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If you commute through Kathmandu’s Ring Road route regularly, chances are you have noticed him. A lone figure in a boonie hat and a reflective vest standing in the middle of a busy road intersection, gesticulating at motorists to stop or to move. 

I might even wager that chances are you have heard somewhere that he is from Japan. Yes, he is a traffic volunteer; and no, he is not from Japan. This I discovered (rather embarrassingly, I must admit) from a police officer at Gaushala when I asked him if he could help me contact the Japanese traffic volunteer for this piece.   

When I finally meet the man, he tells me that he gets misidentified as a Japanese national all the time, assuring me that I am not the only one. 

Shekhar Chandra Rai has been working as traffic marshal for over a decade now. The misinformation about his Japanese origin spread as a result of a news article published in 2006.

“There was this news article about an actual Japanese volunteer who handed a traffic signal violator to the authorities,” he says. “Since the article didn’t publish his picture, people started assuming I was that person.” 

Born and raised in Morang district, Rai left for Brunei to work in 1993. He worked for the royal family of Brunei for two years before returning to Nepal. 

“After I returned to Nepal, I didn’t work for a long time,” the 47-year-old says. “I used to idle my days away in the Jamal area, watching vehicles pass by.”

He used to watch traffic officers at their job, fascinated how they controlled and guided the flood of vehicles. He would assist the traffic officers when the congestions were too high. The officers were more than happy to have an extra hand, particularly during rush hours. 

Rai learned while volunteering that the task required a good problem-solving skill and a lot of patience, which made him appreciate the job of a traffic officer even more. 

In the run-up to and after the People’s Movement of 2006, street protests and rallies became fairly common in Kathmandu. Traffic jams also became frequent as a result. It was then when Rai began volunteering on a regular basis.     

“I used to stand in the middle of the Gaushala and Chabahil intersections for hours, managing the traffic,” he says. “I worked during rush hours at first, but soon I was spending more than 12 hours in some of the busiest streets of Kathmandu.” 

Rai doesn’t own a vehicle, so he hitchhikes or takes a public vehicle to wherever he feels his help is needed. He really seems to get a kick out of this volunteering gig. Otherwise, there is no explanation as to why anyone would spend hours upon hours dealing with Kathmandu’s notorious traffic —and mind you, he is just a volunteer.

His eyes widen with excitement when he talks about the old days, back when Kathmandu’s roads were narrower, overhead bridges were few and far between, and the traffic situation was absolute chaos. 

“Oddly enough, those are the days that I cherish and find the most memorable,” he says.

Rai has a fixation with fixing problems. He tells me about the time he gathered some people to unclog the rainwaters that had waterlogged a road section in order to keep the traffic moving. 

But since Rai doesn’t wear a traffic uniform, motorists do not always heed to his instructions. He has no authority to issue tickets to traffic rule violators, so he is sometimes rebuffed by motorists. There have been numerous occasions when he has come across argumentative and hostile drivers. 

“I am simply here to volunteer. I try to avoid arguments as best as I could,” he says.

This approach doesn’t always work though. He tells me he was once nearly assaulted by a motorcyclist in Tripureshwor. 

“I stopped him for breaching the traffic rule and he nearly hit me. Fortunately, at that exact moment, a police officer happened to be passing by, and he protected me from getting beat up by this motorcyclist,” Rai says.  

The difference shown by the police officer in front of the gawking motorists and passers-by at the time made a lasting impression on him. 

But not all motorists are rude to him, he says. “They understand that I am there to help and they are cooperative. I wouldn’t be doing this if my work was not being appreciated,” he adds.  

Kathmandu has changed a lot since Rai started volunteering: roads have become wider, traffic lights and other infrastructures have improved, and people’s sense of traffic rules have also improved to an extent. 

“It is a lot better now. But that also means I am a lot less busier,” he says.

Rai’s volunteering work has won him accolades from traffic officers as well as the government of Nepal. He was feted with Prabal Jana Sewa Shree, one of Nepal’s highest civilian awards, by the president in 2020. 

With more time on his hands, he divides his time between volunteering and running hotel, his family business, in Gaushala these days.  

“I still like working as a traffic volunteer but there is little to do for me nowadays. I get bored when there is no problem to solve out in the street,” he says.    

Under a 10-meter-long ‘Rainbow Pride Flag’ stood every single person who had come out or were still explorating their sexual orientation and identity. It was all about being proud of who you are and what you identify as. Blaring from the speakers was Lady Gaga’s ‘Born this way’—a perfect soundtrack for the occasion.    

Rukshana Kapali, she/her, pansexual, transwoman 

The mass was gathered at Kathmandu’s Maitighar on Saturday (June 11) to celebrate the Pride Parade, a celebration of queer people and their community. As the crowd moved towards New Baneshwor, I and photographer Pratik Rayamajhi followed this colorful procession, talking to many of the parade participants. 

We talked to the individuals representing the many colors in the queer spectrum: gay, lesbian, non-binary, bisexual, pansexual, gender fluid, among many others. 

Participants painting their faces before the parade

Some had come wrapped-up with the flag representing their sexuality, some had their face painted with the color to announce their identity, while many sported rainbow-coloured socks.

Not everyone in the crowd belonged to the queer community though. Numerous participants were cis-gender people who had come to show their solidarity with the queer community. 

SJ, she/her, non-binary

The parade’s key takeaway was love and acceptance. There was no groupism, no discrimination. Everyone at the parade was a member of one big family. And like any family, each member had their own unique characteristic and was loved for it. There was acceptance, appreciation, and happiness, which after all is what the Pride Parade is all about. 

Saddu (left), he/she/they, unlabeled and Apsara, she/her, pansexual 

We met many individuals, talked to them, and captured their proud and jubilant mood. ‘Happy Pride! Happy Pride!’ we chanted to exchange greetings to mark the day. The parade came to a halt at New Baneshwor and everyone sat down. It was time for celebrating the queer identity and for expressing love for one and all present. There were dance performances and recitals of prose and poetry. There were tears of sadness and tears of joy. There were moments of melancholy and moments of mirth.   

Peachy Pie, she/her, drag queen

Parakram Rana, he/him, gay

“Life finds a way to connect one with their passion,” says Suresh Badal, a writer and translator. 

From a very young age, Badal was interested in books and literature. He collected books, even discarded and dog-eared ones, and gave them bespoke hand-crafted covers if necessary.

Even though he loved literature, he studied science to become a microbiologist. “I grew up in a society that believed science to be the superior subject,” he says.

Badal did sometimes have the urge to leave the field of science and study humanities, but he never took the step. He got a master's degree in microbiology and started working as a teacher.

By this time, his literary dream was long behind him. But this changed after he was involved in a motorcycle accident in 2012.

Badal fractured his leg in the crash and never quite recovered fully. He was unable to stand for a long period to teach his class. 

“My work became a hindrance to my health,” he says.

Four years after the accident, Badal's condition deteriorated and he was completely bedridden. It was a difficult situation, but also a blessing in disguise.

“My illness gave me the opportunity to connect with my passion,” he says. 

Everyday, Badal spent his time on his laptop, reading and writing. He kept a positive outlook where others might have suffered a mental breakdown. Literature saved him.

“Physically, I was incapacitated; but I was traveling the world through literature,” he says. 

Badal read a lot during those days and also posted his writings on his social media. 

“Cooped up inside my room, I wrote about the outside world,” he says.

Most of his writings were autobiographical in nature to which many people related to. Unbeknownst to him, his work was getting recognized, and soon he got a call from a publisher. 

Badal’s first book Rahar was published in February 2021. It was a compilation of the works that he produced while he was bedridden. Most of the writings were about his childhood experiences. 

The book was well-received by the readers. Badal was then approached by a publisher to translate Hippie, a novel by Brazilian author Paulo Coehlo, into Nepali. The book came out in October 2021. 

“For me, it was an amazing opportunity to share my understanding of the book with other people,” Badal says. “More than work, it was a fun experience.”

Translation, he adds, is “portraying the essence of the book” in a different language. 

Badal enjoys writing and translating with equal measure. He feels lucky that he is getting to follow his passion. 

“Do you have any frustrations about not being able to follow your passion sooner?” I ask him. 

“I would not call it a frustration,” he replies. "I never resented the fact that I studied science. But I do wonder that if I studied humanities, I would also be writing in English.”

Badal writes in Nepali but he is heavily influenced by western literature. 

“I mostly read English books, but I express in Nepali,” he says. "Maybe, this is also one of the reasons why I am fond of translation."

Badal wishes more books from around the world should be translated into Nepali. “Language should not be a barrier to literature,” he says. "There aren’t many genres to explore within Nepali literature. We need literature from around the world and translation can make this possible."

Badal is currently working on a romance novel titled Maya Ka Masina Akshar, which will be out this year.

He plans to continue writing, translating and reading, but he also believes that life and career can change anytime. The motorcycle accident that made him a writer out of a microbiology teacher taught him this  

“I am a believer of destiny. Let’s see what it has prepared for my future,” he says.

My personal rule of thumb to find out if a person is kind is to see how they treat animals. By this measure, Sneha Shrestha and her colleagues who work to protect and rescue stray dogs and animals are kindness personified. 

This week I tagged along with a team from Sneha’s Care, an animal rescue center Shrestha founded, to document their work. The day started at the organization’s dog shelter in Chobhar, a safe haven for nearly 200 rescued dogs, who yelped and growled at me as I entered the premises. 

There, I met Dr Bhuwan Giri, two animal handlers and a driver, and together we set out towards Thali. A brown pup with both his hind legs paralyzed needed help. At Thali, we were welcomed by a group of local dogs. They seemed to know Dr Giri and his team. They certainly did, as I later found out, as the team had treated some of these dogs before. 

A kind-hearted lady had placed the sick pup in a carton box. After examining him, Dr Giri decided that he must be taken to the shelter. 

With the first rescue of the day completed, we headed towards Mid-Baneshwor. This time, it was an adult stray dog that had not been eating well and sitting at the same spot for days. 

Dr Giri said that he had multiple illnesses and needed to be kept under observation. 

The dog was promptly pulled into the van and we headed back to Chobhar. At the shelter, other staff members helped Dr Giri and his team remove the two ailing rescued dogs out of the van and to find them proper spots where they could be treated.  

I bade farewell to the team and returned home knowing that the two dogs were in good hands.