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The Dhrupad Gurukul was established a decade ago in Kathmandu, Nepal, with a vision to preserve and promote the ancient tradition of Dhrupad, a form of classical music that has its origins in the Indian subcontinent. Under Vishal Bhattarai, a disciple of the renowned Gundecha brothers, and Inoue Sou, a dedicated artist and collaborator, the gurukul has become a key institution for the practice and teaching of Dhrupad in Nepal. It also provides a platform for students from diverse backgrounds, including the underprivileged.

“We started the gurukul to protect the deeply meditative and spiritual aspects of this music. Especially in Nepal, where this tradition is very limited, there was a need for an authentic space to learn and safeguard it,” he says.

Bhattarai, who trained in Dhrupad under the Gundecha brothers, has been actively performing and teaching this ancient form for more than 10 years. Mukesh Shakya, a group member is a talented pakhawaj player who learned under the legendary late Rabin Lal Shrestha, a prominent figure in Hindustani classical music. Shakya’s skill and dedication to the Dhrupad style have made him an invaluable member of the gurukul.

The gurukul also serves as a nurturing space for younger students, including Rajin Khadka, a flute player, and Keshav Badi, a differently-abled vocal student. Badi, who has been training at the gurukul since his early years, adds a unique dimension to the group’s work. His participation underscores the power of music to transcend barriers and touch the hearts of all, regardless of physical limitations.

“We have been teaching Keshav since his early years at the Disabled Service Association, and Rajin has been learning Dhrupad flute at our school for the past three years. Our shared dedication to this music and similar work ethic brought us together,” says Bhattarai. Khadka adds that Badi is talented, and they collaborate with him by focusing on communication and practicing with cues to ensure their coordination is smooth.

Dhrupad is a spiritual and meditative form of music with roots dating back to the Vedic chants of the Sama Veda. Dhrupad is not meant for entertainment. It’s for evoking inner peace and contemplation through sound. The gurukul wants to preserve a traditional form of music as well as make it accessible to younger generations.

“Some of the students come from underprivileged and challenging backgrounds and their parents have provided positive feedback, having observed how Dhrupad music has contributed not only to their children’s musical abilities but also to their emotional and spiritual growth,” says Bhattarai.

He believes that with the right guidance and dedication, the younger generation can come to appreciate and love it. “Some may like it, others may not, but for those who understand and embrace it, it becomes a lifelong love,” he says. 

Khadka says his goal is to keep learning and playing this beautiful music with his teachers (gurus) and to share it with others as much as possible and also to focus on connecting with modern audiences as well.

Khadka and Badi, both of whom have been at the gurukul for several years, represent the future of Dhrupad in Nepal. Badi, who faces physical challenges, is a testament to the fact that music transcends all boundaries. His vocal practice, along with Khadka’s flute playing, brings new life to the gurukul, allowing Dhrupad to evolve while staying true to its roots.

The gurukul has also made efforts to take Dhrupad beyond Nepal’s borders. Bhattarai and his team have performed internationally, sharing this ancient art with a broader audience. They see the potential for Dhrupad to connect with people worldwide, especially in today’s fast-paced digital world.

“For the young generation, Dhrupad offers a unique opportunity to connect with music at a deeper level. It’s a practice that requires patience, focus, and time, but the rewards are tenfold,” says Bhattarai. 

The future vision for Dhrupad Gurukul includes expanding its outreach, collaborating with other traditional music forms, and promoting cultural tourism. Bhattarai hopes that Dhrupad will gain international recognition, much like jazz, which shares the same core value of improvisation. “We believe Dhrupad is the ‘jazz’ of ancient music—it has improvisation at its core, just like jazz, but with a deeper spiritual essence,” he says. “Dhrupad is not just about music, it’s a form of worship, a way to connect with the universe and with our own inner selves.”

In a world increasingly dominated by technology and digital distractions, Bhattarai sees Dhrupad as an antidote to the noise of modern life. It offers listeners an opportunity to connect deeply with themselves. “In today’s world, pure traditional music like Dhrupad gives us the space to reflect, to meditate, and to reconnect with our inner selves,” he says.

Bhattrai stresses on the importance of training, discipline, and connecting with both modern and traditional audiences. Badi, as a differently-abled student at the gurukul, is not only an inspiring example of the inclusivity of Dhrupad, but also a testament to the universal power of music. “Music transcends all barriers,” says Bhattarai, “We hope that through this work, more people, regardless of their backgrounds or abilities, can find peace and fulfillment through Dhrupad.”

By sharing the beauty of Dhrupad, both in Nepal and internationally, the gurukul hopes to inspire future generations to appreciate the richness and transformative power of classical music.

Winter means there is a certain dryness in the environment which leads to different health issues and problems. The dropping temperatures also makes you more prone to flu, allergies, and various other ailments. While everyone loves basking in the sun in the winter, no one likes being bundled up in layers of clothes and the bunch of issues that the season brings. ApEx spoke to four people to find out what they dislike about winter, how they deal with it, and what they think should be done at policy level to manage some of the environmental issues we face today.

Prasiddha Prajapati, 21

There is definitely more air pollution during the winter as it's the dry season and it’s worsening because of industrialization. There are more vehicles on the roads and what makes it worse is that the roads are dug up randomly and left in semi-constructed states which lead to a lot of debris and dust. Building constructions also add to the pollution. I think it can be minimized by the use of green nets to trap dust but that is seldom the case. If this continues, I fear it will be difficult for us to access clean air and water in the future. We are already being forced to wear masks and double boil and filter our tap water. I hope the government looks into this issue seriously and works on mitigating air pollution.

Rajin Khadka, 30

I think one of the main reasons for pollution in Kathmandu valley is deforestation. It seems to be worse in winter because it’s dry and also because people tend to light fires to keep themselves warm. There is also the issue of people burning waste in urban areas. I believe it will lead to many health issues if not corrected on time. As it is, respiratory problems, allergies, infections etc. are already on the rise. Older people and those with comorbidities are at grave risk and our government seems to be least bothered. It only springs to action when it’s already too late. I think we must take care of ourselves—get proper exercise, eat a balanced diet, and work on improving our immunity—if we want to stay healthy in the long run.  

Abhishek Bista, 37

The air pollution during the dry season makes me nostalgic of the times during my childhood, where there was less pollution and we used to spend our days playing outdoors. Now due to air pollution, it becomes very hard to breathe if you are out for a long time. On certain days, when the air quality is very bad, my eyes start to burn while riding my bike. Breathing polluted air on a regular basis has many negative effects on our bodies. Issues with the lungs and skin being one of them. Wearing masks and sunglasses are some of the ways in which I try to protect myself from air pollution but I fear these little things aren’t enough.

Ram Laxmi Lohala, 62

In winter it’s usually dry as there is little to no rain. And while that might come as a respite to many, in the light of the recent floods that wreaked havoc, it brings with it a different set of problems. Dry weather leaves us more prone to allergies and infections. It’s quite common for people to fall ill during the winter, and especially those who already have health issues face an even bigger risk. I believe drinking warm water, wearing proper clothes, keeping your homes well insulated, and watering the road outside your homes (if it’s dry and dusty) can go a long way in keeping you safe during winter. I’m also a big believer in getting your daily dose of vitamin D by sitting out in the sun—it can help prevent many issues.

Sumnima Setling calls herself ‘Amazumi’. The name is inspired by the Amazon rainforest and the struggles of the ‘Yanomami’ tribe and the way of the indigenous lifestyle. The name reflects the strength and connection to nature which is the foundation of her identity. “When I perform on stage, it feels like I have the whole world in my hands and the name is what gives me that energy or power,” she says.

Born in Hong Kong, she has been traveling to different countries for various purposes. After spending her formative years in Nepal and Hong Kong, she decided to study journalism in India. She was just 17. She explored storytelling through various mediums, gaining invaluable experience in the world of performance, theater, and visual storytelling that later shaped her career in music.

“My dad’s younger brother gifted me an electric guitar and encouraged my musical endeavors. I played in every school band, performed in plays, dances, karaoke contests and concerts,” she adds, explaining how she got interested in music.

When she was in England, she immersed herself in a vibrant community of musicians and rappers. The experience of participating in rap cyphers opened her eyes to the freedom of expression inherent in rap music—a stark contrast to the structured limitations she felt in journalism.

Her foray into Hip Hop happened in 2019 after being selected in De Nieuwe Lichting, a nationwide music competition in Belgium. The experience of performing on a stage previously graced by Kendrick Lamar solidified her passion for music. “I realized that through my art, I could channel my emotions, past, and cultural heritage into something powerful,” she says.

Amazumi’s musical style is a captivating blend of nu metal, and rap. Growing up, she was influenced by alternative rock, grunge and nu-metal, genres that reflect raw emotion and authenticity. “For people to truly grasp the weight behind a word like ‘Hangma’ (Queen in Limbu language), recognize lines from a Bhailini song (that I perform in an unreleased track) and feel the warmth and pride that I have experienced in Nepal hits differently,” she says.

Her music is characterized by aggressive sounds yet empathetic lyrics that demand a certain level of energy from her audience. Her performance often incorporates elements from her Nepali roots, with occasional Limbu and Nepali words that enhance the authenticity of her narratives.

Amazumi says her music is deeply personal, drawing from her life experiences, struggles, and triumphs. She channels her repressed feelings and emotional turmoil into her art, creating a powerful connection with her listeners. This emotional depth is particularly resonant in her performances, where she feels an almost transcendent connection to her audience, a feeling she describes as being ‘possessed’ by the music.

“Navigating the music industry as a woman presents unique challenges, particularly in a genre often dominated by male artists. I acknowledge that the struggle for recognition can be twice as difficult for women rappers, yet I believe that the quality of their music often surpasses expectations,” she says. “Women often don’t get paid on time and they don’t get paid enough which is another challenge.”

She confesses that initially her family was skeptical about her musical aspirations, viewing it as a mere hobby. However, their perspective has shifted as she began to establish her career. Today, her parents’ encouragement is a source of strength.

Her journey in music reached a pivotal moment when she performed in Nepal, where she felt a deep connection with her audience. The appreciation and recognition she received were transformative, solidifying her identity as an artist. Her lyrics, particularly in her native languages, creates an emotional bond with listeners, allowing her to reclaim her narrative and redefine success.

“I want my audience to feel like they can create their own identity and do whatever they want and follow the passion and utilize the freedom in music,” says Amazumi. She wants her audience to feel like they are being transported to a different world when they are at her concert.

Apart from her involvement in the music industry, she loves theater and wants to create a new platform for young girls who want to pursue rap music. Her journey, she says, isn’t just about personal expression. It’s a celebration of heritage, empowerment, and the transformative power of art. Drawing strength from her experiences across continents—from stories learnt of tribes fighting for their land and culture in the lush landscapes of the Amazon rainforest as well as her own native land of Yakthung people to the vibrant rhythms of Nepal and thriving artistic communities in Belgium—Amazumi’s music and storytelling have an authenticity that is unmatched.

In addition to her musical endeavors, Amazumi is committed to fostering a sense of community and empowerment among aspiring female artists. She co-organized the “God is a WOMAN” hip-hop festival in The wonderland, a celebration of all female talent that garnered significant support from the Embassy of Switzerland. This initiative not only showcased incredible female artists but also inspired young girls in Nepal to pursue their dreams in a male-dominated industry.

Amazumi’s dedication to her craft and community reflects her belief in the transformative power of music. She actively engages with her audience, sharing stories and experiences that resonate on a personal level, creating a safe space for dialogue and connection. Her journey, marked by resilience and passion, is a testament to the power of art in bridging divides and fostering understanding. Through her music, she not only shares her own experiences but also amplifies the voices of those who often go unheard.

As Amazumi continues to evolve as an artist, she remains deeply connected to her roots, drawing inspiration from her past while forging a path into the future. With each performance, she captivates audiences, reminding them of the beauty of authenticity and the importance of storytelling in our lives. Amazumi is poised to leave an indelible mark on the music industry, a true embodiment of strength, creativity, and cultural pride.

As Tihar approaches, vendors across Nepal face the challenges of rising costs and shifting consumer habits. This has led to economic uncertainty during this festive season. Shreya Shrestha of ApEx talked to three shop owners regarding their views on the present economic status.

Sonu Tamang, 28

I’ve been selling these flowers for two years, and it’s tough to care for them because they wither quickly. I’m a street vendor and I don’t have any equipment to keep them fresh so I have to get them from the dealer every day. There are many flowers in the market and the prices are considerably low yet customers continue to bargain, which can be disheartening. I normally sell flowers till the end of the Tihar because everyone needs them as they are needed in many rituals. These days people also grow their own flowers which means fewer customers.

Sandeep Khaitu, 39

We have been running a family business for nearly three years. There is no fixed number of sweets that we sell every year. It varies. People have different tastes and want different things. So its hard for us to decide what to focus on. The most popular sweets are rasbari, lal mohan, barfi, and laddu. But the ingredients required to make these sweets are becoming increasingly expensive, making it harder to sell them at prices that consumers might consider reasonable.

Nhiche Bahadur Prajapati, 72

My wife and I have been making things with clay for quite some time. We make diyo (traditional oil lamps) and many other household items out of clay. We are planning on making more diyos for Tihar because people use them during Laxmi Puja and Mha Puja. The raw material is quite expensive because we have to buy it from different vendors. Mud was once found locally but with so much construction going around, it’s difficult to source it these days. We have to raise the cost of our products accordingly and so now they are quite pricey. 

In 2017, Sajan Shrestha was working as a driver. By 2018, he had ventured into the world of stand-up comedy. A friend suggested he watch Kshitiz KC’s comedy and that opened his eyes to a new world, where jokes could change how you view things and even make someone’s day. “The idea of comedy, and its ability to resonate with people, fascinated me,” he says.

But stepping into the world of stand-up wasn’t as simple as it seemed. “I was really scared of crowds,” he says. “I almost decided not to do it but then I decided to give it a shot. That first show was amazing.”

His debut performance was a memorable one—a comedic exploration of the quirks of a ‘typical mom’. “Looking back at those early days, I’m a little embarrassed,” he says. “We didn’t know much about jokes or timing. We just went up there and cracked jokes about whatever came to mind.”

What started as a fear of crowds evolved into a love for the energy they bring. “I didn’t know it then, but those early shows were some of the best moments of my life. Now, I can’t imagine being anywhere else—there’s something powerful about connecting with an audience, sharing a laugh, and feeling their energy.”

A major turning point in Shrestha’s career came when he found himself torn between his passion for comedy and the reality of having to eke out a living. “Most comedians at the time were struggling with their finances,” he says, adding after a year of pursuing comedy, he started feeling guilty. There was no financial growth, and he was newly married. He began to question his decision and even considered going back to his old driving job. But despite the financial challenges, comedy still had a strong pull.

His breakthrough came when he started participating in Comedy Champion, which helped him gain recognition. Just when things seemed to be turning around, the pandemic lockdown happened. “I was completely hopeless,” he says. “With just Rs 20,000 in my account, I was feeling frustrated and lost.”

Then, he decided to start his own YouTube channel, a move that would eventually become a lifeline during the lockdown. He started creating reaction videos on the reality show ‘Blind Date’. It was something his wife suggested. This allowed him to build a solid online presence.

Determined to make his YouTube channel work, he started researching the equipment he would need to produce quality videos. He quickly learned about cameras, lights, and microphones—but the reality was that he had none of these. His only tool was an old mobile phone, one that was slow and struggled to capture clear footage.

Undeterred, he got creative and transformed a small room into a makeshift studio, using the window as his primary light source and a bent laptop as a tripod. For lighting, he dug into DIY tutorials and made a lamp using a cardboard box and a CFL bulb.

“The mobile was so old that I had to edit the videos by listening to the audio, because the video wouldn’t even play properly on that phone,” he says. Despite the limitations, Shrestha pushed forward, determined to make it work. Things began to look up when a friend gifted him a microphone on his birthday. “I was really happy and excited to finally have a proper mic. It felt like my setup was starting to come together,” he says.

One of the major challenges Shrestha faced early in his career was navigating the complex landscape of censorship. The freedom to express humor in Nepal was limited, and comedians often found themselves toeing a fine line. “Comedians were put in jail simply because of the type of comedy they performed,” he says. This environment created a sense of fear and caution, as comedians not only had to avoid offending people. They even received threats from those who took jokes too personally.

What was worse was that Shrestha and his fellow comedians had no mentors to guide them. They were forced to learn the ropes on their own, seeking inspiration from foreign and Indian comedians to understand what worked in the comedy scene. “The comedy that was popular in Nepal at the time wasn’t youth-centric. It was more politically driven,” he says. Watching international comedians gave them a broader perspective, and they began to carve out a new style—one that resonated with younger audiences and moved away from the heavy political satire that dominated the scene

His love for performing in front of a crowd grew with time. Stand-up is unique. It offers immediate audience feedback. Comedians face the pressure of eliciting laughter or risk having their jokes fall flat. The primary goal is to entertain and connect with the audience through humor. However, this dynamic can be tricky. “You never know how a joke will land. What makes one person laugh might offend someone else,” he says.

Stand-up performances are fleeting moments, meant to be experienced live, yet in today’s digital age, audience members often film and share these performances online. This creates an added layer of pressure, making it harder for comedians to experiment with new material. “I just wish everyone would be considerate and refrain from recording our sets,” he says, highlighting the need for a supportive atmosphere that allows comedians to explore their craft without the fear of permanent judgment.

He also started a podcast channel where he talks to people from the entertainment industry. This way, he has had the opportunity to connect with many people, and he’s begun to gain recognition in the community. He also launched a segment called ‘Bear the Dare’ where he visits different locations, poses tricky questions to strangers, and offers them a chance to win money. “It started as a backup plan, just in case the podcast didn’t work,” he says.

Shrestha admits he has a spontaneous approach to life. “I’m not someone who likes to plan. I believe not everything goes as planned, and that can be disappointing. Instead, I let life unfold naturally.” His journey is testament to the fact that stepping out of your comfort zone can lead to unexpected and rewarding transformations.

Dashain is here and there’s a festive feel in the air. But people ApEx spoke to confessed that it’s not the same anymore. We asked three people how things have changed and what they miss the most and here’s what they had to say. 

Shristika Prajapati, 19

Dashain has always been my favorite festival and getting to spend time with my family is the best part. I miss my brother as he is abroad and he won’t be coming home. I believe Dashain isn’t what it used to be several years ago. It’s changed and people have tweaked the rituals to fit their schedules. I miss the traditional feel of the festival. Many people don’t go to temples and conduct elaborate pujas anymore. Rather, it’s become an excuse to party and have fun without partaking in rituals that actually matter. 

Kusum Rimal, 57

I’m a religious person who enjoys performing puja and spending time with my family. During Dashain, I miss my family even more. My daughters live away from home and they won’t be able to come back and join in on the festivities. Dashain has lost its charm because it’s not about being with your family and friends anymore. Many youngsters these days don’t know why we celebrate Dashain. The older generation must ensure we pass on our traditions and stories so that they aren’t lost over time. 

Bhim Bahadur Tamang, 79

Dashain isn’t about pujas and rituals as it once used to be. It’s more about food and parties and meeting relatives. I guess that is okay too. But I wish we gave more importance to traditions and didn’t let them fade away. I fear that in the future, people won’t even go to put tika and take blessings from their relatives as they will be too preoccupied with their lives. Since most families are scattered around the world, the tradition is already on the decline.

Case 1

A year ago, Binu Thapa collapsed in the middle of the road. Living with cerebral palsy (CP), she struggles to control her body. In the past, she had always been thankful for the kindness of strangers who helped her during such moments. However, on this particular day, she was filled with anxiety when two boys rushed to her aid, their hands gripping her chest, making her deeply uncomfortable.

Case 2

Krishna Prashad Bhandari, who has a spinal cord injury, runs a hostel for children with disabilities. The issue he raises is not personal, but concerns the children in his care. One month ago, a student from his dormitory, who uses a wheelchair, missed her exam because no bus would stop for her. Bus conductors often urge drivers to speed past when they see passengers with disabilities.

Case 3

Suresh Rajbhandari, who was born visually impaired, uses a white cane to navigate. A few days ago, while riding a bus, the conductor began to argue with him because someone else had taken the seat designated for disabled passengers.

These cases illustrate the everyday struggles disabled people face in Nepal. Discussions around disability rarely inspire action, but organizations like the National Association of the Physically Disabled-Nepal (NAPD), the Bhaktapur Association for the Deaf (BHAD) and Nepal Association of the Blind (NAB) have long been advocating for the disabled community. Most of these organizations are nonprofits dedicated to supporting disabled people without hesitation.

Since its inception, NAPD has organized awareness programs, friendly initiatives, and extracurricular activities for disabled individuals, along with providing essential infrastructure. However, despite Article 18 of the 2072 Constitution, which states, "All citizens shall be equal before the law. No person shall be denied the equal protection of law,” implementation remains lacking.

Binita Regmi, chairperson of NAPD, said, “Being physically disabled myself, I understand the daily challenges. One of the biggest struggles is using public transportation. NAPD distributes stickers for buses, primarily on Nepal Yatayat, but we’ve seen no improvement in how we are treated.”

Jayaram Pakka Newar, chairperson of BHAD, communicated through sign language, “Many deaf people face issues when obtaining driving licenses and with the lack of proper training. Unfortunately, I’m often left out of such discussions because no one makes the effort to teach me.”

Kiran Shilpakar, former president of NAPD, highlighted the positive changes in Lalitpur, where a van has been adapted to assist those with physical disabilities. “I’ve used it multiple times, and it’s been a relief to travel comfortably, knowing I can call for it whenever needed.” But such services are rare. Many buses in Nepal have high entrances, and drivers and conductors often treat disabled passengers rudely. Regmi added, “They stop the bus in inconvenient spots, forcing us to get off quickly. This can lead to falls and further injuries.”

Binu Thapa, a member of the Bhaktapur Social Development Branch, echoed these frustrations. “People use harsh, abusive language towards us when we travel by bus. Even after buying our own four-wheeled scooters, we’re criticized because they take up extra space.”

Thapa added, “We’re also frequently denied to have driving licenses, even though many of us can drive safely. This leaves us vulnerable in accidents, and we’re scolded when we use scooters designed for disabled because they take up space on the road.”

Suresh Neupane, a member of NAB, proposed a practical solution. “Buses should be painted primarily white and green, as these colors are more visible to those with low vision. It would also help if buses had a voice system announcing stops, so we know where we are.”

Ram Krishna Shrestha, from the Sano Thimi traffic police, said, “We are trained to help and respect others in need. While there are systems in place to verify licenses, we are taught not to check the licenses of individuals with disabilities under certain circumstances. We’ll make sure to assist disabled people more attentively.”

Suresh Rajbhandari, former president of Voice Bhaktapur, pointed out another issue: “Consistency in seating arrangements for disabled passengers is important. It’s confusing when every bus places these seats in different locations.”

Shilpakar also discussed various policies aimed at supporting disabled people and urged, “We want this information to be widely known.”

The 1993 Vehicle and Transport Management Act prohibits people with certain conditions—such as epilepsy, dementia, or severe visual impairments—from obtaining driving licenses. However, the government of Nepal, along with local authorities, is required to make public transportation, bus parks, ticket counters, and boarding areas accessible to all disabled individuals, including wheelchair and white cane users. These provisions are outlined in the 2012 Accessible Physical Structures and Communication Services Guide for Persons with Disabilities.

Section 15 of the 2017 Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act guarantees access to education, housing, workplaces, transportation, and electronic services for people with disabilities. The act also states that disabled individuals have the right to move freely with the assistance of aides or devices of their choosing.

Section 12 of the 2020 Regulations on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities mandates a 50 percent discount on public transport fares for people with disabilities, and that specific seats be reserved for them. The National Policy on Persons with Disabilities, 2023, further emphasizes that transportation must be accessible and disabled-friendly.

Additionally, the government has provisions for grants or concessional loans to disabled individuals for agriculture and self-employment, and offers reduced fares on public transportation. There are also tax exemptions for aids, equipment, and vehicles used by people with disabilities.

But despite all these laws in place, persons with disabilities continue to struggle, be it while traveling in public transport, visiting government offices, or accessing various services, barring them from leading a dignified life.

Dashain is the biggest festival for Hindus and it signifies different things for different people. Most people have a favorite memory and lament that things are no longer the same. ApEx spoke to some people to find out what Dashain means to them and how they think it has evolved over the years.

Sumit Kumar Shah, 18

For Nepalis, Dashain is a major holiday that is observed for several days. The celebrations include getting together with friends and family, worshiping the gods, and exchanging good wishes. I enjoy the vibe of this festival but I think that the Dashain that we celebrate now and the one that we used to celebrate a few years ago are two very different things. Traditionally, people would gather and celebrate Dashain. They would make it a point to come home. These days, we can see people celebrating virtually via video calls. There are even provisions to send ‘dakshina’ digitally via money transfers.

Khusbu Nisha, 27

Since everyone in Nepal celebrates Dashain with a lot of aplomb, I think it’s a powerful festival. I’m a Muslim and I don’t celebrate the festival but I have witnessed a lot of my neighbors enjoying the holiday season. I’ve been working in Bhaktapur for ten years, and during that time I’ve seen a lot of changes. A few years ago, Dashain was marked by a significant increase of shoppers out on the streets. There would be sales and huge crowds in the market. But these days, there is much difference between Dashain and other regular times. People have migrated to online shopping and there is that sense of hustle and bustle that marked Dashain.

Dhan Bahadur Tuitui, 80

I have many things to do before Dashain but I’m not working at the moment and I don’t have much money to indulge in the festivities. There was a time when Dashain meant a lot of traditions and rituals. Most of them are limited to memories today. We used to celebrate Dashain by slaughtering goats, ducks, and hens. There used to be a lot of fanfare about it. We don’t do it anymore and I miss those days when Dashain meant being surrounded by my family and friends. I want to be able to do things like we did when I was young, like cooking meat in clay pots, over a traditional stove. Things have changed and not all changes are good.