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I was taken aback when a man wearing a helmet approached and asked, “Searching for a room?” All the major festivities were over, and Christmas was yet to arrive. It was that time of the year when you couldn’t get a hotel room in Lakeside. But strangely, in the middle of the street, the man was offering me a room—and that too at a price way below Lakeside’s standards.

“I have already booked a room,” I said, more to myself because the man had already walked past me. But as he left, I caught a whiff of alcohol from him. He must have thought that I didn’t want to talk to him because he was drunk. The truth is that I am of the conviction that it’s not important to strike up a conversation with everyone, everywhere. 

As I stood on the sidewalk, I noticed a group of young girls walking into a dingy lounge across the street. Their clothes looked outlandish, I looked down at my own baggy jeans, hoping—even praying—that they didn’t look as odd.

Lakeside is not where I come regularly. I was here today because a group was joining me for dinner.

The only people I knew from the group were my two male friends, and I had never met the three girls coming with them. The girls were my friends’ friends from their school days.

As time passed, I began realizing that going to a bar and taking a slug of a drink would have been a prudent move. But I dismissed the idea because I was meeting those girls for the first time. I didn’t want to smell of alcohol and sound slurry. No civilized person would want to leave a bad impression during the very first meeting. To say I was excited to meet them would be an understatement. In the afternoon, when my friend had phoned me to inform me about the dinner party at Lakeside with his lady friends, I was thrilled by the idea of meeting unknown girls. Over the years, that friend of mine had never missed inviting me to any of the parties he went to. Perhaps he found it easier when I went along with him because he spoke even less than I did. This time, my excitement knew no bounds as it had been a while since I attended any gatherings with a group of girls.

When my relationship ended last year, I had vowed that I wouldn’t date anyone, but it was just a moment of frustration. For a year, I didn’t meet any girls and even avoided them when they approached me. It always took me by surprise when a girl texted me on Facebook, saying she’d love to have coffee with me. I may be dumb, but I knew at least that I didn’t have enough qualities to charm a girl. Most girls found me boring because of my involvement in writing and literature, while others wanted to meet me only to talk about how literature works.

At around 9 pm, I got a phone call from one of my friends, telling me that he and the other male friend would arrive in five minutes. I didn’t ask him if the girls were still coming because it would have sounded desperate. Also, if I had asked about the girls, my friend would have found some way to make fun of me when he arrived.

A red Vespa scooter stopped right where I was standing. The boys arrived, both of them wearing matching blue jeans, as if they were twins. As they approached, with no girls in sight, I felt a jolt of disappointment. Would I be there so early if the girls were not coming? But before I could ask about the girls, a friend said, “The girls are somewhere near here. They were saying they would be with another group until we arrived. So just let me give a call and ask where they are.” That news brought some relief to my senses as I wouldn’t have to listen to the boys ranting about their studies. No one would want to spend a night with geeks grunting constantly about money and studies. I wish I could convince my friends that there was more to life than just devouring course books. I mean, what’s with these engineer boys and course books? It’s not like I didn’t make efforts to replace their course books with classics and rom-com novels. But no matter how much you train the fish, it can’t swim outside the water. Tired of their ways, I stopped forcing them into reading novels, while incessantly being the victim of their superior jokes that only engineers could tell.

When the girl answered the phone on the other end, we spontaneously walked toward Busy Bee because it was the only vibrant pub in sight.

“We are right in front of Busy Bee,“ the friend murmured into the phone, while the other friend and I started making small talk. The girl on the other end said something I couldn’t quite make out.

“What? You’re there? Wait,” the friend turned around and peered at the dinghy lounge across the street. The girl in a black dress emerged and waved her hands at us. My nose scrunched up in disgust and surprise. I beckoned the friend and asked if they were the girls we were planning to meet.

“Yeah. They were the friends I was talking about. The three of them and we studied together till the tenth,” the friend with the phone in his hand said and pointed at another friend.

I laughed inwardly, suppressing a loud laugh. I didn’t tell my friends that I was standing on the sidewalk and glancing at them from across the street all the while. The girl in a black dress went inside the lounge again, possibly to pay the bill and fetch the others. While waiting for the girls, the friend, still holding the phone, looked tensely at me and mumbled, “You saw her? The one in a black dress. You’re going to talk to her tonight while we focus on the other two. We both are on the talking stage with the two other ladies. It’s weird that after years of knowing them, we are finally feeling something for them.”

“I’m not surprised at all. You know you both have always been like this. What a weird set of characters!” I remarked and met their eyes in succession. They laughed hilariously loud, and by the time they stopped laughing, the girl in a black dress was already behind them. Pushing her way through the boys, she appeared right in front of me, her nose stud glinting in the night lights. I hoped she didn’t notice me all the time I was standing there. When her right hand suspended in the mid-air, inviting me to shake her hand, I wondered whether I would have barged into the dingy lounge had I known that the girls were my friends’ friends.

When the old businessman sat at the table overlooking the streets, Regmi ji, without glancing at the clock hung in the far corner, knew it was 6:05 am. His timing was so precise that Regmi ji could bet his life on it. By the time the old gentleman arrived, Regmi ji’s kitchen sink would be filled with tea cups—some with a mouthful of tea left, others untouched because of phone calls stating urgency. Once the sunlight dispersed on the dew-drenched grass and joggers started returning from the nearby park, all the tables would be occupied, and more stools were brought in from the rooms at the back of the hotel—the same rooms where Regmi ji’s family of three ate and slept every night.

While Regmi ji poured tea into cups each morning, his wife would be in the back room, peeling potatoes. She was rarely seen at the hotel in the mornings, and if she was called to serve tea, it meant there were too many customers for Regmi ji to handle alone. In the other room, their daughter, a bright student, would underline her law books with red and pink markers. An eloquent speaker of English, she walked with an air of confidence. She didn’t play a big part in the small business of her parents, but Regmi ji wasn’t bothered a bit by her indifference. Deep inside, he knew that his daughter wasn’t someone who could sit behind the gas stove, smiling or feigning a friendly demeanor just to sell some cups of tea. 

And then there was Kanchhi with her broad face betraying no emotions whatsoever. She wore an expression so blank that it was impossible to tell whether she was delighted or downcast. Thanks to her, Regmi ji wouldn’t have sold as much tea if she hadn’t shown up every morning to do the dishes. Kanchhi, who had come from the hills of Parbat, mostly kept to herself, communicating through gestures. She was just the kind of worker Regmi ji appreciated—no big talk, always focused on her task.

When the clock ticked past 10, as every tea-lover headed home for their meal, the business would slow down a bit. And just after noon, workers, students, and those who couldn’t afford the luxury of Lakeside would enter the hotel, ordering samosas, cigarettes, and other cheap snacks.

When the tables inside the hotel were crammed, it was on the wide pavement outside that people would gather in circles, sitting on stools, changing topics of discussion with every round of tea. A sip of tea and ideas rushed out in a flurry. Over the years, Regmi ji had served tea to countless people, from politicians to beggars, thieves to saints—and, in a way, to the entire neighborhood of Lakeside.

On a Sunday morning, just like every other day, the old businessman came and sat at the table overlooking the desolate streets. Presently, Regmi ji began to prepare the special tea for his loyal customer. For Regmi ji, this routine affair induced a sense of calmness within him. It reminded him of the normalcy of the life he was leading. After all, it only takes a little for a man to feel content: a family of his own, a roof over his head, and a society that respects him. Regmi ji took pride in knowing the amount of sugar his regular customers preferred in their tea. For the businessman, it was half a spoon of sugar along with two seeds of cardamom. Ashok Sharma, who showed up in the afternoon, liked his tea bitter, with a strong smell of clove.

This morning, just when Regmi ji was pouring tea into the cup for the businessman, he heard a loud choke coming from inside the room. Was it his wife? No, it was the sound of someone young, so it must be the daughter. Even without delivering tea to the businessman, Regmi ji advanced toward the back end of the hotel, to the room where his daughter locked herself studying for hours. The businessman glanced at the door in amazement, and when he cleared his throat, Kanchhi mechanically gave up the dishes and fetched tea for him. There were no other customers to deal with, so Kanchhi, curiously, walked into the back room to figure out what the matter was. It was unusual for Regmi ji to not let Kanchhi enter their family confines. Kanchhi had no idea when Regmi ji and his family had drawn a boundary for her, a line that she was prohibited to cross. Had it been a sharper woman in place of Kanchhi, she would have understood that there was a reason why Regmi ji didn’t allow her inside. Of course, there was something fishy. The businessman drank his tea and left. He would come back and pay the next day. A wounded Kanchhi returned to her chore, and with the passing of time, more customers streamed in for a warm cup of tea. Inside the dingy room of the daughter, the father and the mother kept looking at each other, the words seemingly stuck in their throats, while the daughter kept pressing her neck as if some sharp object would materialize by her action and then things would be the way they were before.

“Can you ask her who it is that she has been going out with?” Regmi ji didn’t even look at his wife as he posed the question.

The wife, a scowl on her lips, looked down at where the daughter was sitting, her hands still pressed to her neck. When the daughter had thrown up and the mother had seen the thin, watery liquid, she had suspected outright that it was not a cold or sickness, and that there was more to it. She could keep her father in the dark, but with her mother, it was impossible to keep things hidden, especially when the case was so sensitive and required urgent attention. Had she not choked so loudly, Regmi ji might never have known that his daughter was pregnant.

Now, when the wife seemed reluctant to answer Regmi ji’s concern, he nimbly raced toward his daughter, placed his palms on the contours of her face, and slapped her so loudly that she nearly lost her balance. He had never felt so humiliated, not even when he used to work as a dishwasher at someone’s hotel when he was young. The slapping continued until his fingers throbbed. The wife had never witnessed this infuriated side of Regmi ji in their 25 years of marriage. She could have interrupted between the father and the daughter, but given the situation, her efforts would have been futile. Though she was a strict mother, she had never laid her hands on her daughter—it was the same with Regmi ji. At this point, the mother wanted to slap her, torture her, and maybe throw her out of the house. The parents knew that their daughter had her bold ways, and they always thought her exposure to the outer world in the form of books had made her so. They were privy to so many secrets that Nistha, their daughter, had kept to herself. But then, one was not supposed to tell that she smoked cigarettes every morning outside her college in a hotel identical to her parents’. There was no way Nistha could tell her parents that when she went out making the excuse of her friends’ birthday parties, she would spend the night in a hotel room at Lakeside, some 500 meters away, before dancing her heart out with strangers. The irony was that Nistha didn’t even know who had caused her belly to swell.

Regmi ji, after an angry episode that involved both physical and verbal attacks, went outside his room to face the world. A few regulars were already seated in their usual places and, by the looks on their faces, Regmi ji could tell that they had been listening to the family matters all along. He cursed himself, regretting his angry reactions. Couldn’t he have dealt with the matter in a different way? After weighing the situation, all the customers decided not to stay for tea in his tea shop, leaving him and his family to sort out the issue. As soon as the customers left, Regmi ji pulled down the metal shutters. There would be no tea today in his hotel. Meanwhile, the other hotels nearby would see a surge in customers, and this time around, there would be no talks about the coalition, the corrupt leaders, and the misguided media. People would pass this morning talking about the pregnant daughter of Regmi ji. Thinking of his ruined dignity, Regmi ji went to his daughter’s room, where the daughter, wiping her tears, was contemplating—drafting a plan to escape to some city where no soul would know her and the other being growing inside her.

When I first learned about H through a mutual friend, I had a strange intuition that he wouldn’t stay in Nepal for long. He seemed like someone just passing through—a fleeting presence. It was only a matter of time, I thought. Our first meeting happened on the quiet streets of Ratna Chowk. After hours of staring at a screen, I had stepped out for a break, craving a change of scenery. That’s when I met H. I introduced myself, and he did the same. At the time, the introductions felt like a mere formality, even unnecessary.

Now, years later, when I look back on that moment, it fills me with a deep sense of sadness for H. The confidence with which he said he was planning to go to Australia was sublime. Now I find it amusing to have assumed that the first encounter with H was also going to be the last. Over the years, H and I have celebrated countless birthdays together, made plans for weekends, and even acted as hosts, inviting our friends over to the nightclubs in Lakeside. So much has changed between the day we met and today—from his dream country to the paths I’ve chosen in my education. I don’t know why, but despite so many differences, we are similar in some ways.

In 2018, the year we met, I was doing my bachelor’s in IT, and H was taking IELTS classes. H’s room was just a five-minute walk from the flat where I stayed. One day, when we met for a walk in the evening, H proposed that I go to his room after finishing our usual rounds. There was no harm, I thought, and followed him into the narrow alley. Little did I know that the dark streets leading to his room were ominous.

‘Hell’ was the first word that came to my mind upon seeing the room that housed as many as four other boys—three of whom I already knew from playing cricket. If I weren’t visiting his room for the first time, I would’ve immediately labeled their accommodation as ‘hell.’ Coughing and dodging the smoke emanating from the thin sticks of cigarettes, I reached the far corner of the room, where a table and a plastic chair were lined up against the peeling wall. When I looked at H, he flashed me a rabbit-like smile, a gesture kindly coaxing me to hold a cigarette.

“I don’t smoke,” I said loudly enough to startle everyone. Only H seemed disappointed at my revelation, and at the time, I couldn’t make out why there were deep folds between his brows. Later, when someone lying in the bed informed me that H was a chain smoker, he got provoked by the statement and pulled out a stick from the packet of Surya, the rabbit smile once again restored on his big, round face. I had accustomed myself to the raw smell of smoke, though my nose was already burning. When I looked out the window, I realized I had stayed longer than I had meant to. But the boys in the room, along with H, had assumed I would be staying for the night. So, when I told them I was leaving, their faces fell, and I ended up staying for the sake of my new friendship.

There were enough beds, so I guessed no one had to sleep on the cold, hard floor. But I still remember that no one slept that night—not even in the beds. Talks about life ensued. I bought my favorite wine for myself, and the boys got their own drinks. The landlord who lived upstairs either had to be deaf or lenient, for he didn’t interfere even when the voices boomed deafeningly loud. It’s not in me to open up so easily, but that night, I ended up saying so many things I thought I would never share with anyone.

When it was H’s turn, he looked around at everyone, searching their faces, but no one seemed attentive at all. Then his eyes locked with mine. A friend sitting next to me glanced at me and remarked, “You are today’s victim. H is going to recount the same story for like a hundredth time.”  

In a high-pitched voice that didn’t sound the slightest bit gentle, H blabbered on about what he thought was the worst story of his life—a breakup with his girlfriend, who had cheated on him with someone else. The others had started finding the story funny because of the repetition, but I genuinely felt bad for H that night. As for me, I didn’t share stories of my love affairs or childhood but something deeper: life, its complexities, and how time treats it. Unlike H’s story, everyone listened to my wisdom, perhaps because it was being delivered for the first time. I knew that, just like H’s story, my wisdom would also suffer from a lack of audience someday.

Now, it has been eight years since that sleepless night. H has most probably faced eight rejections from the foreign embassy. And with how he goes about his life, I’m not surprised at all. He is still trying to flee abroad, his every attempt futile, feeble, to the point that no one takes him seriously these days. At first, it was Australia, then the UK, then Malta, Croatia...

On the other hand, I have upgraded from bachelor’s to master’s, but now if someone asks me what subjects I studied in my bachelor’s, I certainly can’t name them. I don’t even know their applications. I studied, worked hard for the exams, even passed with flying colors. But the results, the theories I studied in my bachelor’s degree have never once come to use. And I’m not the only one bearing the brunt of disillusionment. There are regrets. If only my college had connected me to the industry! If only I had chosen some other subjects! But then, everyone lives with their own regrets; I’m no exception.

Even today, I go to university aimlessly, just to listen to the graying professors, hopeful that their monologues might morph me into a slightly better human, an informed professional. The odds are low, the uselessness of my degree apparent, even translucent. Even H mocked me for diverging from a technical background to a business degree.

“MBA is the most reputed degree, and it’s good for people coming from a technical background,” I tried to sound sensible, but he just showed his teeth. Even he knew I wasn’t convinced by my own statement.

Talking about H, I don’t know what country he is eyeing now, because I have lost interest in keeping track of it. Even though we meet regularly, I have stopped asking about his process, which is always underway. Nevertheless, for the last eight years, we often go out at night on weekends, and sometimes it’s just us—H and me.

H said in our last meeting that he will be gone to Chitwan for over a month, so we have been drafting a plan to celebrate his farewell—a farewell so trifling that it doesn’t even deserve to be celebrated. But all we need is an excuse.

Next week, in the quiet of Lakeside, at some rooftop café, we will be toasting for the umpteenth time—me sipping my favorite wine and H his usual drinks. In between our sips, we will ceremoniously talk about the first night we drank together. About the absurd ideas, the revelations, and the friends—some already in foreign lands, some married, and one other dead who hung himself in a hotel room.

Every day, when I see schoolkids trudging toward their school, I am filled with nostalgia. However, I am not one of those people who say, “Those days were the best days of my life.” One would definitely not utter that sentence if they had been made naked in a classroom filled with forty-odd students. A chill still runs through my body when I remember that day from around twelve years ago.

This is my candid account of the harassment I faced when I was in grade 7. Now, after all these years, I have decided to recount the event that marred my confidence and affected me psychologically. It’s not that I made a huge blunder; I, along with two classmates, didn’t submit our assignment on time, and the teacher decided to punish us by exposing our bodies to the class. Thankfully, he was sitting at the back of the classroom, and we were asked to remove our clothes there. I remember bowing my head and refusing to follow his instruction. At first, I thought it was just a reprimand, but only when I looked into his eyes did I realize that he was serious. The other boys were also reluctant to undress, and that is when it dawned on the teacher that we wouldn’t comply on our own. 

Three students were called out, and at the teacher’s insistence, they began to tear our clothes, leaving only our underwear. The playfulness on the teacher’s face and his evil smile still haunt me. Tears coursed down my cheeks as I stood frozen on the cold ground, unwilling to move an inch. “Oe Bahun!” the teacher called out, pointing at me. My eyes, blurred with tears, were not ready to meet his gaze. It was my first year at that school, and as I approached him, I imagined spending three more years until my SLC examination under his dark scrutiny. When I stood near him, he made an angry face and ordered me to walk to the front of the classroom. Not believing what the teacher was saying, all the students turned to look at me, and my eyes met countless pairs of eyes. At fifteen, I was not daring enough to protest that he was in the wrong; I was not brave enough to tell him that I would not walk to the front of the classroom. My powerless legs dragged my body slowly and tentatively. To my surprise, I heard the teacher shout “stop” when I had crossed two rows of students. The naked boy standing at the end of our line had literally joined his palms submissively, pleading with the teacher to stop sending us to the front of the classroom. I don’t know what triggered the teacher, but he called us three out and made us stand in a semi-circle. “I am forgiving you all now. Repeat this next time, and I know what to do,” he said. Those words echoed in my ears not just until the end of that day but for years, and I still remember them vividly, along with the twitching of his facial muscles as he proudly forgave us.

It was the only time I was made naked during my school days. However, that does not mean the teacher stopped imposing that very punishment on others. The following year, when I was in grade 8, one of my classmates became the victim of his rage. This time, he did not choose the back of the classroom. The boy was made naked in front of the entire class. It goes without saying that it was for a petty reason. Plastic pipes and bamboo sticks were his main weapons; that’s how he dealt with students. The whole school committee endorsed his actions, and perhaps the parents were also assured that it was the best way to treat students. As for me, I never broached the topic of punishment at home. At school, I began to feel insecure and, for days, couldn’t hold anyone’s gaze. I couldn’t stand the sympathetic looks my friends offered. I started overthinking. From that incident, I now remember that I feared going to the front of the classroom and facing my fellow students. 

Whenever the teachers would ask me to stand up and answer a particular question, I would feel everyone’s eyes boring into me, and I couldn’t voice a word. If something came out of my mouth, it never sounded clear because my voice was always shaky. My legs were just as shaky. Without realizing it, I shied away from participating actively in the classroom. I kept my interactions to a minimum, and I became an introvert, an overthinker, a shy boy with extremely low confidence. The person I am today is partly a result of that incident. I never knew that its repercussions would be so long-lasting. I know it’s not an excuse when I blame that incident for my inability to speak in public. The memory of my naked body, of students peering into my downcast eyes, always lingers in the back of my mind. That teacher, who punished me, also didn’t hesitate to shout “Oe Bahun” when the atmosphere was filled with non-Brahmin students and staff. I could never complain or express my discomfort to anyone. But then, it wouldn’t have mattered. The school backed him and his methods, and the students were fearful of his shadow.

I often wonder what he is like today and how that school functions now. I suppose I am not the only person who faced harassment in school. Instead of promoting fun learning, teachers are instilling fear in students’ minds. 

Why do teachers think they can treat students the way they want, overlooking the laws and disregarding students’ sentiments? A mistake made by students, whether knowingly or unknowingly, should not be deemed a crime. Yes, students do not commit crimes; they don’t deserve punishment involving bamboo sticks, plastic pipes, and insulting threats. When teachers are recruited, school management should not only focus on qualifications but also monitor their temperament. Additionally, parents must closely track the teacher-student relationship to ensure that their children are being educated in a healthy environment. When I grow older and become a parent, I will not allow my children to face the harassment I endured as a child. If my kids are physically punished in school, I might just give the teacher a tight slap across the face before seeking legal recourse.

At the crack of dawn, even before the misty air clears, Deepesh Khatri enters the ground and glances around, ensuring nothing has affected it overnight. A group of young players are already there. It’s a daily routine at the cricket ground of Lekhnath, which Deepesh Khatri has named ‘Eden Heavens.’ You might think the name is inspired by Eden Gardens in Kolkata, India, but the ground truly resembles heaven, if it exists. 

Recently, in Nepal, cricket has become a source of happiness and hope, drawing many youngsters into this promising sport. As a result, cricket academies have flourished across the country. Currently, there are only two cricket academies in the Kaski District, one of which is the Machhapuchhre Cricket Academy run by Khatri. The aspiring cricketers at Machhapuchhre Cricket Academy are happy to hone their skills by imitating their coach who has played a lot of cricket in his life.

Born and raised in India, Khatri learned the basics of the game in the rich cricketing atmosphere of Mumbai before coming to Nepal. It was his maternal uncle who urged him to come to Pokhara and showcase his talents. In 1999, he was selected for the Kaski District squad to participate in the Rajbiraj Jay Trophy. Unfortunately, he didn’t get a chance to play. Khatri desperately needed to prove his worth. He had come all the way from Mumbai to play cricket and wouldn’t give up so easily. When Khatri was provided the chance to play for Region No 4 in the U17 national cricket championship, he displayed his brilliance, making his team the tournament champions. 

He started his career as a medium pacer. With time, his batting abilities sharpened, making him a useful bowling all-rounder. In 2003, when Region No 4 was playing the final of the U19 national cricket championship against Biratnagar, captain Shakti Gauchan and the team management decided to experiment by sending Khatri as the opening batsman. 

Khatri, who usually bowled with a new ball, used to bat down the order. It was a gamble to promote him to the top order. In cricket, the chances of a lower-order batsman scoring runs as an opening batsman are always low. But there was something about Khatri that made the team trust him. Khatri top-scored with 110 runs under his belt, helping his team win the national championship. By then, he was only seen as a medium pacer who could swing his bat when needed. That innings in the final of the U19 national championship made him an undisputed all-rounder. He was now seen as a bright prospect of Nepali cricket.

He was an integral part of the Nepal squad in the 2003 U19 Youth Asia Cup held in Pakistan. The team, which included notable players like Paras Khadka, Shakti Gauchan, and Sharad Vesawkar, secured the title, which qualified Nepal for the U19 World Cup in Bangladesh. Despite his impressive performances in the domestic circuit, Khatri didn’t get many chances to play in the World Cup matches. This lack of opportunities at the international level, despite his evident talent, was one of the challenges he faced in his cricketing career.

In the selection tournament prior to Nepal’s tour of Kuwait, which marked Nepal’s first-ever Twenty20 international series, Khatri was recognized as the best bowler. Ironically, despite this accolade, he wasn’t given a chance to play in the matches against Kuwait. Disheartened by this decision, Khatri realized that there might be underlying issues affecting his selection and decided it would be better to focus on other areas of life besides cricket. 

Khatri’s decision to leave Nepal in 2008 shocked everyone, particularly those who had started seeing him as a bright prospect for Nepali cricket. It was apparent that Khatri’s spirits were low. However, Khatri’s love for cricket remained steadfast. In England, where he had gone to continue his studies, he played cricket for several clubs, including Blackheath Cricket Club. 

After completing his studies in England, Khatri returned to Nepal and leased a piece of land to build a cricket ground. He registered a club named ‘Machhapuchhre Cricket Club’. The ground, located in Nadipur, boasted a stunning view of the gleaming Machhapuchhre mountain, making it the most beautiful ground in Pokhara. Khatri continued to nurture the skills of his clubmates and, under his captaincy, Machhapuchhre Cricket Club consistently emerged as the best club in Pokhara. No other club had won as many titles in club-level cricket in Pokhara as Machhapuchhre Cricket Club.

Khatri’s contributions to promoting cricket in the nearby districts of Kaski were remarkable. He organized age-level cricket competitions, women’s cricket tournaments, and several leagues for men’s cricket as well. Through his efforts, cricket gained significant popularity and support in the region, fostering a new generation of cricket enthusiasts and players. 

Khatri was a permanent member of the district and regional teams, and his cricket career was progressing well. However, in 2015, he faced a lengthy three-year ban for speaking out against the cricket board. This ban sidelined him from the sport. Despite the setback, Khatri continued to train aspiring cricketers at his ground in Nadipur. He also traveled to India to play in several tournaments. His passion for cricket remained undiminished, and it was hard to keep him away from the game. In 2017, he organized the Machhapuchhre Cricket League (MCL), the largest league in the Gandaki region. Operating under a franchise system, the league captured the attention of cricket enthusiasts nationwide. 

After the lockdown, Khatri was asked to halt his cricketing pursuits in Nadipur, highlighting a sudden demand for government quarters around the ground. The ground that once produced and nurtured many cricketers now lay in ruins. Khatri felt dispirited, yet he couldn’t stay away from the game that meant the world to him. In 2021, Khatri once again built a club ground in Lekhnath, entirely funded by himself. Though he no longer plays competitive cricket, he is frequently spotted practicing with aspiring cricketers at his self-built ground. 

Numerous Indian and local clubs and teams regularly visit to play matches there. And that is how Khatri covers his expenses. Reflecting on his life, Khatri humbly admits cricket has been his sole focus. The cricketers around him draw inspiration from his career and seek to learn from his experience. Their respect motivates him to continue advancing and contributing to the sport’s development. When asked about his life, he simply replies, “I’m all about cricket. I’m a cricketer for life.”

Every June, Pride Month ignites a global celebration of LGBTQIA+ communities. It's a time to honor their fight for equality and showcase their strength despite facing marginalization. While Western societies have seen growing acceptance, South Asia often presents a different story. In Nepal, the LGBTQIA+ community grapples with discrimination and exclusion, hindering their full participation in society.

Nepali society often views homosexuality negatively. Casual slurs using "gay" as an insult expose a deep well of ignorance. When someone comes out as LGBTQIA+, societal and familial rejection can be devastating, leading to depression and isolation. This lack of acceptance stems from a lack of education. Many, especially in rural areas, simply don't understand LGBTQIA+ identities.

Just recently, a young woman posted a supportive message for the LGBTQIA+ community on Facebook. Heartbreakingly, the comments mocked her for her stance. This incident highlights the gap between Nepal and Western nations where legal protections and inclusivity are being built. Decriminalization of homosexuality and same-sex marriage, like those seen in some parts of the world, are crucial steps towards a more just and equitable society.

Despite these challenges, Nepal is making progress. The recent legalization of same-sex marriage in 2024 shows a growing commitment to equality. However, this progress needs to be bolstered by stricter laws that punish discrimination based on sexual orientation.

To truly create an inclusive society, education is paramount. Integrating LGBTQIA+ topics into school curriculums can foster understanding and acceptance. When everyone is aware of diverse sexual orientations, the LGBTQIA+ community can finally feel safe and at ease. Nepal's journey towards a more inclusive society has just begun. By prioritizing education and implementing stricter laws, the country can bridge the gap between prejudice and acceptance, allowing the LGBTQIA+ community to thrive.

Perched on the edge of Phewa Lake, boasting greenery and picturesque surroundings, is the spacious Basundhara Park, a refuge for the people of Pokhara, especially those close to Lakeside. The park can be seen just below the road as one walks along his way to Barahi Ghat, where Taal Barahi is located. Right after walking past the slope of Baidam, one can feel that he has completely entered new territory. In a way, Lakeside epitomizes the city’s elegance. To say Lakeside has made Pokhara a grand place would be an understatement. Phewa Lake is an instrumental addition to Pokhara, making the city stand out among others. And in the heart of this cosmopolitan Lakeside is a lush park bearing the name ‘Basundhara Park’ that sees hundreds of visitors daily. 

Rammaya Gurung, 37, carries a basket on her back and walks toward Basundhara Park to settle on the edge of the park with the aim of selling chatpate, her modest business opening only after sunset every day. “It is only after 5 that people start to stream in,” says Gurung, opening a packet of noodles to mix up. A 7-year-old Binita clings to her mother’s kurta as the mother asks her customer about their spice preferences. A shy girl only smiles, refusing to answer the questions posed by customers. “My husband is working in the Gulf, and it is how I supplement his income,” says Gurung with a smile. 

A few meters away from Gurung’s junction is a Madhesi woman involved in the same business. However, her story is different. She looks down as she recalls how she lost her husband to the coronavirus pandemic. After the untimely demise of her husband, she couldn’t tolerate the harassment of her in-laws, so she took her belongings from her home district Saptari and followed her sister’s family to Pokhara, who has been running a juice shop in Malepatan for over seven years. Talking about the venue where she sets up her business day after day, she says, “At first, I was puzzled about where I should set up my chatpate stall, but once my sister showed me around this park, I decided this would be the perfect venue with the flow of so many visitors.” However, business, be it big or small, the woman says, is all about perseverance and patience. For women like her, the park has opened up the opportunity to earn and stand on their own feet.

One doesn’t need to pay rent while setting up such a business in the free spaces, so the lesser expenses mean that they can save up a good amount of money with low investment. Items they sell on streets and in parks, however, deteriorate one’s health if consumed regularly. Though the public is well aware that the consumption of chatpate is not good for health, the charm of such stalls in Basundhara Park is apparent. The best thing about these small business owners is that they have kept dustbins around the stalls to avoid people from throwing away papers and plastics. As a result, the sidewalks of Basundhara Park are spotless. 

Recently, a circular trail has been built inside the park, and this development has spurred mixed opinions among the general public. Jivan Pokhrel, a regular visitor to the park, says that the concrete trail has tarnished the greenery, making the park look dull and less natural. The trail is always occupied with joggers of all ages. The benefit of having a concrete trail is that joggers don’t have to suffer from muddy patches during the monsoon season. 

The park has changed a lot from what it used to be. Not many years ago, the park was plain, but now there are uneven surfaces all across the park, mostly in the southeast direction. Once, a dozer had intervened for construction work, and it affected the aesthetic beauty of the park. Since then, the southeast area of the park has been deserted, with the majority of people occupying the remaining spaces for picnics and gatherings. Schoolkids, families, and other informal groups often come to the park with home-cooked and packaged foods. While the sidewalks of the park are neat, the core area in the middle is always littered with wrappers, plastic plates, and bottles. “People have become educated, but they still can’t manage the waste they have produced. Basundhara Park is a pride of Lakeside, so waste management must be top-notch in order to preserve its beauty,” says Sanju Shrestha, who owns a beauty parlor near Basundhara Park. 

For Subash Poudel, Basundhara Park is more than a place to chill out, as he has been clicking photographs of his clients for some years in the park. Especially newlyweds promptly agree to a photoshoot at this venue, says Poudel. The landscape offered by the park has inspired photographers to come and capture photos against the breathtaking backdrop of Phewa Lake. 

Like Poudel, many people from different professions have chosen Basundhara Park as an unofficial workplace. The park authorities have shown flexibility by allowing people to utilize the space as they like. It is understandable that public parks are made accessible for the general public, but freedom must not come at the cost of the park’s sanitation. 

The present condition of the toilet in Basundhara Park speaks volumes about the authorities’ insouciance. Although the toilet looks large from the outside, it is not in a usable state. It’s high time that the authorities started focusing on the park’s sanitation by either revamping the old toilet or building a new one. 

Lately, a large number of youth groups have made Basundhara Park their playground, which must be urgently discouraged, and the authorities must impose restrictions on intense sports activities, allowing only light activities such as jogging and stretching. As the park is often crammed with people doing different activities for refreshment, there is a high chance that sports activities might injure people involved in their own recreations. The metropolitan area, along with the local government, must build an alternative ground around Lakeside to prevent people from playing at Basundhara Park. It should be clearly circulated that the park is only built for refreshment, and people from Pokhara should be mindful of the fact that Basundhara Park is associated with the tourism of Lakeside. The onus is on Pokhara residents to take care of Basundhara Park, which is one of the key attractions for the tourists coming to visit Pokhara.

Pokhara, as the second-largest city in the country, bears the responsibility of uplifting the country by contributing to the overall development of the nation. Comparatively, after Kathmandu, Pokhara has the best infrastructure for development. However, on the education front, Pokhara still struggles to lay a strong foundation, as many students from Pokhara are forced to leave for the capital to pursue higher studies. Ironically, students in Pokhara don’t show faith in the largest college in the city, named Prithvi Narayan Shah Campus. The campus offers diverse programs, drawing students mostly from neighboring districts. Founded in 1960, PN Campus has been a steadfast contributor to developing Nepal, as alumni of this grand institution are scattered throughout the country in different job positions. Affiliated with Tribhuvan University, PN Campus is the first choice for students from hilly areas such as Baglung, Syangja, Parbat, and likewise. To put it sharply, what makes them choose PN Campus is not its quality but its cheaper tuition fees. The results of the majority of faculties at PN Campus have been unarguably dismal, while only a few faculties produce good human resources capable of serving the job market.

The excellence of an academic institution is mostly measured by its academic results and enrollment rate. If we delve into the reasons for the low performances of students, the negligence of campus administration coupled with the political involvement of stakeholders come into the spotlight. PN Campus is one of the many colleges in the country grappled by politics. Just outside the main entrance gate of PN Campus, groupism between students of different political parties could be spotted. The political culture in educational institutes and its significance call for a huge debate; in recent times, experts have argued that healthy political practices in campuses do good to national politics while serving the students simultaneously. However, PN Campus is plagued by a harrowing political culture, as news of feuds and clashes surface every so often.

Let’s delve into how private colleges administer—they never allow students to form unions, thus keeping away the tussle and providing a healthy environment for learning. It is only in government colleges like PN Campus that student blockades transpire in the name of protest against various causes. And the spearheads behind such acts are partisan students who overlook the majority of the population attending college solely to study and march ahead in their pursuits. Not only students but teachers and others are found to be involved in politics, polluting the process of teaching and learning. Recently, the Education Minister, Sumana Shrestha, has put forward the statement that she is committed to removing politics from educational spaces.

It must be noted that the primary reason for establishing campuses is to impart quality education in an inclusive environment. Politics and other unions shouldn’t penetrate educational bodies to impair the learning process. It’s high time that largely populated colleges like PN Campus started focusing on education rather than on politics. Nepalese higher education is undergoing an imbroglio, severely impacted by the mass exodus of promising human resources. In such crises, colleges should regulate the activities going on inside the closed gates to gain the credibility of the general people and students especially.