The Record Setters

Seven Summits Women (L to R): Shailee Basnet, Maya Gurung, Asha Kumari Singh, Pujan Acharya, Pema Diki Sherpa, Chunu Shrestha. Nim Doma Sherpa is missing in the photo.

Last week, I met seven women – we talked, laughed and shared their stories from around the world. While my stories spin around sightseeing, hotel stays and everything touristy, they talked about climbing mountains – the highest peak on every continent.

At a first glance, it’s difficult to fathom that they have climbed the highest peak on earth, Mount Everest, along with the highest mountains in Australia, Africa and Europe. By 2015, the Seven Summits Women, as they’re collectively called, are on a quest to  ascend the remaining three – the tallest points in South America, North America and Antarctica.

During the past two years, like the Seven Summits Women, I’ve talked to many Nepali mountaineers who have climbed the summits and set records.

I met Apa Sherpa, also called the Super Sherpa, who has climbed Everest a record 21 times before calling it a quit.

I travelled to Syangja in western Nepal to meet Sano Babu Sunwar and Lakhpa Tsheri Sherpa, who climbed Everest, paraglided from 8,848 meters and then kayaked all the way to the Bay of Bengal in India following the Koshi River in Nepal and the Ganges.

I also met Mingmar Dorji Sherpa, who started off as a porter but then assisted film crews and later started reporting about the mountains from the mountain peaks for state-run Nepal TV.

Then recently I interviewed Chhurim Sherpa, the 29-year-old who climbed Everest twice in one week.

It’s always fascinating meeting these courageous, adventurous people. And every time I meet them, I question what is it that makes them go atop a mountain, battling snowstorms, breathing thin air and risking their lives.

“You have to experience that yourself,” said Maya Gurung, one of the seven from the Seven Summits Women. “It’s some sort of addiction.”

I couldn’t agree with her more. But it’s not that I haven’t climbed a mountain. I know what it feels like – trekking up to the Everest Base Camp and also Kalapatthar seemed more than enough to me. The treacherous trek up to 5,500m, though worth it, is still very tough.I can’t think of going beyond that.

And here I talk to them who tell me their Everest stories as if it was just another trek up a small hill.

“I just sang a song all the way up,” Lhakpa told me of the Nepali tune that was his motivation – “Gorkhali ko Choro Hu Ma, Gorkhe Mero Naam (I’m a son of a Gurkha, Gorkhe is my name).”

While the Sunuwar-Lhakpa duo climbed, glided and sailed for the “sake of adventure,” for Apa, the 21-time record setter, climbing Everest, he said was “strictly a profession.”

“When I started climbing, it was to support my family,” he said. His latter climbs had a mission – to raise awareness about climate change and to raise Nepal’s profile in the global map through his record.

Others also share similar views — they all have their motives too.

The Seven Summits Women are on a mission to promote girls’ education and empowerment and Chhurim’s climb was centered around her childhood dream to summit the peak and to raise the profile of Nepali women mountaineers. She wants women to come forward and explore this business that is very much male-dominated.

All the mountaineers I have met have their personal stories, and at the end of the interview, I only get more inspired through their courage, determination, commitment and not to forget the success. I’m not sure if I can ever do what they’ve done, but I’m glad that my job allows me to meet people as such who are passionate about what they’re doing. And in the end, it makes me happy realizing that I’m also passionate about what I’m doing.

Stories

Seven Nepalese women have lofty ambitions to scale seven summits

‘Super Sherpa’ sets record with 21st ascent of Everest, then calls it a day

Childhood dream leads climber up Everest — twice in one week 

The men who leapt off Everest and paddled all the way to the sea 

From porter to reporter 

Instagramming Kathmandu

I’ve been on some sort of a writing break – haven’t really wrote anything or even have had the thought of writing anything.

I spend my days soaking up the warm winter sun in Kathmandu, mostly. Once bored, I usually go for walks – sometimes planned and at times just random.

As I walk, I usually complain about most of the stuff I see – no proper sidewalks, ill road manners, the stinking mountain of garbage, the dust, the smoke, this weird spitting habits of people …

But at the same time, I do appreciate the beauty of this city. And here are some shots taken from my cellphone, and of course Instagrammed.

 

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When the lights go out

Every morning, I wake up and check the schedule.

Today, it’s 7 am to 3 pm and then 7 pm to 1 am: That’s 14 hours.

If you’re thinking that’s my work schedule, you’re probably wrong. That’s the routine for today’s load shedding – the routine power cut off in Kathmandu, which effective January 19 has increased to 14 hours a day, 98 hours a week.

It’s been five days that I’ve been in Kathmandu. In three years time, it’s the second time that I’ve actually packed my first world comforts and moved to this developing country, which in all fairness is home.

As much as I am used to the luxuries of the first world, I should say that I am also accustomed to the third world lifestyle – living without power is certainly one of them. And I must say that during all the years I have lived in Kathmandu, a city that has been infested with power cuts throughout my adult life, I, along with most of the city dwellers, have tend to develop a coping mechanism to life without power.

From candles and kerosene-lit lamps to solar-powered lanterns, we now have advanced to inverters, which sucks up the power when there is electricity, charges itself and generates backup power. At least, the room is lit up and I can charge my phone and computer. But it doesn’t support the electric heater or the water kettle. So yes, the room is cold – at least five degrees colder than the outside temperature – and I have to walk into the freezing kitchen in layers of clothes to fetch me some tea.

But regardless of having no power for 14 hours a day, which is an utter inconvenience, I do think that it has some little perks.

When there is no power, as much as my eyes are fixed to my portable gadgets, by which I mean my phone and computer (I don’t own any other gadgets), they usually give up after a while, and unless there is electricity, I cannot recharge them. So I take this time to reflect on ideas, read and indulge into things that I would have never done had there been power. During the past few days, during those dark, powerless evenings, I have been catching up on my readings. And I definitely plan to read a little bit more.

During the routine power cuts, I have also made a point to call friends in and around the city. And no, I’m not texting or Skyping with them, but actually calling them and making a point to meet one of these days when the lights go out.

Yes, so when the lights are out, it’s a good opportunity to rekindle with your friends and family. Sitting in the living room, talking about mindless and meaningful stuff, it just seems like the 90s when I was growing up, living in the pre-Internet age.

Also, not having lights until 1 am or so is a good reason to go to bed. So gone are those days when I’m online, doing some unnecessary research until 3 am. It’s also an end to waking up late in the mornings. I’ve actually started to wake up at 7 am, which is quite unusual for me. I take it as a good change.

I’m sure that in the coming hours and days I’m going to come up with more ideas and a list of things-to-do when there is no power.

I’m going to be in this city for a while now. And for a fact, the hours without power is going to stay. So rather than groaning and moaning about something I cannot change or control, I just plan to develop some coping mechanisms to combat life without power. And as much as I think it’s going to be difficult, I plan to dictate those dark hours for my own good.

Read my post from February 2011 when there was a 14-hour power crunch. 

Pushpa Basnet for CNN Heroes 2012

I first met Pushpa Basnet – one of the prospective CNN Heroes 2012 -  in 2011. We were both standing on the Bagmati Bridge that connects Kathmandu to Lalitpur. I was there as an observer and Pushpa had come to participate in a silent protest against Nepal’s political leaders who have failed to deliver the country’s constitution.

It was raining, and yet a group of people stood there, trying to get their message across.

“You have to meet her,” said Stuti, one of my friends as she introduced me to Pushpa and left us to talk. She was soaked in the rain.

“You need an umbrella?” I asked as I shared mine with her momentarily.

“So what do you do?,” I asked Pushpa.

“I work with children whose parents are in prison,” she said elaborating more on what she has been doing. We talked about her project, Early Childhood Development Center.

“Oh yes, I know you,” I carried on the conversation. “My friend interviewed you.”

One of my friends and former colleague had mentioned Pushpa’s efforts in her story about post-prison life for Nepalese women.

That day, on that bridge, I appreciated her work and dedication and wished Pushpa luck for her future projects.

And currently, as she appears on CNN’s website as one of the Top 10 nominees for CNN Heroes 2012, I can only appreciate her work more and show my support toward her relentless service for Nepal’s future generation.

In an interview with CNN, Pushpa said she was “shocked” to find out about her nomination.

She told CNN: “To be in the same platform as that of some of the world’s most compassionate and driven people is an incredible honor.”

In its fifth year now, CNN Heroes have showcased some of the world’s most outstanding people who have made a real difference in other people’s lives in their own ways. They have helped individuals, communities and their country. For many they are the social warriors and in some cases, even life saviors.

For instance, Anuradha Koirala, CNN Hero 2010. Soon after her nomination in the Top 10, I wrote a story about the woman who has rescued hundreds of Nepalese women from brothels in neighboring India.

Since Anuradha was traveling at that time, I couldn’t talk to her. But this gave me an opportunity to speak to many others whose lives she had transformed.

In our everyday lives, we come across people like Pushpa and Anuradha in our communities. Oftentimes we tend to overlook their efforts and actions until they’re splashed in media spotlight. But people like them are there around us, in our neighborhoods, among our friend circles and even amid our families.

Platforms like CNN Heroes gives these people an international recognition, underscores their endeavors. Most of us hastily start voting once they are nominated for awards as such and spread the word through social media. Of course, we want them to win and bring home the award and put a Nepalese name in the global spotlight.

However, at the same time, we tend not to acknowledge other heroes like them who are in close proximity .

At this moment, when we are taking time to vote for Pushpa and have another Nepalese CNN Hero, or vote for the other nine equally amazing heroes from around the world, let us also look around and find other heroes who have made and are making significant contributions to our societies. Let us acknowledge and appreciate their work, be inspired and even join them in their small and big efforts.

Who knows, that in this quest of voting and nominating a hero from our community, we might also stumble into a hidden hero within us?

Notes from Nepal: Restoring Nepal’s stolen sculptures

Rabindra Puri is on a quest of restoring Nepal’s stolen sculptures. But instead of bringing them back to Nepal, he is replicating the sculptures.

Thousands of Nepal’s traditional artwork, including sculptures dating back to centuries, have been smuggled to foreign countries.

Along with nine other artists, Puri, recognized for his restoration of Namuma Ghar, the model house, in Bhaktapur, is now on a mission to create replicas of about 50 stolen sculptures. They will be a part of the Museum of Stolen Art, which Puri says will be ready in two years. The museum will be in the historic town of Panauti, about 30 kilometers southeast of the capital Kathmandu..

It took Puri more than four years of research before he started working on the project.  He studied thousands of pictures of the stolen images before deciding on the ones that would be a part of the museum.

“We decided on the basis of the sculpture’s value and artwork,” he said of the selection process.

Of the 50 sculptures, 10 have been completed so far and seven more in their final stages. Puri said his team is trying to finish the stone sculptures first before starting on the metal ones.

“We want to finish the tough ones first,” he said as he spoke of the difficulties of replicating centuries old sculptures.

And especially when the artists are crafting the sculptures on the basis of photographs, it becomes even tougher.

“It’s difficult to produce a three-dimensional artwork from a one-dimensional [photo],” Puri said.

Of the completed replicas include the Uma Maheshor from the 8th Century, Female Devotee from the 7th Century and the 18th Century Female Divinity sculpture, among others.

The sculptures, until the Museum of Stolen Arts is ready, will be a part of the Heritage Gallery  housed at the Namuna Ghar in Bhaktapur.

Puri said that his team will try to represent the sculptures in a way that “touches every Nepali’s heart.”

“The Museum of Stolen Art will showcase what we have lost and also incite the feeling of what we should do to preserve what we have now,” Puri said.

Heritage Gallery opens from 10 am to 5 pm. For more information, call 6613197.

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The daal-bhaat factor

I haven’t had rice for two days.

Only two days without rice, and it seems I am missing an integral part of my daily diet.

“Oh, you’re such an Asian,” said a friend when I publicly admitted that I haven’t had rice for two days, and I need it badly tonight.

Well, that’s how Asian I am, or to be more precise that’s how Nepali I am–a complete sucker for rice, and more than just rice, daal-bhaat-tarkari.

For me, and presumably all of my fellow Nepalis, it might be the same: daal-bhaat, wherever you are.

It’s amazing, and every time I have daal-bhaat (sorry, it’s rice and lentils and vegetables–but doesn;t sound as cool as daal-bhaat-tarkari), I question myself: How in the world can I (we) eat the same food twice a day, probably 365 days a year. That’s like 730 meals of daal-bhaat in a year. And still we all eat it every single day.

I eat it too every day (sometimes I skip though), and have never grown tired of it or never will.

So what is it apart from the daily diet that we literally die if we don’t get daal-bhaat?

I’d like to think that it’s part of my culture, my upbringing and something that I’ve grown with–yes, eating daal-bhaat twice a day (and yet with all those carb intakes, I am still skinny!)

For me, daal-bhaat is just not food. It’s something I relate with Nepal and being a Nepali. My “white” friends love daal-bhaat too, but they tend to get bored with it at some point.

“I don’t get you guys,” joked a friend once. But we can’t help it I suppose.

I’m so glad that even after spending years and years abroad, my love for daal-bhaat is untainted. I feel happy that in some I’m still so attached to my Nepaliness.

And oh, when I’m mentioning my love for daal-bhaat, I can’t forget the best way to eat daal-bhaat: use your hands.

Take this Nepali’s words.

 

Notes from Nepal: Salyan

“I hope heaven looks like this,” said an American fellow traveler as our footsteps imprinted the dusty trails in one of Nepal’s farfetched districts. This time, it wasn’t a tourist awestricken by the exoticness of Everest, or the magnificence of Annapurna or the tranquility of the reflection of Mt Machhapuchhere in Phewa Lake in Pokhara. For him, it was surely nature’s hypnotism in the mid-western district of Salyan.

While Gregg imagined Salyan to be a piece of heaven, for me, it was a heavenly experience. My memory, to the utmost, has been inked with Salyan’s sky: the crystal blue sky in the day gradually satiated by countless stars at night. In the three-day trip, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t’ look to the blue sky and starry nights and sighed at the spotless canvas where the clouds could have painted its own picture.

About 320 kilometers west of Kathmandu, Salyan is a mix of smooth and rough motor ride. As the scenic drive through a straight stretch of road through Dang, Nepal’s largest valley, marks its end, the bumpy drive sometimes resonates with the turbulent flight or an adventurous rollercoaster ride through the narrowly twisted road up and down the hills.

 These roads signify a mark of development. In a landlocked country like Nepal but gifted with the Himalayan and hilly ranges, nature’s gift sometimes poses to be one of the major barriers for growth. Geographical terrains have proven to play the biggest role when we speak of inaccessibility, leading to poor infrastructure and lack of basic facilities like health and education. It’s only when you trek via rigorous trails and/or get an aerial view of the country that you realize what it really takes to materialize the definition of development at places as such.But from what I’ve seen in these past days and in conversation with some of the locals, Salyan seems to be recovering. One of the key areas to be affected by the decade-long homegrown Maoist insurgency, memories are still afresh for the locals.A healthcare worker in Marke Village described the scene: the constant hovering of (Royal) Nepal Army’s helicopters through the village, the sound of crossfire between the army and the Maoist rebels, and the beam of light used for the search operation that passed through her houses most of the nights.“And the fear of getting shot or being in an ambush always persisted,” said Jumani Bohara as she stood outside the sub-health post and pointed to her village in between the hills.

But with the end of the conflict in 2006, violence has subdued and paving paths for progress. A two-hour drive through Marke to Barala is a prime example. Small settlements have flourished along the way; the district headquarters in Khalanga is abuzz with people and new settlements.Barala is one of the additions to the latest settlements in Salyan. Until a few years back, locals said the place was deserted. But after the conflict ended and the traffic surged on the road to Rukum, Shyam Bahadur Bhandari cashed in on the opportunity. A retired soldier also having worked at the US Embassy in Kathmandu, Bhandari returned to Salyan and opened a restaurant, and later a guesthouse four years ago. His Alisha Guest House is an intimidating property in the area. It’s a facility with 11 rooms, further being expanded to 17 rooms with attached bathrooms in some of them.“In the past six years, this place has got a new map,” he said.Barala today is a small community with about 30 houses and a range of shops from groceries to utensils, electronic and clothing. People from the neighborhoods  now don’t have to make an hour’s walk to the marketplace of Srinagar or even a longer walk to the district headquarter in Khalanga.

With the times changing, Buddha Singh Budhathoki, a teacher at a local school in Barala, commented that people are more aware of issues like education and health. Established in 2007, White Bud Boarding School is a bamboo structure up to fourth grade with about 120 students.

“During the conflict, parents were scared and skeptical to send their children to school,” Budhathoki informed. He said there were times when the Maoists would visit, demanding to suspend classes and the teachers wouldn’t know where to send the students and what to do.But today, girls and boys play under the clear blue sky, run amid the green fields before classes start at 9 am. Away from Barala, approximately three hours’ drive to Damachaur, a typical afternoon is racketed with sounds from the classrooms and children playing in a spacious lot in the periphery of the school and the sub-health post.The way to Damachaur from Barala is intriguing in itself. Winding up the hills, the height provides a bird’s-eye view of the scattered neighborhoods with Sisne Himal as a scenic backdrop. At times, the view resembles the postcards sold in Kathmandu. The drive from one Salyan village to another is also home to small and progressing communities.Dhor Chaur is a bustling junction on the way filled with teashops and small eateries. It’s also an open space for children playing with slingshots and chungi as goats, roosters, hens and chickens dyed in pink add vibrancy to the sights and sounds of the area. Other communities share the same stories. However, the common sight throughout the entire journey are bulldozers paving roads for development, children dressed in blue uniform walking to school with books in their hands, men and boys playing Carrom Board outside their courtyards, and a smiling battalion of kids with red rhododendrons in their hands.

As I traveled through different parts of Salyan district, if not all, the beauty of the place and the progress that places like Barala has made in a short span of time is what I’ve compiled in my memory. Though reminiscences of the conflict-ridden past linger around in weathered wall paintings, fresh signs of improvement and burgeoning neighborhoods is a slap to the past, a timeframe lost in translation.A leap outside Kathmandu, and it doesn’t take long to realize what real Nepal is all about. You get a picture of the country’s troubled past, a sight of the state of hope and examples of ongoing progress at its own pace, stories of people’s lives and lifestyle that can make strangers to Nepal like Gregg and Margy tear up. Moreover, you realize the picture-perfect beauty of this country referred to as Shangri-La.But words alone can’t paint Salyan’s pictures; photographs alone can’t capture its beauty. You ought to see it, feel it, and experience it yourself.(Note: This note is from my visit to Salyan in March.)

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Notes from Nepal: The real Nepal

The problem with Nepal is that there are too many Nepals.

There is the capital-centric Nepal; there is another Nepal, countless Nepals in different levels within the bubble called Kathmandu; there is the donor driven Nepal where development and sustainability seems to go hand in hand; there is a progressive Nepal where people talk about development in ways that everything can be achieved.

But amid all these Nepals, many of us hardly tend to look at real Nepal. And every time I cross the peripheries of the city, I see bits and pieces of real Nepal—the Nepal that hasn’t been fictionalized.

I haven’t travelled extensively within my own country, but from what I’ve seen and experienced in these past years has certainly given me a sense of what actual Nepal is like.

So how do I define real Nepal?

Poverty. Illiteracy. Lack of infrastructure…and the list continues. And that’s true.

When you cross the cities, big concrete buildings slowly transform into small, muddy huts. The luxuries of modern transportation are limited to bullock carts. Getting to a hospital is a two-day walk.

As I travelled through southwest Nepal this time, I could see everything that constituted a real Nepal. In this small village of Badarpur, people smiled as they talked of their problems as if they weren’t any problems.

I met a couple who had just recuperated from a disease that they didn’t know about for five years. The wife was living with a condition called fistula that she developed due to long and obstructed labor.  Fistula is condition that leads to  a hole in the birth canal caused by prolonged labour without prompt medical intervention. (A story I did on fistula in May)

Her baby died for it took her more than 24 hours to get to the hospital, and even when she reached the hospital, the local hospital referred her to a district hospital, which again asked her to go to a bigger facility in the city.

As a result her unborn child died and for the next five years she lived with urine leakage because of fistula. She said she couldn’t get out of the house because it use to “stink.”

The couple talked about their problems and how they finally managed to overcome after they found about a free health camp that cured their woes.

This woman’s story is only a representation of what’s happening in rural Nepal—hundreds of women and newborns dying due to lack of awareness and also health facilities.

While situations as such gives a grim picture of what real Nepal is like, not everything seems dark and gray.

During the same trip, I met a group of young people actively engaging in the community. These young men and women, in their 20s, talked about sexual and reproductive health. As a part of a program called YPEER, a youth-to-youth initiative, they were involved in making their community aware about the issues—from sexual and reproductive health to maternal problems and how to tackle them. I also met a group of college students in Rajapur, few of them who talked about these issues without any hesitation.

And while talking to these young people, you can see their enthusiasm. They know what they’re talking about, and they’re clear on what they want to do.

As a section of the country is facing problems, it was good to see that a small part within the same community was trying to solve those problems in their own ways.

Information and communication is important to drive a community forward. And it was good to see some people, young people, involved in this regardless of any political of self-vested interests.

The real Nepal is full of problems and there are too many issues to be addressed. What I have addressed here is just a minute representation. But at the same time, real Nepal is also about a group of people in every community who are working to make it better and make lives better in their community.

Most of the times, we just tend to see the unreal aspect of the real Nepal, mostly clouded with crisis. We tend to overlook the changes, though very small but significant.

As I travelled, though the images of a grim, real Nepal was depressing. But it was encouraging to see young people at least making an effort from their side to make a difference in their communities.

Yes, real Nepal is full of problems, but at the same time, real Nepal also has people trying to solve these problems.

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Notes from Nepal: Hail TFL

Those delays on the metropolitan line and the random weekend closures wouldn’t make me angry anymore. Not after when I’ve come back home, to Nepal, and see the state of the so-called public transportation, which is entirely private.

I’ve been used to the Nepali public transport all my life, but every time, it makes me frustrated. There is just no system.

Every time I come out from the airport, I have to hassle with those taxi drivers. It usually takes me less than Rs 100 to get home, but no one would agree to use their meters. So they just hike up the fare, and then bargain. And it’s not only at the airports–every time you have to haggle, day or night. So you just pay those ridiculous amount of money  of cabs. Convert it to dollars or pounds and it’s nothing bu when you’re actually living here, it’s a lot of money. I spent more than Rs 1,000 on cab rides today.

You might as well say, why not take the bus or other forms of transportation. But seriously, I don’t want to squash with 25 other people in those small microbuses where someone might just end up in your lap (well, not really but it can happen).

And after it gets dark, usually 6 pm in winter, the number of public transportation suddenly disappears. By 7 pm, it’s difficult to get home unless you take those cabs again, which you hate but the only option. And mind it, if you’re a white tourist, the prices can go up twice as much higher.

I know London is a big city and it’s developed but there is a proper system of transportation that keeps the city going. Day or night, there is something; if not the tubes, there are buses 24 hours.

I’m not saying there should be a 24-hour transportation system, but I just feel there should be something that would make people’s commute easier, and people would actually want to use them.

For now, I am just angry, I suppose. And I can’t wait to take Piccadilly and Metropolitan lines to home from the airport or just take the N18 when we’re out late. I just wanna hail TFL (Transport for London), at least for now.

Nepal’s last chance for drafting its new constitution

A mass rally organised by young Nepalis through Facebook calling people to pressurise politicians for timely drafting of constitution. Photo: Robert Price

One year. Six months. Three months. And again six more months.

In a series of extensions Nepal has yet again extended its constitution writing deadline, and this time for the final time.

The Himalayan nation known for Mount Everest and later on a decade-long Maoist conflict, was supposed to have a new constitution last year. But lack of unity and consensus among political parties coupled with changes in leadership has kept the country away from its new constitution.

A new constitution would define a new Nepal—a young republic after the 240-year old monarchy ended in 2008.

A new constitution would mean a hope for new beginnings—a new hope for the 26 million Nepalis living in the post-war Nepal after the civil war ceased in 2006.

But so far, that hope and dream hasn’t been able to materalise. What’s not working?

Initially it was issues like the integration of Maoist combatants in the national army. But now, that issue has been solved. Last month, in a historic deal, Nepal’s major political parties have agreed to integrate 6,500 of the 19,000 former Maoist combatants.

This should solve one of the biggest constraints for the constitution.

Something that Nepali leaders should consider is consensus and power sharing. We heard these so much that they have lost its value. But it they were to put these words into application, much of the problems would be solved.

In May, in a roundtable discussion at my office, a week before the constitution deadline, Gagan Thapa, a young MP, said, “Until and unless there is power sharing among the parties, this issue will not move forward.”

Also, the political leaders who have taken the entire responsibility of building the new Nepal should fulfill their responsibilities. These leaders from the older generation should also pave way for the new generation like Thapa to make decisions and lead.

As young leaders, Thapa said they don’t have the power to make substantial decision thus being in the backseat.

“Unless that thought of responsibility is sown in the brains of the leadership, it’s not possible,” he said of the meeting the deadlines for the constitution. “We’re leaders but on different layers, so we aren’t capable of making any decisions.”

After the uprising in the Arab world via social networking, Nepali youth also generated some momentum during the summer. They created a Facebook group asking people to pressurise the politicians. A group of young Nepalis gathered in weekends, rallied around the city and started advocating on the political issue.

More than six months later, though they’ve been successful in creating a discourse and bringing the online mass to the streets, they haven’t achieved what they wanted. The aliveness seen during the initial weeks seem to have settled down, if not died.

It’s just six more months before the much-waited constitution turn into a reality. Nepal’s Supreme Court has ruled this extension to be the last. And if unsuccessful, the current Constitutional Assembly will be dissolved and a new election held.

The country elected these 601 members in a historic election in 2008. They were supposed to draft a new constitution. They represented 26 million Nepalis. They constituted change and hope. And yet, in all these years, they haven’t been able to do what they’ve been chosen for.

In six months, let’s say there is another election. We elect another set of parliamentarians. But is there any guarantee that they’ll be different?

Nepali politicians and leaders have long lost their trust from the people. It’s high time for them to prove the people wrong.

We’ve waited enough. We’ve been playing the blame game for a long time. There’s still some time left and we still have hope.