I meet Pasang in the restaurant of a central neighbourhood in Kathmandu. Waiters running up and down with iced water pitchers and coffee pots don

A few years ago, my husband and I shared a flat in London with my brother and sister. On some kind of quest for self-improvement, we decided that we should all read more poetry.

In our continuing celebration of poetry this week, we bring to you two gems from the very first print volume of La.Lit, by highly regarded Nepali poets Manu Manjil and Momila.

Many Nepalis put great stock in bravery, seeing no irony in praising the bloodlust of Gurkhas in the same breath as they claim for themselves the apostle of non-violence, Gautam Buddha.

All Nepalis are poets at heart. How could they not be, living in this terrible contusion of the sublime and the second-rate? So every day is poetry day in Nepal, even if someone, somewhere, deemed...

On 20 February this year, the eighth-grade students of East Horizon English Higher Secondary School in Jhapa found their language teacher, Rekha Ma’am, seated amongst them. That day, our team of four weary Word Warriors...

Weave then, weave o quickly weave your sham veneration. Knit me webs of winter sagehood, nightcap, and the fungoid sequins of a crown. - Wole Soyinka     Dear Sirs, I wish you’d arrived sooner....

  When I have a daughter, I will pinch her every day so her skin turns to rhino hide - so she feels no pain when cornered by a stranger's hand at play.   When...

Picture yourself eating dāl bhāt in a Nepali restaurant in Amsterdam. The sun plays lightly along the cobblestones, the tourists go about their strange European lives, fiddling with cameras, furtively glancing at the racks of...