May I wake up one summer day to your laughter coming from the kitchen and the smell of butter tea. May the world on the other side of this find a morning not bereft of small mercies.

A city girl’s nostalgic note on her (almost) private sanctuary in Kathmandu.

Over the last few months of being isolated at home, I’ve come to realise that if I have a religion, it is my solitude.

Besides causing global economic devastation and thousands of deaths, Covid-19 could fuel communal division and bigotry in Nepal.

Just before the lockdown was announced, a bus appears as a post-apocalyptic travel package.

Three days into isolation, I had realised I wasn’t who I thought I was. This was a crisis.

Some quiet, ordinary days and the mundanity of routine in the time of Covid-19.

When we realise how fragile our existence is, we realise we need art to survive.

Whining and grunting, I yank myself out of bed. It is yet another morning, and I’m not in the mood to exist.

Including the arts in education can provide curricular access to those with diverse learning styles.

I’ve learned that it is pain that makes bodies beautiful. They give them character in how they bend or curve or hang in heaviness.

Why did we stick with them? Why did we wait for the end to come? One of us felt we had no choice. Maybe we hoped things would change.

Should we redefine communist principles and politics or is our communist movement doomed to failure?

One day, she wrote Titir a long letter and slipped it under her door. It didn’t occur to her that the move would only cause her object of dedication to further stiffen against her.

If we care about raising individuals who are concerned about Nepal’s civil society, the Nepal Art History Discussion Series could prove to be a good starting point.

You always came to me for conversations. You knew that was all I ever had, to offer. And that’s exactly why you came around this time as well. To converse. To find distraction.

The critique of art may be harsh, but paint itself retains the quality of healing. It covers any deficiencies without contest or contempt.

We can’t have read this much news in our entire lives, but we are scared because, you never know, the virus might find a host in one of us.

Pulimarang, a village that fascinated me as a child, is a far cry from what it used to be.

How borrowed pillows helped me understand a love that comes not from a place of desire but generosity and kindness.