The inspiring story of a government school teacher from Sindhupalchowk who used his own salary to build Nepal’s first mobile computer lab, revolutionizing education in earthquake-affected communities.
In the remote mountains of Sindhupalchowk, where the nearest internet café was a six-hour walk away and electricity came sporadically through solar panels, Ramesh Khatri had a dream that seemed impossible: to bring digital education to children who had never seen a computer.
Today, five years after that dream took root, over 10,000 students across Nepal’s most remote villages have learned to type, code, and navigate the digital world—all thanks to one teacher’s unwavering determination and a blue van that carries hope from village to village.

The Birth of an Impossible Dream

Ramesh Khatri wasn’t always a revolutionary. For fifteen years, he was simply a dedicated government school teacher in Chautara, earning NPR 35,000 per month and teaching traditional subjects the way they had been taught for decades. But the devastating earthquake of 2015 changed everything—not just the landscape of Sindhupalchowk, but Ramesh’s perspective on what education could and should be.
“After the earthquake, I saw children sitting idle for months while schools were being rebuilt,” Ramesh recalls, his voice still heavy with the memory. “But I also saw how the outside world was sending help through digital platforms, how information was traveling faster than relief trucks. I realized our children weren’t just missing school—they were missing an entire world.”
The realization hit him like a lightning bolt: while urban children in Kathmandu were learning computer skills in air-conditioned labs, rural children were growing up digitally illiterate in an increasingly digital world. The education gap wasn’t just about resources; it was about access to opportunities that could transform their futures.

The Salary Sacrifice That Started It All

When Ramesh first proposed a mobile computer lab to the District Education Office, he was met with polite dismissal. “Very good idea, sir, but no budget,” was the standard response. The government had priorities—rebuilding physical infrastructure, providing basic textbooks, ensuring teachers showed up to work. Computers for remote villages? That was a luxury for someday.
But Ramesh couldn’t wait for someday. Children were growing up every day without these essential skills. So he made a decision that his family initially thought was madness: he would use his own salary to make it happen.
“My wife Sita thought I had lost my mind,” he laughs now. “I told her I was going to buy a van and computers instead of the house we had been saving for. She cried for three days. But then she saw the first group of children learning to type their own names on a computer screen, and she understood.”
For eight months, Ramesh lived on his wife’s small income from their village shop while every rupee of his teacher’s salary went toward his vision. He bought a second-hand Tata van for NPR 400,000, spent NPR 300,000 on laptops, solar charging equipment, and internet dongles, and invested another NPR 200,000 in making the van roadworthy for mountain terrain.

Building Nepal’s First Mobile Computer Lab

The technical challenges were immense. How do you create a stable internet connection in areas where even phone signals are weak? How do you power computers in villages where electricity is unreliable? How do you protect expensive equipment on rough mountain roads?
Ramesh became an expert in solutions. He installed solar panels on the van’s roof and built a battery system that could power laptops for eight hours. He figured out how to boost internet signals using portable antennas and learned to coordinate with telecom companies for better coverage during his visits. Most importantly, he developed a curriculum that could work in two-hour sessions—enough time to teach meaningful skills before having to move to the next village.
The first mobile computer lab was a modest setup: twelve refurbished laptops, a solar power system, basic software for learning typing and digital literacy, and one determined teacher who refused to accept that geography should determine a child’s future.

The First Villages: Skepticism to Celebration

When the blue van first arrived in Gumthang village in October 2018, parents gathered with curious suspicion. Why was a teacher bringing “city things” to their village? Would this distract children from farming and practical skills they actually needed?
Ramesh started small. He invited just ten children for the first session, focusing on basic computer operations—turning on a laptop, using a mouse, typing their names. The transformation was immediate and magical.
“I will never forget 8-year-old Pema’s face when she typed her name and saw it appear on the screen,” Ramesh remembers. “She ran to her mother shouting, ‘Ama, the machine knows my name!’ That moment, I knew this was going to work.”
Word spread faster than Ramesh could have imagined. Within a week, every child in the village wanted to learn. Parents who had been skeptical were now asking when the “computer sir” would return. Village elders who had initially worried about “outside influences” were now proudly watching their grandchildren navigate digital worlds.

Overcoming the Impossible Challenges

Success brought new challenges Ramesh hadn’t anticipated. As demand grew, so did the logistical nightmares. Mountain roads that became impassable during monsoons. Equipment breakdowns in areas where the nearest repair shop was days away. Children walking for hours just to attend a two-hour computer session.
The most heartbreaking challenge was sustainability. Ramesh could only visit each village once every few months. Children would learn basics during his visit, but without practice, they’d forget everything by his next trip. The mobile lab was creating excitement but not lasting change.
Then came the breakthrough idea that would multiply his impact tenfold: training local youth as digital ambassadors.