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Before the country became a republic in 2006, cross-dress­ing was considered illegal under various laws against ‘public immorality’. But the practice was legalized in 2007 and a ‘third gen­der’ besides ‘male’ and ‘female’ option given to those applying for Nepali citizenship. Yet transgenders still face hurdles to fully embrace their identity. Many Nepali trans-women (male-to-female transsexuals) dream of having enough money to travel to Thailand to undergo complicated and costly surgery to fully transform into women; a few of them have been successful. But, technically, there are no trans-men (female-to-male transsexuals) in Nepal, even though some like to identify them­selves as such.

Elyn Bhandari

Elyn Bhandari, 27, was born and raised in Kathmandu. He always knew that he was different but lived as a male till he graduated from high school. “I then met a friend who interned with the Blue Diamond Society. She brought me here for counseling and orientation.” Bhandari was 21 when he found that he identified as a trans-man, and not a lesbian. Just like Bhandarai, lots of trans-men initially misidentify them­selves as lesbians.

“I used social media to open up. Many of my friends were dis­approving,” he says. “Ironically, I had to lose many people in my life when I finally found myself.” Currently employed at the Blue Diamond Society, Bhandari says the place is a family. “My fami­ly was totally against me when I told them I am a man trapped in a woman’s body. But this place gave me the support that I needed. They understood me and helped me understand myself.”

Bhakti Shah

Bhakti Shah, 32, transitioned also into manhood on joining the Blue Diamond Society. Shah knew he was attracted towards females when he was in his early teens. He considers himself considerably luckier than his friends as he didn't have to face much family pressure to embrace the female identity he was born with.

“Before I came out I was scared of what people might think. I felt trapped inside my own body,” he says. “But when I came out I real­ized there are other people like me as well.” When the country has acknowledged the identity of all its citizen, says Shah, there is no need to hide your identity any more.

Shah has had a female partner for 10 years now. “Though god witnessed our bond, we want to our marriage to be legalized and nor­malized," Shah says. “About time the gov­ernment legalized marriage among the LGBTI community.”

Akanshya Timalsina

Born in Morang, Akan­shya Timalsina,25, was very small when she start­ed noticing that she was dif­ferent from other males. But she had to wait till she was 18 before she came across the web­site of the Blue Diamond Society. At long last, the non-profit organization working for LGBTI (Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex) rights would help her identify herself as a transgender.

“Before contacting the society, I had never heard about transgen­ders,” she says. “But that is exactly what I was.” At 24, she underwent a top surgery in Bangkok, followed by a sex change surgery a year later. “It was expensive. I had to spend 5-6 years of my savings for the opera­tion,” she says. “But I regret nothing. I feel like a bird that has just been freed from a cage. I am no longer plagued by the guilt that I am in a body that is not mine.”

Sudeep Gautam

Sudeep Gautam, 27, too always knew. At a tender age of five, when all his friends would play with dolls and wear dresses, he would cry because his parents forced him to do the same. Sudeep never dressed as a female even before he identified himself as a trans-man. He was able to understand his attraction towards females and inclination towards male identity only when entered his teens.

“I had to work like a man in order to look after my family even before I identified as a trans-man,” Gau­tam says. But he had to leave his hometown for the fear that his par­ents would marry him off to a man. His sister then told him about the Blue Diamond Society, and his life changed. He has identified himself as a trans-man since 2011. “Although my biological parents brought me into this world, it was Blue Diamond that made me who I am today. I owe it everything,” he says.

“We fight humiliation everywhere we go. But I’m going to fight nonethe­less, fight for my community till the day I die,” he says. After all, “we’re all different, we are all equals.”

When the first electric guitar was invented in the early 1930s, no one had an idea about the rev­olution it would herald in the field of music. From its hum­ble beginning as an ingenious contraption that used electro­magnetic induction to sense the vibration of strings and send signals to the amplifier to produce sound, the electric guitar has developed into an indispensable instrument for any kind of music, from blues to rock n’ roll to heavy metal and even world music. Hundreds of guitar compa­nies around the world now produce thousands of models of electric guitars and in this rather competitive market, a Nepali guitar brand is trying to create a name for itself—first in Nepal and then all over the world, the owners say.

Sahana Guitars, formed in 2012, is the brainchild of Sagun Bhattarai, a certified char­tered accountant who com­pleted his ACCA in the UK and brought back not only a CA degree but also guitar-making skills he acquired from Brit­ish luthiers. Bhattarai, a sci­ence student before he joined ACCA as well as a passion­ate guitarist, briefly worked as a Chartered Accountant in Nepal before deciding to switch career and do some­thing that really inspired him. But he had a difficult choice to make: should he make solar panels because load-shedding was at its height at the time or should he make guitars. He picked the latter, and with Apurwa Raymajhi, a tourism entrepreneur and a passion­ate musician as a partner, Sah­ana Guitars (Sanskrit word for music) was born.

“We’ve come a long way since we started,” says Ray­majhi, who also looks after Sahana’s only outlet at Star Mall, Putalisadak. “We spent almost four years in research and development and started selling only in 2015. We got good response from Nepali musicians from the start.” Raymajhi admits that Sahana Guitars is still in a learning phase but already its produc­tion models are at par with some of the best known guitar brands in the world.

“There are companies which have been manufac­turing guitars for decades and have spent millions on R&D but no one has been able to make the perfect guitar,” adds Raymajhi. “We are simi­larly upgrading our capacities according to our customers’ needs and hoping to manu­facture the best guitars for the local market.”

Right now it takes Sahana around 45-60 days to make a batch of 10 guitars. The guitar makers are planning to upgrade the machiner­ies and factory workflow to bring down the production time to 30 days. All the wood involved in crafting guitars are locally sourced. Sahana uses mahogany, ash, alder, rosewood and walnut to make different models of guitars. It is also researching a Nepali subspecies of maple, one of the most revered woods for guitar manufacturing. With young luthiers Shirsak Subedi and Apurva Chaudhary com­pleting its small team, Sahana also makes its own guitar pick­ups with materials outsourced from abroad along with other essential imported hardware.

Among the different mod­els Sahana produces, the ‘Nyauli’, ‘Who Chill,’ and the ‘Maha Chill’ are the most popular, Raymajhi informs. All of Sahana’s guitar models are named after indigenous birds of Nepal. “Birds are the symbols of freedom and we also wanted to promote the fact the Nepal is a home to a diverse species of birds.”

Apart from the regular production models, Sahana customizes guitars accord­ing to the buyers’ prefer­ence. Different colors, pickup combinations, personal­ized inlays can be selected to customize the available models. Also, Sahana builds fully customized guitars from scratch, with options in body shape, wood, neck, pickup and all accessories. Famous Nepali artists like Sunny Manandhar of Albatross, Satish Sthapit of Newaz, Sarad Shrestha of Tumbleweed and Jimi Blues of The Midnight Riders have ordered custom guitars from Sahana and rate the company highly.

“Pricewise, we are offering guitars starting at Rs 50,000, which would normally cost around $1,200 [over Rs 120,000] in the international market,” Raymajhi says. “That said, it is still expensive for a beginner and we are trying to further cut costs.” To do so Sahana plans to increase production in the near future. With interested customers contacting them from all over Nepal, India and even the US, mass production does not seem a distant prospect.

Space is launching its first album entitled ‘Eye/I’. Quite an unusual name, you may think, but then Space is an unusual band. Describing their genre as ‘rock’ or ‘post-rock’, their music ranges from the soothing, right through to the jarring in a style Mit­shushi Shahi, the vocalist, calls ‘screaming’. Featured on two numbers, Space and Abstrophone, Shahi brings a metal-like expression of frus­tration to the audience. In this way, the album will appeal to metal lovers and rock lovers, as well as those who like more poetic lyrics and gentler sounds. Their other vocalist, Nikita Shres­tha, has a strong and expres­sive range, particularly on her favourite track, I, which she describes as ‘soothing’. With the topic of hope, this track was about Shrestha’s own personal experiences and her struggle to overcome hardships. It should be noted that while the majority of the band members play in other bands, Shrestha performs solo at times and has been involved in such events as Sofar.

Space was formed in 2016 when friends came together through their love of music. The current line-up has changed a little from those days and now also includes Rabindra Maharjan on flute, Bikee Bajra on drums, and Ritavrat Joshi on bass.

Completing the line-up is Riken Maharjan and Rojib Shahi, both on guitar. The name—Space—came from an EP of the same name put together by Maharjan. The name remained but the genre changed from elec­tronic to its current rock/experimental style.

One friend missing from the line-up is someone who used to jam with the band before it took shape as Space. The track Abstrophone is ded­icated to his memory. The music had been composed at that time, but the lyrics have been specifically written to commemorate his short life and that friendship.

Talking about Space on his radio show, radio jockey Ray­mon Das Shrestha said “there is only one word to describe (Space)—amazing! I am ready to buy their album and put it on repeat mode. The new gen­eration is experimenting and coming up with new sounds.”

“We are so lucky to be able to launch our album at ‘25 Hours’ this week. This is a self-funded album so it means even more to us,” says Shahi. With Space’s new tracks and the other acts on the stage, namely, ASM, The Act and Kamero, can you afford to miss it?

Tickets are limited and only available at the following out­lets: Tone Music Store, Calm, Beers and Cheers, Planet Music and Namaste Coffee. Rs 400 or Rs 600 with Space’s new album. No door sales. Eye/I will also be available for sale on the night and as a download in the near future.

(Launch at 3:30 pm Satur­day, June 30 at 25 Hours Rock Nights, Tangalwood)

“I learned how to drive a tempo, a three-wheeler, after I took my SLC (national level exams at the end of Grade 10). I was really scared. I was also confused about turning the vehicle at the corners or bringing it to a stop. But I had to learn it anyhow,” recalls 28-year-old Sushma Dhimal, whom I met in front of the Kathmandu Mall as she was waiting for passengers.“Learning to drive a tempo took me two weeks. At first, I practiced driving one without passengers. It was really hard in the beginning. I bumped into random things. Once, the tempo flipped over and I got injured. Only then did I become a professional driver,” says a confi­dent-looking Sushma.

She’s been driving a tempo in the chaotic streets of Kathmandu for a year now. As a driver, she’s never felt offended or discriminated against. She lives in Sitapaila with her hus­band and two sons. They all support her. In fact it was her husband who encouraged her and taught her driv­ing. Other female drivers and traffic police also helped her in some diffi­cult situations. As a result, Sushma confidently drives a tempo seven days a week.

There was a time when she wanted to go abroad. For that, she needed skills. “But if I have a skill, why not do something in Nepal?” she rea­soned. “When I saw other female drivers, I felt a desire to become one. I failed my first driver’s license test. But I didn’t lose hope,” she muses. Sushma made another attempt and passed the test.

NOT AN EASY LIFE

Also waiting for passengers at another corner of the tempo stand was 32-year old Kumari Sarki. She’s been driving a three-wheeler for eight years. She started by driving somebody else’s tempo, but she didn’t like the deal and decided to buy her own vehicle. “I didn’t have enough money so I took out a bank loan to buy a tempo, which is my source of livelihood now,” she says.

Although Kumari earns enough, it’s far from an easy life. There are times when she doesn’t get enough passengers. Sometimes, the tempo stops working in the middle of a trip. She also gets into an accident once in a while. She takes on a serious look and says, “I haven’t been able to pay off my loan yet.”

Her day starts at 5 am every morn­ing. At noon, she takes a lunch break. Her daughter brings her food, which she eats in a hurry. Unlike most other professionals, she doesn’t take a day off. “Why do I need a day off? It’s my own tempo; I’d rather make some more money,” she says proudly. As soon as her vehicle is filled with pas­sengers, she starts the engine, honks and picks up speed.

POPULAR MISCONCEPTION

There soon arrives another tem­po packed with passengers in front of Kathmandu Mall. The driver is 30-year-old Pramila Bishankhe. She is wearing a mask, but her hair is covered in a layer of dust.

Pramila has a bachelor’s degree. She looks and talks smart. “People generally think of female tempo driv­ers as simple rustics. They also think my line of work does not befit col­lege-educated folks. That’s wrong; there should be dignity of labor,” she says.

Pramila has been married for six years. She started driving a tempo two years before that. She didn’t stop working even when she had an infant to take care of.

TOUGH BUT FUN

Bimala Gautam, 35, is a single mom. She has two kids. “I have to raise them the best I can. I need to give them the love of both a mother and a father,” says an emotional Bimala. She’s in her tempo near the New Road gate waiting for her turn. She has been driving a three-wheeler in Kathmandu for eight years.

It’s scorching hot at two in the afternoon. Bimala’s face is badly burnt by the heat. She looks exhaust­ed and parched, and asks some­one to get her a bottle of water. But “work is fun, I never feel lazy,”she says.

She came to the capital from Sind­huli nine years ago in order to give her children a good education. She has experienced a positive change in her life ever since she became a driver. “Now I don’t need anyone’s help to feed my family. Ultimately, it’s only our skills that support us,” says Bimala as a smile spreads across her weary face.

NOTHING VENTURED, NOTHING GAINED

Another female tempo driver I speak to is Juni Maya Nepali, who has already completed her 10th trip of the day and has made Rs 3,000, which is the amount she has to hand the vehicle-owner every day. What she makes in excess of Rs 3,000 is hers to keep.

She also gets a daily wage of Rs 350. Juni likes the deal, unlike many others who would rather drive their own vehicle. “If it’s my own vehicle, there will always be worry at the back of my mind that it will mal­function. I feel more at ease driv­ing someone else’s vehicle,” says Juni jovially.

She is 25, has completed Grade 12 and has been a tempo driver for a year. Earlier, she used to work in the garment industry. She also faced great difficulty learning to drive; so scared was she that for the first two months after she learned to drive, she didn’t ven­ture out the house. Finally she over­came her fear and started driving. “I’ve realized there is nothing you cannot do if you have courage,” Juni says.

BY SAPANA MAHARJAN