A professor at my current university once asked me about my plans after completing my PhD. I explained that I intend to continue my post-PhD research in Australia and am working toward obtaining my medical registration here. With a somber expression, he responded, "I am very happy for my country to gain a highly experienced and competent person like you, but I am saddened by the loss for your country. Your country might need you more than we do." His words made me reflect deeply—had my country truly lost me, or had I lost my country? I pondered this question for some time but was unable to arrive at a definitive answer.
Let me start from a few years back. I have always been patriotic and wanted to stay in Nepal to contribute to the field of medicine, particularly in infectious diseases. I recall numerous conversations with close friends and family members about the importance of educated individuals remaining in Nepal. After we got married, my wife began encouraging me to move abroad to countries like Australia, the USA, or the UK. This was understandable, given that 90% of her friends had already relocated to these countries, including her elder sister and beloved niece who were well-settled in Sydney. I assured her that I would take her to these countries for conferences and visiting fellowships, but I was resolute in my decision not to migrate. She even offered to handle all the English tests and processing herself, allowing me to accompany her as a dependent. My parents were increasingly concerned that I was not earning as much as my colleagues, many of whom were less educated but had chosen to go to the USA, the UK or even the Middle East. I overheard conversations like, "Although my son is a doctor in a reputed hospital, we have never seen his money coming." The pay for doctors in Nepal is not as lucrative as it appears from the outside. While I could argue that it is one of the highest-paying jobs, the reality is that with rising inflation and societal pressure to maintain a respectable lifestyle, we could barely save for the future or support our parents as much as they expected.
I was content with teaching medicine, supervising a clinical laboratory, and conducting basic research. I applied for as many international travel grants as I could and actively participated in national conferences to stay updated. Even during my MD residency, I had the sense that attending international conferences was one of the coolest things an academician could do—not only to enhance knowledge but also to explore different countries and share those experiences on social media. I had the opportunity to travel abroad to places like Thailand, Turkey, and the UK, but I always longed for an opportunity to visit Sydney. The allure of Sydney's beauty, coupled with the chance to reconnect with close family and friends who had been settled there for a long time, made it a particularly desirable destination.
During this period, I began reflecting on my current career trajectory and future prospects. I was uncertain if I was ready to settle into the role of a consultant, merely giving instructions to students and laboratory technicians at this early stage of my career. I still had a strong desire to learn more—perhaps through additional training or a fellowship—and to develop myself to be competitive on a global scale. I had applied for several research grants from regulatory agencies in Nepal, but my proposals were not even considered. It was disheartening to see mediocre research topics prioritized over mine, and I could easily surmise the underlying reasons for these preferences. It also became evident that individuals with political influence were often favored for competitive positions and research grants. Moreover, there were numerous instances of hostility toward medical doctors from patients' families. Although, as a clinical microbiologist and lecturer, I was less affected than my clinical counterparts, there were still occasions where visitors would aggressively demand culture reports, leading to heated and often misinterpreted conversations with clinical colleagues. These factors, combined with subtle pressures from my relatives and a growing sense of diminished respect as a doctor among peers, began to weigh heavily on my mind.
Suddenly, one day, I came across a conference scheduled to be held in Sydney, I was immediately interested, although it was slightly outside my usual area of expertise. I applied nonetheless but was rejected for the full travel grant. However, I didn't give up—a decision I remain proud of to this day. I successfully persuaded the organizers to grant me a registration fee waiver after some negotiation. I was able to use a conference grant from my institute to cover my travel expenses, and I was confident that my close relatives in Sydney would be able to host me.
I came to Sydney for a three-day training but planned a 15-day stay for obvious reasons. I was amazed by the level of research conducted in Australia and realized how research can advance our understanding of diseases when there is adequate funding and governmental support. Through some common friends and Facebook, I connected with Nepali colleagues pursuing PhDs in Australia. They kindly offered to show me around UNSW and share their academic journeys and experiences. I met as many people as possible and even visited their labs, inquiring about their work and research opportunities. It quickly became apparent that Australia was a place where my talent and hard work could yield significant results. I realized that I needed to publish more to secure a PhD opportunity here. On my flight back to Nepal, I began reviewing all my unpublished datasets and commenced my pursuit of a PhD position. As soon as I got home, I shared this with my wife even before discussing the trip in detail. She was delighted to hear this and this started my serious pursue for a PhD opportunity in Australia.
I often wonder: If my country were to offer equal and fair opportunities for research grants and academic growth, would I have still considered migrating? If research in Nepal were driven by the quality of proposals rather than political connections, would top researchers still be inclined to leave the country permanently? Is it fair that a Nepali educated overseas faces several years of delay in obtaining equivalency from a Nepali university? I wish there were a smoother path to reintegrate into the system and apply the skills one acquired overseas to advance their respective fields in our country.
While there are undeniable advantages to living abroad, these come with significant trade-offs. We miss celebrating festivals with our families and visiting them regularly. I would bring home essential medicines whenever they called about an illness, which was one of the few aspects of being a doctor that I truly cherished. I also miss taking my father to his dialysis appointments and accompanying my mother during her recurring chest infections. Whenever I see pictures of Nepal's mesmerizing beauty, I wish I could visit more often and recommend these places to my foreign friends. Ultimately, only time will tell—did I lose Nepal, or did Nepal lose me?
(The author is a clinical microbiologist and infectious diseases physician from Nepal currently doing his PhD in viral immunology and vaccinology at the University of New South Wales, UNSW Australia)
