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Feeling joyful, missing my dad 

Feeling sorrowful, missing my dad 

Feeling proud, missing my dad 

Feeling anxious, missing my dad 

Feeling inspired, missing my dad 

I realize you keep appearing as my dad 

His smile, his laughter, what I endlessly seek 

Time flies, yet memories linger 

Like a melody, time replays the same beats 

In every good way, you are missed 

In every second, every millisecond, you are missed 

This world feels empty without your presence 

This tiny heart of your’s wants to 

Cry out loud, but oh dear, how can I 

Make you cry, my Lord? 

I hope you are doing fine in heaven 

It’s so unfair that you 

See us like a god, yeah. We have to deliver 

Like a post service, sending without reply 

Seen by those desperate to know how they are 

This universe is so unfair; if we 

Could journey both ways, it would be heavenly 

Oh, I wish I had a special judge 

Where I could raise my hand 

And take the special right to meet you 

Where I would sacrifice myself 

To bring you back to us 

Oh, my dear dad, you are my superhero 

I will wait for the moment 

When you are desperate to meet me 

But for now, I will do good deeds for you 

Supriya Paudel

BBM 4th Semester

United College

Aama is a word profound in itself, representing someone precious and irreplaceable in the world. She is an ideal person for all of us—impossible to hate and perpetually missed. Unfortunately, I lost her almost 12 years ago. I had the joy of spending just seven years with her, but I barely remember her face. I never had the chance to share simple moments with her, like choosing food, clothes, or playing with toys. Does that make me an unfortunate child, or was I able to give her some happiness during those short years?

During these 12 long years, I rarely missed her consciously. Countless people came and went in my life. Then, one person entered my life who made me miss Aama deeply. She not only reminded me of Aama but also became my Aama. She entered my life unexpectedly and brought back the word ‘Aama’, which I had not uttered for 12 years. She is the only person I have called Aama since losing my own.

The day I met her was the opposite of the day I lost my Aama. It was a day of regained happiness, inner peace, and energy. It felt like meeting my lost Aama after 12 years, bringing back both the person and the word ‘Aama’ into my life forever.

She cares for me more than herself, brings me food she cooks, shares her pains and sorrows, encourages me to achieve success, writes poems dedicated to me, and informs me about her whereabouts and plans. She sends good morning and good night messages every day. She loves me more than herself, making my days wonderful, my nights peaceful, and my life beautiful. She completely made me forget about my lost Aama. Thinking about her feels like flying, and her messages transport me to another world of heaven. She entered my life with a sea of happiness and as an Ayurvedic medicine that heals my pains and stresses without any side effects.

Everyone loves to say ‘Aama’, a word that was taken away from me but returned unexpectedly after 12 years. She brought a miracle into my life, filling me with inner happiness and energy. Whenever I feel frustrated, her messages or calls lift my spirits to peaks of joy, satisfaction, and happiness. These moments make me think of the Nepali song, “Euta manchhe ko maya le kati farak pardachha jindagi ma.” I often tune in and listen to it, savoring the emotions it brings.

I don’t know if I can ever truly be her real son, but I will always consider her my own Aama. I never want to see her heartbroken because of me. If I ever make a mistake that hurts her or do something unfavorable, I hope she will guide me in the right direction and forgive me even before I apologize.

If someone can bring a miracle into your life, she is undoubtedly your Aama. Thank you so much, Aama, for coming into my life and being my source of happiness and courage. I love you so much, Aama.

Dinesh Shahi Sarki 

BBS IInd Year

Koteshwor Multiple Campus

The media, as a powerful ally, plays a crucial role in disseminating information. It acts like a vigorous weapon, influential in highlighting various aspects of society. Through diverse perspectives, the media significantly impacts the concept of gender and the practices of gender equality. As a potent tool, the media needs to address concerns regarding gender equality. In Nepal, it is imperative that media organizations themselves adopt the core principles of gender equality.

Research done by Media Action Nepal titled “Investing in Women: An analysis of the state of women journalists in Nepal” shows that men highly dominate newsrooms in Nepal. In a 2021 study by Media Action Nepal urged female journalists to occupy the decision-making rules. The result was shocking as only 0.3 percent of news carried the bylines of female journalists out of a sample of 21,919 news items. This disparity clearly shows the perspective of gender issues where women's representation is low in media organizations. The contribution of the media is critical in determining how gender equality is highlighted and how the media raises awareness about challenging traditional gender norms. It is essential for the media to increase social awareness, encourage positive changes in people’s views and behaviors towards relevant issues, and to amplify voices that support the community’s welfare. The issues related to gender should be highlighted as it advocates for equality among both genders, which is crucial in policy-making and decision-making.

Also, the recent research by the Media Advocacy Group (MAC) reveals low media coverage on women politicians. Women represent 33 percent in Nepali politics, but despite their active engagement and contributions, they are ignored by the media. The coverage of women in politics should be highly prioritized, as it underscores their vital role in the political landscape. 

Equal representation of women in the media is essential for media pluralism, leading to diversity, inclusivity, and a more equitable society. It helps challenge biases and stereotypes, balancing the underrepresentation perspective. Media pluralism refers to the diversity of ideas, perspectives, and content, ensuring women's voices are heard. This environment fosters diverse participation from different groups, including women, leading to meaningful representation in the media.

Women’s voices and representation should be heeded by the media, as it contributes to diverse opinions and changes in society. Through inclusive representation and portrayal of women in the media, their particular views can be addressed, which helps in building an inclusive society. Organizations like Sancharika Samuha Nepal (SASN), have been crucial in shaping the voices and ideas of both genders. It has been constantly working against women’s violence, highlighting the importance of women’s representation in the media. Additionally, UN Women Nepal mobilizes stakeholders within the UN system for Gender Equality and Women’s Empowerment (GEWE) in Nepal, co-chairing the United Nations Country Team (UNCT) to ensure Gender Justice and Social Inclusion. There is a need for more such organizations in Nepal to ensure the role of women and the equality of both genders. The media’s role is impactful through these processes, significantly affecting the understanding of gender norms and values. 

Prakriti Thapa

BA IInd year

Tribhuvan University

All psyched up, Raju and I left Besisahar the following day in the morning—our mountain bikes were well-dialed in Kathmandu. The challenge had ultimately begun for our bid to accomplish the Annapurna Circuit. 

For my partner, Raju, at age 35, it appeared it would not be much of a sweat. But the thought I was daring the Annapurna Circuit at age 70 kept wriggling like a worm in my head—a daunting prospect.  

Following a hearty breakfast and a once-over of our bicycles, we left Besisahar. Raju appeared excitedly bursting at the seams. So was I—a little apprehensive, though. Both of us were first-timers in the Lamjung district. Our itinerary for the day was Syange, some 30-plus km away. 

Given Beshisahar's low elevation (760m), the weather was warm and the sun bright. Surprisingly, after barely pedaling an hour, the hubbub of the city receded into thin habitation. Soon, we were feasting our eyes on a laid back rustic countryside. The Marsyangdi River, we never lost sight of, did one better to steal our hearts.

River Marshyangdi (translating to a raging river) drains high up in the glaciers of the northwest face of the Annapurna massif and Manaslu Himalayan range. It is further fed by glacial runoff from the Larkya Himalayan sub-range; seasonal and perennial springs further feed the flow, turning the river bigger and fiercer, churning and crashing over huge rocks and boulders.

The river works eastward across the Manang Valley and then steers southward into the Lamjung district. It travels further across the Lamjung district to end its long journey to tumble into the Trishuli River at Mugling, where a horde of tributaries joins in on the way. 

With class 4 to 5 rapids, Marsyangdi River is one of the world's top-notch rivers for white-water rafting, offering a mind-blowing, white-knuckled two-day ride from the put-in point at Nagadi to Beshisahar. 

Contrary to our expectations, the dirt road until Khudi proved a breeze, with mild ascents and not so gravelly. The first thing that struck us at Khudi was a portal opening on the face of a hill—a tunnel built by the Upper Marsyangdi hydro-power project in 2019, measuring 296 m lengthwise. 

The motor passage was wide enough for two vehicles to drive past. Amusingly, we had to switch on our bicycle light as it was pitch dark within—an interruption in the power supply, we figured. Fascinated, we pedaled across the dark, oddly wet passage, dodging small puddles. On closer look, we noticed oozing from the ceiling and the concrete wall of the tunnel. 

The weather remained clear, and the sky was indigo; Marshyangdi appeared almost neck to neck with the road. “Hell, look at the road, uncle,” Raju called out. After Khudi, the road in one section was a complete mess with mud and slush as far as our eyes traveled. Pedaling across that stretch seemed impossible, and we resorted to walking our bikes, trying not to muck our shoes in the ankle-deep mud.

The weather remained warm for the fall season as the elevation gain was piddling when we arrived at Bhulbhule (840 meters). Given the low elevation, the tropical riverine vegetation and moist and dry deciduous scrub forest with Sal (Shorea robusta), Banjh (oak), and Sano pangro (elm), to name a few, looked lush and flourishing on the way. 

Although on the go, we could not help but stop at Bhulbhule as we caught sight of a massive waterfall. It dropped from a towering forested hill, crashing at the base with a loud boom. When we approached closer to take snaps, we could feel almost 25 feet away, our faces sprayed by a fine cloud of mist. “Wow,” said Raju, relentlessly clicking at his cell phone camera.

We kept pedaling along the quiet, unsullied countryside, the road almost deserted save for a few passing motorbikes and a couple of jeeps. The greenery appeared ubiquitous, punctuated by small pockets of settlements, farmlands, and verdant forests dotting the hills.

The recent post-Dashain rains, floods, and landslips in Lamjung and Manang had left tell-tale scars on the landscape—mounds of debris and rocks lay piled up by the roadside. 

With the bounding Marshyangdi to our left, we stopped at Nagadi (930 meters), a decent-looking town with teahouses and lodges flanking the road. We hit the road after a brief rest, a cup of tea, and light refreshment. 

After Nagadi, the elevation gradually rose, and we had to huff it up several steep climbs. At Dobhantar, we were in for a stunning view. We crossed a bridge over a turquoise reservoir while densely forested hills stood on both sides—nothing short of picture-perfect.  

At Ghermu, Shildhunga, we stopped to stretch our tired limbs and sip water from our bottles. At that moment, our ears caught the sound of crashing water nearby. Within minutes, we were gawking at another waterfall that barreled down from the crest of a hill. 

Bahundanda village could be sighted across the Marshyangdi, snugly hugging the hill of a brow with terraces of rice fields cascading down to the river bank. We learned the trekking trails from Besisahar to Manang cut across many villages of Lamjung but intermittently blended with the road after it opened a few years back. 

We ran past miniature waterfalls by the dozen on the way but soon lost count of them. The going so far seemed moderately challenging for me, but there was nothing to fret about much. I often needed to catch up with Raju on uphills, who waited on me coolly. Great guy! 

It almost felt like an eternity before we finally arrived at Syange (1,100 meters), our destination for the day, relieved, spent, and starving. We had to kick our heels for our cherished dal-bhat as we had arrived past lunchtime, about three in the afternoon. And all that time, my stomach groaned in protest. 

But to our surprise, the only occupant, a lady, rustled up our food within barely half an hour. We ate like pigs, no kidding. The lady owner, Ghale Gurung, suggested we visit a nearby waterfall, Syange's Pride.  

After heaving up a spiraling flight of narrow, crude stone steps for 15 minutes, we arrived at the spot. The dizzying height was scary as some sections did not have railings with steep drops hundreds of feet below. 

Whoa! It was another massive sight. The force of the drop from the soaring height was so ferocious that a fine spray of water virtually drenched us. Mesmerized, we stayed quite some time at the top, marveling about nature's unbounded bounty before retreating to the lodge. 

After a satisfying supper of egg veg noodles, we retired for the night early as we had to make it to Dharapani the next day. 

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