Learning to learn” was never a formal lesson in my life—it was a way of being, shaped first at home and then tested across borders, institutions, and time.
My mother, who never had the opportunity to attend school, was my earliest teacher. She raised seven children with resilience and quiet determination. Despite her lack of formal education, she remained deeply curious—learning from her surroundings, and often from her own children. In our home, learning was not hierarchical; it flowed in all directions. That spirit stayed with me.
Many of my cousins, especially on my mother’s side, lived very different lives. Education was limited, and early marriage was common. Today, most of them are around seventy years old. Their journeys remind me how profoundly opportunity shapes outcomes. What distinguished our generation was not just access to education, but the mindset we inherited—the courage to keep learning.
This mindset took me to the Indian Institute of Technology Kanpur, where I encountered extraordinary talent and ambition. Many of my peers went on to achieve remarkable success across the world, particularly in Europe and the United States. They pursued higher education, entered advanced research ecosystems, and contributed to global innovation.
I chose to return to Nepal.
That decision defined my life.
When we met again during alumni gatherings, the contrast was striking. My friends had flourished in well-resourced environments, while I had navigated a far more complex path—balancing family life, raising three children, and working within Nepal’s challenging bureaucratic system. It was not easy. But I believed that real change must be built where it is most needed.
I tried to bring that change into the university system.
I worked closely with ministries and academic leaders, advocating for a new legal framework—an “Institution of National Importance” model. The idea was to create autonomous, well-funded centers of excellence, supported by dedicated government budgets and empowered to innovate and collaborate globally. It was a vision rooted in my experience at IIT Kanpur.
But the reality was difficult. Limited funding, institutional inertia, and bureaucratic constraints meant that the proposal did not materialize at the time.
Yet progress found other pathways.
Through sustained effort, I helped build academic collaborations between Nepal and IIT Kanpur. At the Institute of Engineering Pulchowk Campus, we began with civil engineering and expanded into electronics and computer engineering. Professors from IIT Kanpur came to Nepal, contributing to teaching, mentoring, and curriculum development. Later, aeronautical engineering programs were also initiated with their support, along with master’s and PhD exchange programs.
These collaborations quietly strengthened Nepal’s technical education foundation.
Years later, in 2025, I returned to IIT Kanpur twice—once for the Golden Jubilee of my batchmates, and again for the Golden Jubilee celebration of my younger sister, who had studied at Kendriya Vidyalaya within the campus. These visits were deeply reflective moments for me.
I did not just revisit memories—I looked forward.
The world had changed dramatically. We are now in the era of artificial intelligence, cybersecurity challenges, and rapid technological disruption. The problems we face today are far more complex—requiring advanced research, interdisciplinary collaboration, and global cooperation.
It became even clearer to me that Nepal cannot address these challenges alone.
For a small country with limited resources, survival and progress depend on strategic partnerships. We must invest in human capital development in areas like AI, security, and emerging technologies. And we must collaborate—not only with institutions like IIT Kanpur and other IITs, but also with leading global institutions, including those in China.
This is no longer optional—it is essential.
That is why I continue to advocate within ministries for adequate funding, policy reform, and institutional strengthening. The vision I once pursued—of creating centers of excellence and nationally important institutions—has become even more urgent in today’s world.
Looking back, my journey forms a continuous arc.
From a mother who taught me how to learn without schooling,
to a world-class institution that shaped my thinking,
to a lifelong effort to build systems where learning can flourish.
The paths of my peers and mine may have diverged—but they are interconnected. Their success shows what is possible in strong ecosystems. My work reflects the challenge of building such ecosystems where they are still emerging.
And today, as the world enters a new technological era, the question is no longer just about education or migration.
It is about collaboration, capacity, and the courage to act at the right time.
Because in the end, the future will not be shaped by those who learn alone—
but by those who learn, connect, and build together.
Cccc
“Learning to learn” was not a concept I encountered in a classroom. It was a way of life that began at home.
My mother, who never had the opportunity to attend school, was my first and most profound teacher. She raised seven children in a world where education—especially for women—was limited. Yet she possessed something far more powerful than formal schooling: an enduring curiosity. She learned by observing, by asking questions, and, most remarkably, by learning from her own children. In our home, knowledge did not flow in one direction. It moved freely—across generations, across experiences.
In our extended family, many of my cousins, particularly on my mother’s side, followed very different paths. Education was often cut short, and early marriage was common. Today, most of them are around seventy years old. Their lives remind me how deeply circumstance shapes opportunity. And yet, our generation turned out differently—not simply because we had access to education, but because we had absorbed an attitude: the willingness to learn continuously.
There was also a strong spirit of entrepreneurship in our family. Innovation seemed almost instinctive to us. We were drawn to new ideas, to problem-solving, to imagining possibilities beyond what existed. As technology began to emerge as a transformative force, I felt increasingly that this was the direction in which both personal growth and national development could converge.
This belief was further shaped when I entered the Indian Institute of Technology Kanpur. There, I found myself among some of the brightest minds of my generation—individuals who would go on to lead industries, influence policy, and drive innovation.
I met people like Rakesh Gangwal, who would later achieve global success in business, and Yadupati Singhania, whose family legacy demonstrated how industry could be combined with social responsibility—creating institutions such as hospitals that served the broader community. There were also figures like Sudhir Vyas, who represented the nation internationally, and innovators such as Ashok Jhunjhunwala and Arvind Gupta, who expanded the boundaries of technology and education.
Being surrounded by such excellence was both inspiring and unsettling.
At the same time, I witnessed heated public debates. Parliamentarians questioned whether it was justifiable to invest taxpayers’ money in premier institutions like IIT Kanpur when so many graduates were leaving the country. Protests erupted around what we now call “brain drain.” Developed nations were actively recruiting from our campuses, drawing away the very talent that public investment had nurtured.
I watched these debates closely—the intensity, the concern, the sense of national loss. It was, as many described it, a “big hue and cry.”
But even then, I felt the issue was deeper than it appeared.
The problem was not simply that talent was leaving. It was that we were not yet creating the conditions for it to stay, to flourish, and to lead within our own countries. Education had succeeded—but the ecosystem had not kept pace.
This realization stayed with me.
Rather than viewing brain drain purely as a loss, I began to see it as a signal—a reflection of both the strength of our human capital and the gaps in our systems. It pushed me to think about how knowledge, once acquired, could be anchored back into society in meaningful ways.
For me, that meant choosing a path of contribution.
I carried forward not only the technical education I had received, but also the deeper lessons from my upbringing: curiosity without ego, learning without boundaries, and the courage to adapt. These values guided my work in education, technology, and institution-building—particularly in Nepal, where the need to develop strong, self-sustaining ecosystems was even more urgent.
Looking back, I see a continuous thread connecting my journey—from a mother who learned without schooling, to a global institution that produced world-class talent, to the broader question of how nations harness their human potential.
The story is not just about where we come from or where we go. It is about how we learn—and what we choose to do with that learning. Because in the end, the true challenge is not preventing talent from leaving. It is creating a world where learning leads not just to opportunity, but to purpose—and where that purpose finds a home.