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I was born in the backyard of our mud-house, at one o’clock in the night while my mother hung on to the wooden beams supporting the thatched roof. She had already borne the labor pain for two days and had stepped out in the dark, unable to bear it anymore. My father wasn’t home. And they were both 19. 

When they heard the sound of a baby crying, my grandparents came out, lit an oil lamp and came to look for the baby and the mother. They lifted me up and were happy to find that I was a boy. They rejoiced.

My mother told the story of her life in a TEDx talk in Kathmandu last week. She is 58 now, and I am 39. I listened to the journey she has been through, told very matter-of-factly, without any filters. Sitting there in the audience in that hall along with more than hundred other people, and watching her share the story of her life, was deeply moving.

Fifty years ago, at a remote village in Syangja district in western Nepal, when my mother started going to school, people weren’t happy. “They used to say if you educate girls, they will get spoiled— they will elope. But my father didn’t listen to them and sent me to school,” she said. “Our relatives kept trying to stop me from getting educated. They weren’t happy that a girl was being educated. When I turned 13, I stopped going to school. Staying home and helping my mother made everyone happy, it made my mother happy as well.”

She was married at 17, and I was born when my parents were 19. Women in the house, especially the daughters-in-law, had to work really hard. My mother would wake up any time before 3.30 am, and finish the Dhiki Jato work before dawn. And during the daylight hours, they had to work in the fields or fetch firewood from the jungles. Obviously, I was neglected.

“When my son was 18 months, he was only 6 kg in weight,” my mother’s story continued. “We took him to a Jhakri [shaman] for treatment. One day, on our way back from the jhakri, he started vomiting badly and almost stopped breathing. I nearly fainted. My husband said to me that if he is ours, he will survive. If God hasn’t sent him to be ours, we can’t do anything about it.”

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I was saved, not from the interventions of God, but because someone in the family took me to the Mission Hospital in Tansen, Palpa. The doctor understood that I was severely malnourished and advised my parents to feed me eggs and bananas. And I survived.

My mother raised three children, with the support of my father’s job in the Indian Army.

But over the years, I have seen my mother make a place for herself in social leadership, the organic way. In a social set-up dominated by men, she teamed up with some of them to start a cooperative in the village that helps women farmers financially. And three years ago, we came up with the idea of ‘Himali: Made by Mothers’–to create employment for women in the villages.

“All my life, I have struggled without education and without a job. I haven’t rested even for a single day, but as a housewife and farmer, I haven’t earned money. I have faced many such moments when I felt I wish I had an earning of my own.” She said, “I know that I would have raised my children in a better way if I could myself earn. Through Himali, we want to give that power and freedom to mothers in the villages, like me.”

The story of my mother’s struggle is not uncommon. Poverty and lack of education is the setting. The struggles that most women faced in our part of the world were severe. Just surviving a child birth was a miracle.

Watching my 58-year-old mother who had to drop out of the school in grade three 45 years ago confidently walk on to the stage and talk to a hall-full of audience was an immensely moving experience. The audience were in tears.

Back from the event, in the village where she still lives a rigorous farming life, she has moved on already, apparently unaware of the contrast I see in the opportunities that she lost because of where she was born. The place of birth of an individual shouldn’t decide the fate of a life so much. 

I can’t get this feeling out of my mind. It is not just. And we must rebel, in our own ways.

Shreya, now 19 and a resident of Sanepa, was only nine when, at a family gathering, her teenage cousin decided to sleep next to her and take advantage of her. Mina, now 22 and a Bagdol resident, was 12 when she stopped going to the neighborhood shop after the shopkeeper molested her.

I was seven when it happened to me. The house helper my family hired and trusted convinced me to go to the guest bedroom with him to please himself. I didn’t know that it was wrong. I thought every girl had to go through this, that at least all of my friends did.

As the UN marks 16 days of activism against gender-based violence from 25 November to 10 December 2021 under the global theme “Orange the World: End Violence against women now!”, I ask myself, what did we know?

There is a thin line between what one learns and what he or she understands from it. Research shows that worldwide one in three women have been sexually violated at least once in their lives. But only one in ten come forth about it.

But have you ever thought about how close these abused women are to you? Maybe it’s the girl who sat next to you in class, the woman you say ‘hi!’ to every morning on your way out, or the person who you share lunch with during your lunch break at work.

One day, news of a brutal rape makes it to the headlines of every newspaper, most Instagram stories share the news and it trends on Twitter, and then the issue disappers—until the next reported case.

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“The state isn’t paying enough attention to sexual violence in Nepal,” says Bishnu Bashyal, a lawyer at the Supreme Court and a partner at Supravat Kanuni Sewa Sadan. “With the Covid-19 pandemic, the number of such cases has only increased.”

Sudima, another resident of Kathmandu who is now 28, used to work late shifts at a hotel when one night a higher-level employee forced her into engaging with him sexually; she was 21, and he was 43. She decided to leave work and not tell anyone until seven years later. Arati, now 18, was 14 when a teacher in her school ‘mistakenly’ lifted her skirt’ and then blamed it on his ‘friendly nature’.

Many still haven’t understood the meaning of ‘my body, my right’. For centuries, men have controlled the female body.

When I ask myself why it happened, the saddest part is that it did, for a reason I’ll never know. Why did no one help me? Because I never told anyone. Why didn’t I tell anyone? Because I didn’t know how to. Because I didn’t know if I should. Because, for 10 years after it happened, I didn’t know that things shouldn’t have happened that way. I am also among that one in three women.

Times are changing and more people are sharing their stories. But societal perception and victim-blaming haven’t changed. The state is not being held accountable for this, shares Bashyal, who has worked on cases of gender-based sexual violence for over 28 years.

“Am I a victim?” I used to think every time I watched my classmates read the newspaper, pointing right at ‘10-year-old girl raped in the fields of Sindhupalchowk’ on the front page. Am I a victim too? And if so, why me? Why her?

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There is no security, no environment to speak out because the consequences are almost as worse. How can we expect more people to share their stories when what comes after still doesn’t provide them safety?

It took me 10 years to share my story with a close friend; 10 years after replaying the image in my head every time I closed my eyes, remembering that smell. It finally felt comfortable to share my experience as she shared her story with me too. She had a story too. That’s when I thought, maybe this does happen to a lot of people. That’s when I realized that it shouldn’t.

Sexual violence is not just another topic of conversation. It is a reality, a trauma that thousands and thousands of women and men live with and accept just to avoid humiliation and negative attention.

There are now laws and policies to ‘prevent and protect’, but they haven't changed the social mindset. There is much that needs to be addressed. What can the law do if people’s mindset is warped, and the mainstream society is structured to indirectly take their side? Before blaming the victim, think about the hundreds of times she has blamed herself and found no reason why it’s her fault.

Not just 16, there should be a 365-day movement to speak out about why it is wrong and why it needs to be stopped. Every voice does its bit to change that mindset. How many more until no more? That’s up to us.

(Some names have been changed to protect the informants’ privacy) 

The house-visit phase of the 12th national census has just concluded and by now all the requisite data must be in. The census staffs had visited people's homes, asking for their names, castes, religions, sex, etc. On the other hand, some Dalit activists and atheists have been vociferously expressing their dissatisfaction with the whole process. Dalit religious activists are saying that the Dalits should not have had to select ‘Hindu’ as their religion as they believe Hinduism is the main cause of their discrimination. Likewise, the atheists are asking: why couldn’t they say they believe in no god at all?

On the basis of the census tabulations, the state will come up with various plans, policies and programs to lift the status of certain groups. Moreover, census figures will be used to gauge the rise and fall in the number of adherents of certain religions. Expect some drastic changes in the religious mix.

This time, the census will show a higher number of Christians and a lower number of Hindus. But why has the number of Hindus gone down? The Hindu extremists may even accuse others, mainly Christian missionaries. But they will not analyze themselves, not see how they have discriminated against other human beings on caste basis. They will continue to ignore the demand for Dalit religious rights. The ignorance and insult of high-caste Hindus is a major factor making many Dalits change their religion. This is why the number of Hindu adherents may be down when the results of the census are published.

The Hindu extremists have never considered that the Sudras also belong to Hindu religion, and have similar castes, cultures and traditions. This has made many Dalits adopt Christianity so that they are treated as equals, both religiously and culturally. In Christianity there is no hierarchal discrimination. Everybody is equal and anybody can be a church pastor. That’s why it attracts Dalits and ethnic tribes.

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According to the new Christian Dalits, changing religion was a kind of rebellion against Hindu rites and rituals that traditionally discriminated against them in social, cultural and religious spheres. The Dalits are barred from entering temples and the so-called high castes refuse to have family relations with them. Moreover, Dalits are often mistreated, manhandled and even killed by so-called high caste Hindus. Many Dalits say they won’t have to face such discriminations in Christianity. Moreover, some Dalits argue, why follow a religion where beasts are loved and worshipped while many fellow human beings are insulted?

The encroachment of a foreign religion is a big challenge and threat to native Hindus. Day by day, more and more people, especially Dalits, are attracted by other religions that respect them. Just see the number of churches that have sprung up in places like Jumla and Kalikot, never mind in the more developed urban centers.

In India Dr. Bhim Rao Ambedkar converted many Hindu Dalits into Buddhism. Similarly, in South India, many Dalits changed their religion and adopted Christianity en masse. Nepali Dalits may decide to take a leaf out of their books.

If the current trend of systemic discrimination does not stop, there could soon be a drastic reduction in the number of Hindu adherents, with the exit of those who have otherwise been following Hinduism for ages. If Hindus are serious about protecting their religion, the first thing they need to do is respect the rule of law. For that they have to take legal action against those who practice caste-based discrimination. Second, they should adopt progressive policies to make the society a more even playing field. Likewise, the radical Hindus should deconstruct the discriminatory social norms and values, and they must introspect: What is making so many Dalits change their native religion?

Given the menacing attitude of taxi drivers in Kathmandu, a friend introduced me to Tootle, a two-wheeler ride-sharing application in August 2017. I had had some experience with Uber in the US back in 2014 when a friend of mine told me about this new innovation of using a private car for transport and how it had made life easier in cities where public transport and taxis are scarce. Plus, how it had changed the lives of both the users and the car drivers.

While revisiting the US in 2017, while returning from a party in the wee hours, we booked an Uber and I was talking to the driver. A mother of three kids, she is a stay home mom in the day and does Uber at night, after her husband returns from work. It had not only given her financial independence as well a break from her domestic chores. “It is refreshing to do Uber, I feel fresh to come out of the house. I get paid....and I get to meet new people each time...Worth it!”

With a high impression of Uber, I returned to Nepal in early December 2017. Now, we don't have Uber in Nepal. What next? Then, at that point, “Tootle” tooted in my head. I installed the app and started using it. It surely made commuting easier and affordable for single users like myself. The whole bargaining, pleading, and negotiating with taxi drivers became a thing of the past. Now, I take out my phone, switch on Wi-Fi or 3G, start the app, mark my location, my final destination and the ride will be right outside my doorsteps. 

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In September 2018, another new ride service entered the Nepali market. This time it was Bangladesh-born and bred Pathao service. After “Moving Bangladesh” it was finally in Nepal. Pathao suddenly became very enticing due to its promotional schemes. As its Google Map happened to be friendlier than Tootle’s, booking was easier and more user-friendly. (I had taken two free rides with the schemes.) In those days, I was more frequent with Pathao.

Initially, I thought I would meet the same riders. But to my surprise, it was a new rider every single time (though after frequent use I met a couple of them more than once). I started interacting with the riders and asking how they had started and how much they earned a month by associating with this service. Some of the stories are interesting enough to share. 

Lakpa Lama, 20, just out of high school, was doing full-time Tootle rides to save to go abroad for further studies. His daily expenses were also covered by ride-earning.

Suraj Thakuri Malla, 27, has a three-year-old daughter, does part-time Pathao rides, and saves all his earnings for his daughter to go to a good college. I trickily asked him how much he has made so far and he said in the past four months he had saved about Rs 90,000 from Pathao rides. A full-time worker at a construction office, he is hopeful of sending his daughter to a good college in the US or Australia.

Suresh Tamang is a returned migrant worker who is making a pretty good living working full time on Pathao as well as Tootle. He says he takes rides from both the apps and earns around Rs 45,000-Rs 50,000 very easily. He also shares that getting to stay with his family made whatever he earned in his own country all the more rewarding.

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Sanjay Tamang, a Tootle and Pathao rider, and I had a pretty rigorous discussion recently on our ride from Sanepa to Hattisar while stuck in rush-hour traffic. He told me how there is no insurance for the pillion rider and how bike maintenance needs to be his own if there is damage during the ride. He also lamented lack of extra benefits for the rides after hours (from 8 pm-11 pm). He asked me that if I write anything about this conversation then I should mention that, like the taxis getting one-and-a-half-time fares after 9 PM, these riders should have some extra perks as a motivation for riding in the dark in this freezing winter. (He too has a full-time job and works from 5:30 pm till 11 pm to make that extra income.)

These are a few of the stories of 100,000-plus riders all over Kathmandu valley who are associated with Tootle/Pathao. While lifting lives of all these riders and their families, these services have prevented women from all those incidents of sexual assaults and groping in public vehicles. They have helped youngsters be independent and pay their college fees. The government should either improve public transportation, which, of course, is a better option, or make taxis work in a systematic manner. The other option is to work things out “legally” for such life-easing innovations as Tootle/Pathao.

On the other side, such companies should definitely take customer care and service seriously. They are liable for the safety of the users as well as the riders. Proper training and safety majors should thus be their top priorities. My biggest dread is a rider with racing bikes like Ktm Duke or Pulsar 300 wearing socks on flip-flops.