The tranquil clouds and beautiful peaks of the Ulleri trek offered a rare sense of stillness — something unique to Himalayan villages. I thought I’d found the pinnacle of my brief Nepal trip. Days later, that serenity would be eclipsed by a chaos I couldn’t have foreseen.
The trek, though arduous, was fulfilling. As I descended back to Tikhedhunga ahead of my September 9 flight to Bangladesh, I was already panging for what I was leaving behind in Tikhedhunga.
Following a day’s stay at Pokhara, where I managed to climb the World Peace Pagoda on September 7, I took a bus to Kathmandu early on September 8. Nearing the capital, my guide casually mentioned protests were brewing over social media bans. Having just emerged from digital silence in the mountains, the threat felt distant at first. Even if there were shadows of growing concerns over the last few days related to social media bans, I did not make much of it.
But by the time I reached Kathmandu, the situation had worsened. Army presence at the city entrances provided the first signs of brewing trouble.
By the time I checked into a hotel, at least 15 people had died in escalating protests; by nightfall, the death toll was 19. People I talked to, guaranteed, nothing of this nature had ever transpired in Nepal.
Thamel, though calm on the surface, simmered underneath. I contacted Kamran Ahmed, a fellow journalist with the daily Ittefaq, who had come to cover Bangladesh’s friendly football matches against Nepal. That night, the second match, set for September 9, was cancelled.
For all that, the bubble in Thamel did not let me gauge the nature of the turmoil. The morning of my flight, things still seemed deceptively normal — until noon when I wanted to set off for the airport.
My request for a taxi to the airport was flatly denied. “You’ll have to walk,” the hotel staff said. Roads were blocked, protests swelling. I called up my guide Chandra Man Nakrami, who assured that the walk would take about an hour and a half. It appeared to be an implausible idea. But desperate times called for desperate measures and Chandra wanted to accompany me to the airport. So, we set out, walking to Narsingh Chowk Marg first where tension hung heavy in the air.
Tourists milled about, desperate for transport. Luckily I found a taxi, splitting the ride with a Brazilian for 4,000 rupees — much higher than the normal fare of 500 rupees. “I will give my life before letting you come to harm,” our driver assured us in a manner that behove a taxi driver in the extraordinary situation.
As we moved, we saw protesters lining the streets, chanting “country or death.” There was smoke pluming up from burning police stations. There were scenes of crowds pelting stones. Our driver navigated through backroads, often pleading with protesters to let us pass. Many tourists, not as lucky to find a taxi, were making the walk to the airport, visibly distressed.
Near the airport, roads were blocked to prevent politicians from escaping, but the driver kept finding discrete alleyways one after another, going into narrow streets and backing up just as fast at the first signs of trouble. Somehow, he was able to get us through to the airport unscathed and on time.
I passed through immigration unhindered but new concerns emerged before boarding. The Bangladesh national football team, booked on the same rescheduled 3:00pm flight, had been unable to make it out of their hotel. By late afternoon, the team decided not to risk the journey. The government had toppled that very noon.
But at the airport, the terminal grew more crowded as staff members struggled to explain delays to incoming passengers. Air India and Indigo flights were cancelled, while the Biman Bangladesh Airlines flight faced uncertainty. At 4:00pm, an hour after boarding was supposed to take place, Biman staff finally appeared at the boarding gates, announcing the plane had returned to Dhaka without landing.
Among stranded passengers, I met a cricketer named Islam (first name withdrawn on request) who played the Dhaka Premier League last year. As we waited, immigration officers began quietly slipping out, fearing mob threat. Catching up to one, I asked why he was in a hurry. ‘Just checking the situation,’ he said before vanishing. Soon, the security personnel had all abandoned the airport.
Biman arranged lunch, but halfway through, warned passengers they could no longer guarantee safety. It was a scene of utter panic and all felt eerily similar to what had transpired in Bangladesh last year. Senior colleagues Anisur Rahman and Atique Anam back at The Daily Star got me in touch with people during that chaos.
The situation at that airport felt far more dangerous than what it had been in Bangladesh, especially because of how quickly things escalated. I felt I needed a way out of that crazy airport situation.
I had already been in touch with the Bangladesh embassy in Nepal but it was Aysuh Khadka, SAFF’s media manager, who provided a way out of that airport. He asked me not to panic and come out of the airport and patched me through to local journalist Prajwal Oli.
Prajwal da, a true saviour, promised to reach in ten minutes. I exited the airport premise to find over 200 army personnel guarding each of the three gates as victory processions marched across the city. Islam chose to stay behind with his wife for the time being. I handed him emergency contacts before leaving.
Riding behind on Prajwal’s bike through a burning Kathmandu felt surreal — houses and tires aflame, silhouettes flickering like a scene in Gotham city from The Dark Knight. He brought me to safety at a hotel two kilometres from the airport.
Back at the airport, Islam spent the night amid uncertainty. “The flight authorities refused responsibility and cited they could not even protect themselves so it was not possible to provide security for us,” he said.
Reassured by Prajwal and the appearance of a few new immigration officers along with army presence outside, he held out until morning.
“Journalist Prajwal said that airport would be safe which is why I didn’t panic later on. Food was an issue, however. I only had two packs of biscuits — gave one to a mother with children. My wife and I shared the other. I saw that other passengers managed food from outside. They did ask me to join them but I felt a little too shy.”
That night, thanks to colleagues back home and in Nepal, BFF officials added my name to a special emergency flight alongside the national football team and other stranded journalists. I rejoined colleagues in Thamel the next day. The area was calm, shops cautiously reopening, army patrols visible on the main roads.
After a day’s wait, the special flight got landing permission for September 11. Embassy cars picked us up early; by 8:30am, the football team had arrived too. I went through immigration again, hoping things will be different this time. The Bangladesh ambassador in Nepal was present to oversee the proceedings as officials helped with immigration and coordination. We were not sure when the flight would land but nerves calmed when it finally did at 2:00pm. It was a special flight of the air force, arranged in coordination with the Bangladesh Army and BFF. The plane took off at 2:40pm.
As we landed in Dhaka at 4:36pm, relief swept over everyone. “It was a different experience,” said one footballer making quite the understatement.
Islam, who had stayed back at the airport that fateful night of September 9, reflected: “I’m sure I won’t face something like this again in my life. But Nepali people — so kind even in such chaos — gave me hope. That humanity kept me grounded.”
Despite the frenzy, I share his sentiment. From Prajwal’s rescue to the support of Nepali friends and strangers, the warmth remained unshaken. The quiet of Ulleri and the Peace Pagoda still lingers in memory. Despite everything, Nepal continues to call.
