Jitendra Bothara: decades in disaster zones, then a PhD

A thin crack snaked across the wall of his family home - but it was nothing compared to the devastation unfolding outside Jitendra Bothara's doorstep.

It was 1988 in southeast Nepal, and the Udayapur earthquake had just struck the region. His home, out on the plains, had held on. But neighbouring houses were badly damaged or collapsed, and in the hills and mountains about 20km north, the destruction was far worse.

Hundreds were killed. Families were displaced. Entire communities were left without homes.

Jitendra was a fourth-year engineering student at the time, struggling to comprehend the scale of the tragedy.

Nearly four decades later, that moment still sits at the centre of his work.

Jitendra has since become an internationally recognised structural and seismic engineer, contributing to recovery efforts across a dozen major disasters, including the 2005 Kashmir earthquake, the 2022 Pakistan floods and the 2023 Turkey-Syria earthquake.

In 2001, his path brought him to the University of Canterbury, where he completed a master's degree after more than a decade working as an engineer in Nepal. Ten years later, after the Canterbury earthquakes, he became deeply involved in Christchurch's long recovery - from damage assessment to remediation and reconstruction.

And on 4 May, at 64, Jitendra crossed another milestone: graduating with a PhD in civil engineering from Waipapa Taumata Rau, University of Auckland - the culmination of more than 30 years of fieldwork and research. 

In many earthquake-prone, resource-constrained countries, modern seismic engineering can feel far removed from the realities of how people actually build their homes. Conversely, traditional construction is often dismissed by engineers as rudimentary or primitive.

Jitendra's doctoral research asks what happens when engineers seek to strengthen traditional construction, rather than reject the materials and skills communities already rely on.

In Nepal, that meant testing low-cost interventions such as wire mesh, gabion mesh bands and seismic bands to improve stability of stone masonry buildings set in mud mortar during earthquakes.

"If it works by some improvement, why not use it?" he says.

"It’s closer to people, it’s affordable, it’s environmentally sustainable and culturally acceptable.

"Until we integrate traditional technologies and ways ot thinking alongside modern science, especially in resource-constrained environments, we won't create a system of seismic safety that is truly sustainable." 

That same principle was tested on a massive scale during Pakistan’s 2022 floods, which destroyed more than two million homes and left eight million people displaced.

Jitendra was invited by the World Bank to help design a reconstruction model for communities rebuilding with extremely limited resources. The Pakistani government was offering the equivalent of about US$1000 per household to rebuild.

"You can’t practically do much with $1000," he says.

Many homes were built from mud-bound brick or mud alone, that dissolved after days in standing water. Jitendra focused on simple buildable fixes communities could adopt immediately: proper foundations, watertight roofs and raised plinths built with cement-sand mortar.

"There was a lot of opposition from engineering groups who wanted fully flood-proof houses. But we couldn’t focus on abstract code compliance. We talked about minimum compliance," he says.

"I had travelled the flood-affected areas extensively. There was no time to spare."

The approach he helped advance became part of a wider reconstruction programme. As of February 2026, around 850,000 homes have reportedly been completed across Pakistan.  

Over time, Jitendra has become increasingly attuned to aspects of recovery that extend beyond rebuilding physical structures. Years spent working in disaster zones have also changed the way he understands grief and resilience.

"In a major disaster, people lose their families. You can see the trauma in their eyes," he says.

Early in his career, he found that suffering difficult to confront. He would keep his head low and avoid eye contact. But over time, he gained some strength.

"We talk a lot about what it means to be there for people and how they can have input into the rebuild. Emotional and financial recovery is equally important to bringing life back," he says.

That perspective sharpened in the 2023 Turkey-Syria earthquake.

Jitendra was working as an adviser to the United Nations Development Programme, operating under tight security restrictions, travelling in armoured vehicles and UN flights. He would often be based in Damascus, up to 300km from the worst-affected areas.

But the moments he still remembers most happened face-to-face, sitting in temporary shelters with families displaced by war and disaster. Many had lost everything. But they would still invite him into their tents and offer him food.

"I couldn’t believe the generosity, the humility amidst such profound loss," he says.

"It gave us an opportunity to sit and talk to them, and that’s when people would open up." 

Jitendra speaks Nepali, English, Hindi, Urdu and his native Marwari, which helps him connect more directly with affected communities.

Across countries, he has learned that safer construction is never only a technical question. It is also about how people understand risk through faith, finance, past experience and trust in institutions.

"People often think: 'I’ve sinned, so God is punishing me. And if he’s punishing me, who am I to stop him?' We found that in many places, including Nepal and Pakistan."

Once people believe nothing can be done, they resign themselves to it.

“I try to reframe it," he says.

"'God has also given me a brain to think, he has given me tools. It’s my job to make decisions.' Somehow, you have the break that cycle, and that can make a real difference."

In New Zealand, the dynamic is slightly different.

"Here people may say, 'I’m insured, why should I spend more money?' There, people may say, 'God will protect me, why should I spend money?'

"One is a kind of religious insurance; the other is financial insurance. Neither is right or wrong. But in both cases, we have to help people understand the risk and what they can do about it."

Jitendra saw the same pattern again in Christchurch after the 2010 Canterbury earthquakes.

He had become deeply involved in the recovery efforts - initially in building assessments, and later leading teams and overseeing work on the remediation and retrofitting of homes and schools across the city.

He says New Zealand is among the most advanced countries in the world for seismic safety. Even so, recovery has still been shaped in many respects by long-running insurance processes.

"Christchurch reinforced for me that seismic safety isn't just about whether a building stands up. It's also about whether the systems of asssessment, repair, insurance and recovery work for people afterwards," he says.

There are still unsettled insurance claims from the Canterbury earthquakes. Over the past 15 years, Jitendra has helped resolve many of them - first for homeowners and insurers, and more recently through the New Zealand Claims Resolution Service. 

While a significant part of his life has been spent going into disaster zones and working with displaced communities, Jitendra has learned how to stay grounded.

He spends time with his friends and family, leans on colleagues who have had similar experiences, and meditates - taking time alone for introspection.

"People are suffering in his world; I am fortunate," he says.

"I have food on my plate, I have a supportive family. I am grateful for what I have and that gratitude gives me strength and a sense of responsibility to help others where I can.

"To be able to use what I have learned to make life a little safer for other people – that is deeply fulfilling," he says.

Jitendra celebrated his graduation with dinner and cake, organised by his wife and children, and he was invited into the "club of doctors" (both his children are medical doctors).

"The doctorate is not so much a capstone as a way of giving formal shape to lessons gathered across a lifetime of disasters, recovery and reconstruction," he says.

"The question that began with a crack in the wall never really left me: how can engineering reach the people who need it most?"

The PhD kept him close to the realities on the ground, to the people his work is ultimately about.

"The death of a single person is painful. As an earthquake engineer, if I’ve saved even one life, I think that’s an achievement for me."