Pratibha Tuladhar
Articles by Pratibha Tuladhar
All me inside: a story about flight
Whose story does “Lysan” tell? Of each one of us.
Digitising the savant calligrapher
Janakavi Durga Lal Shrestha’s handwriting is now a font
Dance like a deity
In a move away from the traditional mode where men perform female roles in religious dances, women are now being inducted in some performances
Kantipur TV’s September storm
While media houses are also about their owners and their advertisers, they are mostly about the journalists who run them, giving up their lives to uphold high journalism standards
On life lessons
Anbika Giri’s book series for young adults is about superheroines
Dear Maa,
We have such complex relationships of love with our mothers
Chasing a nomad
Let your life be like a leaf cast upon the ocean. Go with the flow.
The man who came bearing letters
For us, the Indian postal service’s efficiency thrived on Rameshwor Bhaiya’s existence
No tips on walking here
Three men in a white car in Goa, they rolled down the window and tried to make signs and talk to me.
The tenderness in men
The characters we meet on screen go a long way in shaping our ideals and perspectives.
The nature of Nepal
Humans create stories so life can make sense
Meet the cello girl
Thinking about Iva in the midst of an orchestra brought a simple and real comfort
A tale of resistance
Kanchhi catches you unawares. It leads you to a crescendo, then abandons you, unprepared and heartbroken.
The Unstoppables
It was the first time I was seeing books for children on female figures from Nepal.
One more to remember
But miracles are liars that elude us when we need them the most.
As we perimenopause
It is a lonely journey, this. No one tells you you will experience a hundred things.
Taking the longcut
Trying to understand the female body is like staring into an abyss
Trees, trees
Most importantly, trees are the outstanding stories of survival
What’s not to say about rosacea?
I’m thrilled any day I wake up and it’s cloudy. A gloomy day is gentler on my face and rain is bliss
Mother, who creates
We must find joy in serving. That’s what my parents taught me.
Our mothers’ silences
They bring us into this world but the only way we can bring them into the world is by offering our words/work.
Warm my hands
The feeling is packed with familiarity and yet it is alarming with someone’s elbow going over her face, some crotch pressed to her side and someone’s garlic breath upon her hair.
Two women in a boat and some tea
A dragon fly perches on the oar and she pauses briefly, lets it alight on a bundle of grass parked on the side of the boat, and then rows again
Navigating invisible borders
Soap operas were created for housewives, who would watch them after putting their day’s work to rest, as though visiting old friends in the emptiness of their days