in juvenile detention while those aged 15-18 have to spend 10 years in such homes). The bill also proposes the government bear all of the victims’ treatment and education expenses and assure them jobs.

Despite the bill attacks on girls continue in different forms. On 23 March, a 19-years old girl in Kathmandu was burnt with kerosene by her boyfriend. “This is all happening because of impunity, poor implementation of law and lack of awareness,” Khatun tells ApEx. She is also lobbying for stricter laws against rape and domestic violence.

Khatun has been appealing to the government, political parties, civil society organizations and ordinary citizens to run public awareness campaigns across the country. She reckons people in rural areas are unaware about where and how to file a complaint or a lawsuit against the perpetrators.

“Initially, I wanted to become a medical doctor. But the attack changed it all,” she shares with ApEx. “Now I have a bigger purpose. I want to give the victims a voice. I want to work as a social worker and human rights activist.”

To her, a permissive attitude and lack of public awareness are helping the perpetrators. “We should come forward and speak up. Please do not remain silent, as these offenders attack us thinking we are weak and vulnerable,” appeals Khatun.

For an average, occasional consumer of honey, ‘mad honey’ may sound a little weird. For Sanjay Kafle, founder of Best Mad Honey, it’s the best thing Nepal’s rocky cliffs offer.

Slightly intoxicating, mad honey contains Grayanotoxin, a psychedelic chemical found in the pollen of raw, organic mountain flowers. Collected by the world’s largest bee Apis dorsata laboriosa, and commonly called “Bhir Mahuriko Maha” in Nepali, mad honey has multiple medicinal values.

Kafle, 26, considers his start-up the first and only place to exclusively sell ‘cliff-mad honey’ in Nepal. “You can easily get mad honey at a local or online store,” he asserts. “But at Best Mad Honey we assure highest quality and zero extra preservatives.”

A passionate traveler and blogger, Kafle had discovered mad honey when in 2019 he had gone to do a story on honey hunters. He espied a great business prospect and did a little research. Though new to business, he was quick to see the many flaws in the existing supply chain of this valued mountain product.

“I was sure I could close those loopholes and convert honey hunting into proper business,” he confides. Just when the country was going into coronavirus lockdowns in 2020, he was starting his outlet at Dhumbarahi in Kathmandu. Considering the circumstances, his business hasn’t done badly thus far.

Even though cliff-mad honey is found in many rural districts of Nepal, Kafle chose to collect it from Lamjung and Rukum. The team brings raw honey to Kathmandu and filters it before packaging. “We don’t refine or add anything; we only separate the solid and pack the liquid,” Kafle clarifies.

Besides local delivery and world-wide exports, Best Mad Honey also offers honey tours and expeditions, whereby interested people can go on honey-hunting, trekking, and camping. A sightseer himself, Kafle explains: “Hunting places are now partially established as tourist places, a vertical source of income for the locality to maintain a livelihood.”

There was a time when selling hunted honey was a hectic job for villagers. But no more, thanks to entrepreneurs like Kafle. His honey places in Lamjung and Rukum have already been established as seasonal destinations, drawing visitors at least twice a year during harvests. Honey hunters set out to collect mad honey from late April to early July, and from September to October.

In rocky cliffs as high as 4,000 meters, the tough and tolerant breed of Apis, commonly known as cliff bees or wild bees, gather natural mad honey without any human intervention. They migrate to the southern Tarai plains in winter.

Despite its health benefits, one has to exercise caution while consuming this wild honey: excessive use can be poisonous. “If used wisely, it can provide effective relief from joint problems, sore muscles, digestive issues, and even cancer and heart diseases,” asserts Kafle. “Moreover, it strengthens the immune system, improves cholesterol level, and provides vitamin, calcium, and amino acid that help prevent cell damage.” One can also use it as a food sweetener.

Normally, bees collect nectar from wild flowers like Rhododendron arboreum, Lyonia ovalifolia, Michelia kisopa, Quercus lamellosa, Berberis spp, and Schima wallichii, along with the chemical Grayanotoxin, which gives the honey its medicinal value. Though on the verge of extinction, the exceptionally tough task of wild honey hunting has been kept alive by the Gurung community of Nepal’s western hills.

“This is not horticulture as these bees can’t be farmed or artificially harvested,” informs Kafle. “We fund the total expenses of hunters.” His company has good working relations with Youths for Agri Welfare, a local organization that runs Honey Hunting Homestay, the first of its kind. It not only gives tourists an experience of a lifetime but also creates jobs in the villages of Lamjung, helping preserve local cultural heritage.

This honey business sounds quite fascinating. But it has its fair share of challenges. “It is a forest product, and we have to go through huge bureaucratic hurdles at the District Forestry Office and other local authorities,” says Kafle. “Yet we enjoy doing our job.” Exporting such products needs many levels of approval, licensing, and registration works. Despite all these, Best Mad Honey, an experimental start-up that kicked off with Rs 5,000, has now sold almost five tons of honey around the globe.

Wild honey hunting is undeniably a breathtaking adventure, and the yield—mad honey—is a very special produce from Nepal’s mountains. But home, it lacks the publicity and appreciation it deserves. Only when you give it a try will you know its value. A happy client and an Ayurveda lover, Isabell S. from the UK writes a review on Best Mad Honey website: “I have tried this honey and can confidently say that this is the best honey I ever consumed.” For her, if honey is straight from nature, it’s like a dream come true.

Visit: bestmadhoney.com, https://medicinalmadhoney.com

“I realized there were already plenty of private and governmental schools,” says Mahabir Pun, a teacher, researcher, scientist, and social entrepreneur, who once dreamt of establishing an education establishment for the underprivileged of rural Nepal. “So, I thought, why not instead focus on innovation and research centers for the country’s development?”

So it was that Nangi village in Myagdi district, his birthplace, had wireless internet connections by 2003, a time even the country’s major cities were deprived of decent internet facilities. Pun then sourced computers from donors and distributed them to surrounding villages. He also produced electricity from small hydro generators, and assembled handmade wooden-box CPUs.

Pun’s loftiest vision was to arrange vocational training for rural folks so that they could be more employable, both at home and abroad. Alongside, he was keen to help poverty-stricken folks engage in income-generating programs. Thus the computers he got in grant were used in online teaching, in establishing an e-market for local products. The lure of reliable internet also helped bring more trekkers to his village.

“Visions will only be wishes if we don’t share and work on them,” claims Pun, who publicized his primary proposal via the BBC, resulting in the formation of the National Innovation Center (NIC) in 2012. His goal was to boost innovation and invention. It is now registered as a non-profit research organization and is in the process of producing and selling 10 MW electricity, the profit from which will be reinvested in the center.

As of now, coffee roasting machines, solar dryers, and drones are the NIC’s major projects, produced as they are easily marketable. During the Covid-19 pandemic, the center made PPE kits and repaired medical equipment.

A man whose childhood was spent doing household chores and grazing cattle is determined to continue to lead a simple lifestyle. “Your dress and getup don’t establish your brand—your thoughts do,” he says. Moreover, Pun adds, “People, mainly youths, try to mirror the living standards of foreigners these days. They should rather look to borrow the foreigners’ progressive thinking and creativity.”

“During my time, we couldn't even think of studying abroad. Medical and engineering colleges were yet to start in Nepal, and people’s horizons were limited,” Pun recalls. But now things are vastly different, and yet, Pun rues, most of our able-bodied youths want to go abroad.

The 66-years old Pun reckons the new generation is not mature enough to take over the NIC. “I am ready to hand over, but so far I haven’t met a person who can give full time to the center without expecting a penny of profit in return,” he explains. “The center also needs someone capable of making fast, logical decisions.”

The jovial Pun likes to use his social media accounts to show a funny and fun-loving side of himself. (His dances with center colleagues have been smash hits.) More importantly, he uses Facebook and Twitter to publicize donations and expenditures.

The newly-announced ‘Galaxy 4k TV’ has among its lineup a television program, Aabiskar (‘Invention’), featuring Mahabir Pun. As the producers have been tight-lipped about the program, there is a lot of speculation about whether Pun will be a full-time presenter or put in only a guest appearance. Pun’s absence during the program’s announcement had also raised questions.

On being queried about it, Pun explains, “The television program could promote a culture of research. They consulted me too, but I might not have the skill to present a TV program.” He says he will for sure appear occasionally but he adds that it will be impossible for him to spare scheduled time for the show.