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When people hear the words “muscle” or “strength training”,  many still picture a muscular man lifting heavy weights, flexing his biceps with a protein shake in hand—an image often linked to aesthetics, or elite athleticism. For decades, this narrow perception has shaped how we think about muscle and fitness, and it is one many of us grew up believing. It has also allowed a persistent myth to take hold: that strength training will cause women to “bulk up”.

In reality, this belief is misleading. Building significant muscle requires sustained effort, specific training and time. It does not happen easily or by accident. More importantly, this misconception has distracted attention from the far more important truth: muscle is not just about appearance, performance or gender stereotypes. Maintaining healthy muscle mass—regardless of gender—is essential for overall well-being, longevity, and quality of life. Muscle plays a central role in metabolism and is increasingly recognized as a key factor in disease prevention. 

Research shows that greater muscle mass is associated with a lower risk of chronic diseases such as Type 2 diabetes, as muscle helps regulate blood sugar by absorbing glucose and improving insulin sensitivity. Muscle strength also supports cardiovascular health by improving circulation and helping regulate blood pressure. Emerging evidence further links muscle health to brain function, emotional well-being, and lifespan, with stronger individuals tending to live longer, healthier lives.

But sadly, muscle mass does not remain constant across the lifespan. Studies show that adults begin to lose muscle as early as age 30, at a rate of approximately 1–2 percent per year, or 3–8 percent per decade, a process known as sarcopenia. This gradual loss contributes to a slowing metabolism over time. Because muscle is metabolically active tissue that requires energy even at rest, declining muscle mass reduces resting metabolic rate, making weight maintenance and fat loss more difficult with age. As muscle loss progresses, it can lead to reduced strength and mobility, increased metabolic risk, and functional decline. After age 60, this process often accelerates, increasing the risk of injury and threatening long-term independence.

The good news is that muscle loss is not inevitable. Building and maintaining muscle at any age requires a combination of regular physical activity, balanced nutrition, and adequate recovery. Resistance training remains the most effective strategy—whether through weightlifting, or bodyweight movements that target major muscle groups. Nutrition plays an equally important role. Adequate protein intake supports muscle repair and growth and can come from a variety of sources, including lean meats, fish, eggs, dairy, legumes, and plant-based options such as tofu and tempeh. 

Overall dietary balance matters as well, as healthy fats, complex carbohydrates, and key nutrients such as vitamin D, calcium, and magnesium, support muscle function and bone health. Beyond structured workouts, regular daily movement such as walking, climbing stairs, and recreational activities, helps preserve muscle mass and supports cardiovascular fitness. Sufficient rest is also essential, as muscles repair and grow during sleep, making 7–9 hours of quality sleep per night a crucial part of long-term muscle health.

Muscle mass is more than a fitness goal—it is the foundation of health and resilience. Preserving muscle supports metabolism, reduces the risk of chronic disease, and helps maintain physical and mental independence across the lifespan. Through strength training, balanced nutrition, and consistent movement, muscle can be maintained well into older age, supporting a healthier and more active life.

It is time to move past outdated stereotypes and dismantle the misconception that strength belongs to men. Muscle health is not a trend or an aesthetic choice- it is a lifelong priority for everyone.

That feeling—the feeling of true hospitality— does not come from polished marble or perfect procedures. It comes from hearts that care. Luxury may dazzle the eyes, but only care touches the soul. True hospitality is felt where people serve with warmth, attention, and genuine love.

In an age where hospitality is often measured by thread count, architectural brilliance, and flawless systems, we sometimes forget the most important element of all—the human heart. Hotels rise taller, lobbies grow grander, and technology becomes smarter. Despite all this progress, guests remember something far simpler and far more powerful: how they were made to feel.

A guest may admire a sparkling chandelier or a perfectly laid table, but what stays with them long after checkout is a smile that felt sincere, a listening ear after a tiring journey, or a quiet gesture of care when it was least expected. These moments cannot be manufactured. They are born from empathy, intention, and genuine human connection.

True hospitality begins the moment a guest feels seen not as a room number or a reservation, but as a person. It is in the way a front desk associate notices fatigue in a traveler’s eyes and speeds up the process with kindness. It is in how a housekeeper leaves a small handwritten note wishing a guest a peaceful day. It is in the restaurant staff who remember a guest’s preference without being reminded. These are not part of standard operating procedures; they are acts of the heart.

Luxury, in its truest sense, is not about excess it is about thoughtfulness. A glass of water offered without being asked, a warm greeting spoken with eye contact, or a gentle follow-up call just to ensure comfort these gestures cost nothing, yet their value is immeasurable. They create trust. They create belonging. They create memories.

In Nepal, the concept of hospitality has always been deeply rooted in culture. Atithi Devo Bhava—the guest is God—is not just a saying; it is a way of life. Long before hospitality became an industry, it was a tradition practiced in homes and villages across the country. Food was shared, stories were exchanged, and guests were welcomed with open hearts, not expectations. When this spirit is carried into modern hospitality, it becomes truly powerful.

However, as the industry grows more competitive, there is a risk of losing this essence. Checklists replace conversations. Speed replaces sincerity. Standards replace sensitivity. While systems are necessary, they should never overpower the soul of service. A perfectly trained team without compassion can feel cold, while a simple service delivered with warmth can feel luxurious beyond measure.

Guests today are not just travelers; they are seekers of experiences. They seek comfort, yes but also connection. They want to feel safe, understood, and respected. In moments of joy or vulnerability, it is often the hospitality professional who becomes a silent companion. A delayed flight, a missed connection, a personal loss during such times, a kind word or patient presence can make all the difference.

For those who work in hospitality, this profession is more than a job. It is an opportunity to touch lives, even if only briefly. Every interaction holds the potential to heal tired minds, uplift heavy hearts, and create smiles that last beyond the stay. This responsibility is both humbling and powerful.

True hospitality does not demand perfection; it demands presence. It asks us to slow down, to notice, and to care. It asks leaders to nurture teams with empathy so that care flows naturally to guests. When employees feel valued and respected, they serve not out of obligation, but out of pride and love.

As hotels continue to evolve, let us remember that no amount of marble can replace kindness, and no procedure can substitute compassion. Buildings may impress, but people inspire. Brands may attract, but hearts retain.

In the end, guests may forget the room size or the décor, but they will never forget how they were treated. Because luxury may dazzle the eyes, but only care touches the soul and that is where true hospitality lives.

And so, beyond the marble floors and measured metrics, beyond the stars and standards, hospitality quietly returns to where it has always belonged: the human heart. When the lights dim and the day ends, what truly matters is not how grand the space looked, but how gently someone was treated within it.

Every guest who walks through a door carries a story—some filled with joy, others with worry, exhaustion, or hope. We may never know those stories fully, but we are entrusted with a moment in them. And in that moment, we have a choice: to simply serve, or to truly care. When we choose care, even the smallest interaction becomes meaningful.

This is the quiet power of hospitality. It does not seek applause. It does not demand recognition. Yet its impact lingers long after keys are returned and doors closed. A warm farewell, an honest smile, a moment of understanding these travel farther than any destination.

Let us, therefore, build not just hotels, but emotions. Let us train hands, yes but also nurture hearts. Because when service comes from the soul, guests do not just leave satisfied; they leave touched. And that is the kind of luxury that never fades.

Nepal has made a visible commitment to the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) that it aims to achieve by 2030. National plans, annual reviews, sectoral dashboards, and development reports increasingly rely on data to track progress and inform policy decisions. Yet beneath this data-driven ambition lies a quieter but far more consequential problem. Nepal’s development policies are often shaped by data that is weakly governed, fragmented across institutions, and insufficiently accountable to those it represents. In this data-driven world, data governance is no longer a technical concern confined to statisticians or IT units, but it has become a central policy issue. 

Without clear rules governing how data is collected, shared, protected, and used, even well-intentioned SDG policies risk being inefficient, inequitable, and disconnected from ground realities. The Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) defines data governance as the legal, institutional, and ethical frameworks that determine who controls data, for what purpose, and with what accountability. For policymakers, this matters because data now underpins almost every major public decision to attain SDGs by 2030. It matters from health resource allocation to education planning and social protection targeting. 

Nepal’s SDG reporting architecture relies heavily on indicators and administrative data systems. While this has improved monitoring, it has also created a false sense of precision. Angus Deaton, winner of the 2015 Nobel Prize in Economics, argues that poor-quality or poorly governed data can distort policy priorities rather than improve them. He exemplifies that the documentation of how people live and how much they spend, and on what, has long been used as a political tool to make visible the living conditions of the poor to those in power, to shock, and to agitate for reform. And this is a sole example of poor data governance.

Nepal has made some effort to govern the data system. In the health system, the Health Management Information System (HMIS) is the backbone of planning and reporting. Yet, problems of underreporting, inconsistent definitions, and limited verification at the facility level are still there. For instance, health workers, often overburdened, are required to report upwards to meet donor and national targets but rarely receive feedback on how that data shapes decisions. 

The result is a system where data flows vertically, but accountability does not. Policymakers may see improving indicators, while frontline realities, such as medicine stock-outs, workforce shortages, or rising antimicrobial resistance, remain poorly captured. In such contexts, “data-driven policy” becomes more aspirational than accurate. 

Similar challenges are visible in the education sector. Nepal has made notable progress in expanding school enrollment, particularly at the primary level. However, aggregate education data often masks deep inequalities across geography, gender, disability status, and socioeconomic background. Education Management Information System (EMIS) data struggles to adequately capture learning outcomes, dropout dynamics, or the lived experiences of children in remote and marginalized communities. 

Children with disabilities, seasonal migrants, and those affected by climate-induced displacement are frequently missing from datasets altogether. Feminist and equity-focused data scholars have argued that what is not counted is often not prioritized. For policymakers, this has direct consequences. Budget allocations, teacher deployment, and school infrastructure investments are made based on incomplete pictures, undermining the SDG commitment to “leave no one behind. 

Data abundance, governance scarcity

Nepal does not suffer from a lack of data; it suffers from weak data governance. Across health, education, and social protection, large volumes of data are generated through government systems, donor-funded programs, NGOs, and private technology platforms. Yet this expansion has occurred without adequate governance frameworks to regulate data ownership, interoperability, and accountability. 

As a result, data systems remain fragmented across institutions, shaped more by reporting requirements than by policy needs. Scientific and policy literature warns that data accumulation without governance leads to inefficiency rather than insight. The World Bank has noted that in the absence of strong governance arrangements, data systems tend to multiply in silos, increasing costs while reducing their usefulness for decision-making. 

The OECD also emphasizes that effective data governance requires clear mandates and coordination across public institutions, not ad hoc technological solutions. For Nepal, continued data abundance without governance risks undermines evidence-based policymaking rather than strengthening it. 

Political economy of data

Data governance is inherently a political economy issue because data increasingly determines how resources are allocated, priorities are set, and policies are evaluated. 

Decisions about what data is collected, which indicators are prioritized, and how information flows across institutions are shaped by incentives, mandates, and authority structures. These design choices influence whose realities are visible in policy debates and whose voices carry weight in decision-making. When data systems are fragmented or weakly governed, influence tends to concentrate where analytical capacity and control are strongest, often at central or aggregate levels. This does not require intent; it emerges from institutional design. As a result, data governance affects not only technical efficiency but also the distribution of power between national institutions, subnational governments, and communities. 

Understanding data governance through a political economy lens is, therefore, essential for ensuring that evidence-informed policymaking remains inclusive, accountable, and aligned with public interest.

In Nepal, public data systems in sectors such as health and education have evolved through multiple programs and reporting requirements over time. While this has increased data availability, it has also resulted in fragmented platforms, parallel reporting structures, and limited interoperability. 

Scholars describe such structural imbalances as a form of “data colonialism”, where data generated in low- and middle-income countries is aggregated and analysed through externally oriented systems, while national decision-making capacity remains uneven. When data increasingly informs policy, weak governance frameworks can unintentionally shift influence away from domestic institutions and communities, underscoring the need to treat data governance as a core public policy concern rather than a purely technical issue. 

Tracking SDG promises 

The Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) are ultimately a promise to reduce inequality, improve well-being, and build resilient and accountable institutions. That promise cannot be fulfilled on the basis of poorly governed data. When data systems are fragmented, unaccountable, or detached from ground realities, policies risk reinforcing exclusion rather than addressing it. 

For Nepal, strengthening data governance is not about keeping pace with global digital trends or adopting the latest technological solutions. It is about ensuring that development policies are informed by lived realities, that marginalized populations are visible within national data systems, and that public decisions are grounded in trust rather than assumption. Data must serve people, not just indicators. The future of Nepal’s SDG journey will not be determined by how much data is collected, but by how responsibly, equitably, and transparently that data is governed. 

For Nepal to effectively track overall development and progress toward the SDGs, the country needs a data governance framework that is coherent, inclusive, and accountable. This means establishing clear legal mandates on data ownership, sharing, and protection across sectors; ensuring interoperability between national and subnational data systems; and embedding mechanisms for data verification and feedback from frontline service providers and communities. 

Data governance must go beyond reporting compliance to prioritize data quality, equity, and public trust. Critically, marginalized populations must be systematically counted, and subnational governments must have both access to and authority over the data they generate. Without these foundations, data will continue to inform reports rather than decisions, and Nepal’s SDG monitoring will remain detached from lived realities. 

In Nepal, stress has become so normal that we rarely pause to question it. Students grow up believing pressure is the price of success. Families live with unemployment, rising costs, and years of separation brought on by labor migration. Women quietly hold households together, caring for children and elders, stretching limited resources, and carrying responsibilities that leave little room for rest. When life feels too heavy, we often sigh, “yo ta sabai ko jindagi ho,” as if suffering is simply part of being alive.

Yet this quiet acceptance comes at a cost we seldom notice. When stress lasts for months or years, it does not remain confined to our thoughts or emotions. Gradually, it reshapes the brain itself, altering how we think, feel, and navigate daily life.

To understand this, it helps to know how the body is meant to handle stress. Our brains are built to withstand short periods of pressure. When danger arises, the brain releases cortisol, a hormone that sharpens our alertness and reaction. For a brief time, this response is helpful. Problems begin when worry, uncertainty, and pressure never cease. Cortisol levels stay elevated, and what once helped us starts to harm us.

Research shows that over time, prolonged stress weakens the hippocampus, the brain’s center for memory and learning. This explains why so many people complain of forgetfulness, mental fatigue, and trouble concentrating. They are not careless or lazy; their brains are simply worn down.

As stress continues, it also impairs the prefrontal cortex, which helps us think clearly, plan ahead, and regulate emotions. When this region is under sustained pressure, even simple tasks become difficult—small problems feel overwhelming, patience shortens, self-confidence erodes.

At the same time, stress strengthens the amygdala, the brain’s fear center. The mind remains on high alert, as though danger is ever-present. This makes it hard to relax, to sleep deeply, or to feel safe even at home. Living in this state for years increases the risk of anxiety, depression, substance use, and thoughts of self-harm.

Nepal’s mental health landscape reflects this reality. Millions are believed to be living with mental health conditions, with depression and anxiety among the most common. Many adults report suicidal thoughts. These are not mere statistics; they represent real people enduring long-term pressure, uncertainty, and silent struggle.

Still, we often misinterpret what we see. A student who cannot focus is called undisciplined. A migrant worker’s sadness is dismissed as part of the sacrifice. A woman’s exhaustion is accepted as her duty. Instead of asking what pressures people face, we wonder why they are not stronger.

This perspective is especially damaging in a country where mental health care remains difficult to access and stigma runs deep. Many suffer in silence, believing their pain is a personal failure rather than a natural response to sustained stress. They blame themselves for struggles shaped by social and economic forces far beyond their control.

There is, however, reason for hope. The brain is not fixed; it can heal. Rest, movement, supportive relationships, and feeling understood all help calm the nervous system. Even small moments of safety and connection matter. They signal to the brain that it is finally safe to slow down.

Yet personal coping has its limits. No breathing exercise can replace stable work. No meditation can reunite families after years apart. No positive thinking can undo systemic inequality. If stress is quietly altering our mind, it must be treated as a public health and social issue, and not as a personal shortcoming.

Viewing stress in this way changes how we treat one another. It encourages kindness over judgment. It challenges the notion that silent suffering is strength. And it reminds us that mental health is not a luxury; it is essential for learning, productivity, family well-being, and the future of our society.

The brain responds to the world we build around it. The question is whether we are willing to change that world before the cost grows too great to ignore.