The Narayani River is one of the most important biodiverse hotspots among Nepal’s three major river systems. It is inhabited by critically endangered gharial crocodiles, gangetic dolphins, Bengal tigers and the great one horned rhinos.&nbsp; The river drains the watershed of central Nepal and is fed by glaciers from the Annapurnas to the mountains in Tibet. Nepal is among the 30 countries on the route of the Central Asian Flyway, making the river a significant site for the world Wildlife Fund (WWF) Wetlands for Asian Flyways.&nbsp; Migratory birds from the north cross the Himalaya along the tributatries of the Narayani in winter as the river and surrounding areas provide safe resting and feeding habitat for the fowls when the river enters the plains. The post monsoon receding rivers, oxbow lakes, and marshes supply food to the migratory birds and other wildlife.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_695e2f2f42117c2d3de50930eafdf7e62ef80418e518544b27c168dba43cf1a1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260202160232_695e2f2f42117c2d3de50930eafdf7e62ef80418e518544b27c168dba43cf1a1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1778" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> </figure>  In the 1960s, entire villages from Nepal’s mountains were translocated to the Tarai once malaria was eradicated. Vast stretches of forests and grassland were cleared for farming for the settlers in areas like Chitwan. The indigenous Tharu, Bote, Danuwar, Mushahar communities along the Narayani floodplain became a minority.&nbsp; The influx of population continues due to accessibility, infrastructure, facilities and livelihood opportunities in the Tarai. &nbsp;Chitwan’s population has increased by 37% since the 1981 census. Human settlements are now getting ever closer to the river boundaries of the Chitwan National Park. Chitwan has changed dramatically from the time I first visited in 1967 and when I started my career as a naturalist in 1984. The once laid-back and sleepy town was surrounded by large expanses of farms and forests stretching to the horizon, with the Narayani flowing nearby. Farmlands on the Narayani floodplains were inaccessible till 2000.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_1a20e67120539d5e0abb8701bde51c9bc2ea6eb9d67915cd42bc32bb63a87084.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260202160232_1a20e67120539d5e0abb8701bde51c9bc2ea6eb9d67915cd42bc32bb63a87084" data-rendition-name="original" width="1777" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> <figcaption>Common Teal</figcaption> </figure>  People primarily grew single paddy crops annually, and much of the post-harvest paddy field was left fallow. These moist fallow fields with marshes were prime feeding habitat for geese, ducks, cranes, storks, Ibis and many waders. Today, Chitwan is one sprawling metropolis. The construction of dykes, spurs and high embankment to avert floods now prevent the farms from getting replenished with alluvial deposits. The deepening river channels have also deprived uplands of groundwater and farms of moisture . In 1973 Chitwan National Park was established as Nepal's first protected area, and in 1996, the government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_b3a91b25342e178e8f6c8b3bc33ae61c674c9e8c5c3eac8e16ee410227d07c69.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260202160232_b3a91b25342e178e8f6c8b3bc33ae61c674c9e8c5c3eac8e16ee410227d07c69" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1205" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> <figcaption>Black stork</figcaption> </figure>  Human persecution of wildlife decreased significantly after buffer zone regulations were enacted, and benefited local people via tourism and revenue from the national parks. Conservation partners worked closely with communities and contributed to an increase in the numbers of many iconic endangered species such as tigers, rhinos, wild elephants as well as migratory birds. Behaviour Change Champions’ bi-annual bird monitoring in the Narayani floodplain recorded 145 bird species in February 2025, and 148 bird species in December. Of the species documented, rare migratory birds included a single Sarus Crane, one Spot-billed Pelican, and about 20 Greater White Fronted Geese. In January 2005, two Bar-Headed Geese were fitted with satellite radio telemetry. Both the birds flew northeast to Dingmo Co lake, about 500km north of Mt Everest. Their return destination was far away in the wetlands of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh states of India.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_e7924a8b7dd620d3d97609b0c1cd030dd38a2c39e9b880ee80af919e96863a39.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260202160232_e7924a8b7dd620d3d97609b0c1cd030dd38a2c39e9b880ee80af919e96863a39" data-rendition-name="original" width="1777" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> <figcaption>Greater white-fronted goose</figcaption> </figure>  According to field ornithologists DB Chaudhary, the number of bar-headed geese increased over 60% from 576 in 2024 and to 946 in 2026. &nbsp;Similarly, the number of Ruddy Shelducks also increased by nearly 60%, from 5,091 in 2024 to 8,523 in 2026.&nbsp; In contrast, common cranes saw a gradual decline in the early 2020s and their numbers have just begun to rise once again. Field ornithologist Hathan Chaudhary observed only 17 sharp common cranes in &nbsp;the Dibyanagar farms 2024, compared to 242 in 2020. In 2026, &nbsp;their number stands at 43 individuals. &nbsp; The fallow farms, the feeding habitats of birds like the Bar-headed Geese, Ruddy Shelducks, Common Cranes are shrinking rapidly from intensive farming and spread of human dwelling and industries. Farmers now grow mustard, buck wheat, lentils and corn during the dry season, and the use of pesticides and fungicides in standing crops is a threat for migratory birds that feed upon the crops. Meanwhile, the increase in the network of power cables pose threats of collision to migratory birds.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_d041195718df61adb57151f7dbc8f05dd720ccbab1f6643c8476a456e4c8082d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260202160232_d041195718df61adb57151f7dbc8f05dd720ccbab1f6643c8476a456e4c8082d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1777" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> </figure>  Other threats to wildlife have yet to be addressed. Growing population along the Narayani floodplain upstream continues to pollute the river with garbge. Fallow farms, which are feeding habitats of geese, ducks, and cranes, are shrinking rapidly from extensive farming, expansion of settlements, and industrialisation. FOWL-FRIENDLY&nbsp; Protecting our migratory birds requires safe feeding areas with vast expanses of open marshes and meadows inside the Chitwan National Park and the buffer zone to mitigate the loss of their feeding habitat. Divisional Forest Offices and Bharatpur Municipality could set aside large open marshes and wetlands as a sanctuary for migratory birds. Similarly, reduced availability of water will be a limiting factor for the conservation of wetland birds in the near future. Harvesting and working on groundwater recharge will ensure food security, habitat for migratory birds and other wildlife, and will help local communities combat the impacts of the climate crisis.&nbsp; Seasonal wetlands are particularly important for birds, with their receding water, they provide succulent grass and roots for dabbling ducks and for grazers and filter feeders such as geese, shelduck, pintails, mallards and gadwalls. Eleocharis, Scirpus and other wetlands plant species that grow tubers serve as food for birds once they are exposed to aerobic conditions.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_b06163d09ed589bf98186768cc75504e743de9ebbe278cad0dcf30a180b1b878.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260202160232_b06163d09ed589bf98186768cc75504e743de9ebbe278cad0dcf30a180b1b878" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> </figure>  Enhanced shallow wetlands and surrogate feeding habitats with low angles of approach thus enable birds and mammals to feed. Once these wetlands dry, they expose worms, freshwater shrimps, mollusks, fishes, frogs, roots and tubers, making it easier for birds and other wildlife like rhinos, hog deers, fishing cats, otters, and tigers to forage.&nbsp; As it stands, the two-year WWF-led community-led conservation of wetlands and migratory birds in Narayani’ project aims to reduce the threats to the migratory birds by enhancing wetlands, capacitating local youth through Behavior Change Champions, and expanding surrogate feeding wetland habitats.&nbsp; The program is working to sensitise and enable indigenous and local communities towards migratory bird conservation, and hone the skills and knowledge of local bird tour guides, particularly women, in identifying and monitoring the birds habit and their response and adaptation to habitat change. The Behavior Change Champions are trained to rescue injured birds, and interact with local communities to reduce direct human persecution and harming of wildlife. WWF Nepal is supporting this project through the Terai Arc Landscape Conservation Program. The theme of the World Wetlands Day on 2 February 2026 is Wetlands and Traditional Knowledge: Celebrating Culture Heritage. We must honour this theme and actively contribute to the conservation of the migratory birds, which are our natural heritage, and in the process preserve their connection with local communities, farmlands, and nature. Rajendra N Suwal is the Head of Partnerships Development at WWF Nepal.

original

674x448

610x380

500x500

400x266

400x240

400x203

301x200

1250x600

1084x550

thumbnail

viewImage

Opinion

Nepal's vanishing wetlands

On full-moon nights in October and the Nepali New Year in April, hundreds gather to worship at the sacred pond of Mai Pokhari in Ilam. According to legend, the pond was born thousands of years ago from the union of the holy Mai and Tamur rivers in eastern Nepal. Another story tells of an elderly couple whose death gave rise to a life-giving pond meant to quench human thirst. The nine corners of the pond are each believed to house a goddess capable of granting health, fertility, good harvests, and protection from landslides and storms. In every version, one message is constant: when people polluted the water, the goddess moved away. Fear of losing her protection still shapes how people treat the sacred water body today. Besides ponds, wetlands are areas that are saturated with water, permanently or seasonally, including marshes, swamps, and bogs – representing some of the world’s most biologically diverse ecosystems, with distinctive soil, plants and animals. In 2008, Mai Pokhari earned the status of a Ramsar site – a wetland of global importance – for its ecological significance.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260202020236_5fdcca89b06fcc0a2f2a7620931bc7fa1e932c72a5c1f5e083d4fd06287218b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Mai Pokhari"> <figcaption>Mai Pokhari in Ilam. Photo: JITENDRA RAJ BAJRACHARYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  Its mid-elevation broadleaved forests provide habitat for many epiphytic orchids that grow without soil, attaching themselves to trees, and protected species such as the white-rumped vulture (Gyps bengalensis), leopard cat (Prionailurus bengalensis) and Eurasian Otter (Lutra lutra). For the people of the area, this is more than a wetland. It is a living mother, an ancestral guardian, and at the heart of their cultural identity. But long before it was recognised internationally, it was already being protected through belief, respect, and traditional knowledge passed quietly from one generation to the next. This pattern of faith-based stewardship is repeated across the Himalaya. Spirituality has shaped conservation in ways no law ever could. Fishing, hunting, and polluting wetlands and rivers are strictly forbidden, not by force but by faith. When erosion threatened the pond in the 1930s, villagers planted pine trees along its edges. As forest degradation increased, the community organised itself, establishing community forests in 1992 and 2001. In 2004, the area surrounding the pond was formally recognised as a religious forest –- a recognition based on local devotion rather than outside instruction.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260202020236_18ec88be3dadf3573074796decb255e3b536893d5778735cf6e7dc3184330017" data-rendition-name="original" width="919" height="540" loading="lazy" alt="Map of wetlands in Hindu Kush"> <figcaption>Map showing four wetlands in the Hindu Kush Himalaya. Source: RAMESH KATHARIYA / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  In the lowland forests of western Nepal, lies Ghodaghodi, a wetland complex consisting of large and shallow oxbow lake with 13 associated marshes and meadows surrounded by tropical deciduous forest on the lower slopes of the Siwalik range along the southern edge of the Himalaya. These wetlands and forests serve as a critical wildlife corridor between the lowlands and the Siwalik, supporting several globally threatened species of plants and animals, and rare wild rice. To the people who live around it, especially the Indigenous Tharu, Ghodaghodi is alive – a sacred presence shaped by gods, ancestors, and centuries of belief. The name Ghodaghodi, which means horse and mare, carries ancient memories. Elders tell stories of divine beings who once moved through the landscape in animal form, leaving behind a lake infused with spiritual powers. The waters are believed to be the dwelling place of gods and goddesses, particularly Lord Shiva. This belief has shaped how the wetland is viewed: not as property to be owned, but as a holy space to be respected. Each year during the festival of Agan Panchami, thousands of pilgrims gather at Ghodaghodi, walking barefoot along forest paths with offerings of flowers, fruits, milk, and water. Polluting the water or harming its creatures is believed to invite misfortune. These unwritten cultural rules have conserved the wetland for generations, long before it was declared a wetland of global importance. In the central highlands of Bhutan lies the Gangtey-Phobji in a wide glacial valley. The Ramsar site is the prime wintering habitat for the globally vulnerable, black-necked crane (Grus nigricollis).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260202020236_7a8c7215ecc6928e7160e8057c761095e7021e711e1290f6d8b2c8a50879be64" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="998" loading="lazy" alt="Black necked crane"> <figcaption>Black-necked crane in Phobji. ALEX TREADWAY / ICIMOD</figcaption> </figure>  An annual festival at the Gangtey monastery welcomes the arrival of the cranes in November. Locals revere the birds as sacred messengers, and they are believed to bring blessings and prosperity. It is these beliefs that have helped preserve Bhutan’s flagship Ramsar site. In West Sikkim, the Khachoedpalri wetland was declared a Ramsar site in 2025. This Himalayan high-altitude wetland ecosystem and its surrounding temperate forests provide critical habitat for many species of flora and fauna, and the wetland serves as an important habitat and stopover site for migratory birds. But more importantly, it has religious significance as a pilgrimage site and is revered by both Buddhists and Hindus as a wish-fulfilling lake. It is these values that have supported its conservation from time immemorial. These wetlands are recognised internationally as Ramsar sites for their ecological and other attributes. However, the very cultural practices that preserved these wetlands, along with new external pressures, now threaten them. Many are now increasingly under threat due to growing human intervention – including misplaced practices such as the ritual release of exotic fish by the faithful. Some religious bodies now advise against these practices. Many others are drying out, silting up, or polluted by upstream activity. As these changes intensify, there is concern that not only biodiversity, but also the cultural practices and spiritual values tied to the wetlands may begin to fade. As we mark this year’s World Wetlands Day on 2 February with the theme ‘Wetlands and Traditional Knowledge: Celebrating Cultural Heritage’ it is a reminder that wetlands are not only ecosystems – they are rich cultural spaces. Traditional knowledge and belief systems have quietly conserved these wetlands for centuries, showing that when people revere nature, protection becomes a way of life. It is this profound connection, where culture nurtures ecology that we must safeguard to ensure neither wetlands nor the heritage they hold fade away. Sunita Chaudhary is the Biodiversity Lead at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD).

Where culture meets ecology

Inside the District Hospital in Mugu, one of Nepal’s remotest and underserved regions, hospital staff enter details of an elderly female patient with a prolapsed uterus into a computer instead of writing them into a heavy ledger like they used to.&nbsp;
This may seem like a modest improvement, but it is transforming medical care in the most isolated parts of Nepal – proving that digital systems can help the country leapfrog in strengthening healthcare delivery even in the most challenging setting.&nbsp;
In the past year, Nepal’s national health insurance information system experienced a major failure that exposed critical vulnerabilities. Months of insurance claims were inaccessible overnight, placing hospitals, particularly rural facilities, under critical financial strain.&nbsp;
Hospitals were unable to recover claims data in a timely manner, threatening continuity of patient care. But during this, Mehelkuna Hospital and others in Karnali Province demonstrated how digital health infrastructure can build system resilience.&nbsp;
Supported by an integrated electronic health record (EHR) system, this one hospital in Surkhet securely retrieved patient and claims data and resubmitted nearly 40,000 insurance claims within 15 days, safeguarding Rs8 million in revenue.&nbsp;
This was a crucial policy insight that digital health records are not an optional innovation, they represent core public health infrastructure.&nbsp;
The EHR initiative was launched at Bayalpata Hospital in Achham District by Nyaya Health Nepal (NHN) in 2016 and expanded to hospitals in Charikot, Aampipal and Aabu Khareni.
It has now also been scaled across eight districts of Karnali Province, helping track patients and aligning the data with government reporting and insurance mechanisms.&nbsp;
ENSURING INSURANCE
NHN has embedded its EHR initiative within public hospitals. For example, in Karnali Province this means the Ministry of Social Development (MoSD) in Surkhet has a Dashboard which aggregates realtime data across eight district hospitals.
Information on health outcomes of patients, service delivery, insurance utilisation are all available in real time and are at the fingertips of provincial officials. The Dashboard supports evidence-based decision-making, improves transparency in reporting, and strengthens the province’s capacity to monitor trends and identify gaps in care.
Earlier paper-based reporting was slow, and could not be accessed or cross-referenced easily, hindering prompt planning and resource allocation.&nbsp;
But digital transformation in healthcare is not just about technology. It is about system consolidation, linking service delivery, health financing, governance, and accountability through reliable and real-time data. Integrated EHRs improve transparency in insurance claims and enable evidence-based planning.&nbsp;
Unaffordable medical care and out-of-pocket expenses for family members can push households into poverty. Many Nepalis migrating overseas say one push factor is the cost of care of close relatives. &nbsp;
This is what makes universal health insurance so vital, but it is in crisis. The Health Insurance Board (HIB) was formed in 2016, and has now spread across all 77 districts, covering 10 million Nepalis.
But HIB faces problems of sustainability and claims settlements. This week it asked the government to replenish Rs1 billion in funds, and the government’s TUTH Hospital has stopped treating patients covered by the HIB citing delayed reimbursement of claims.
This underlines the need for stronger institutional autonomy, predictable financing, and enhanced operational capacity within the HIB. One way to streamline insurance and reduce risk is by embedding digital systems.&nbsp;
Universal Health Coverage depends on accurate, timely, and inter-operable data flows between service delivery points and national financing mechanisms.&nbsp;
Integrating EHRs with insurance platforms can significantly reduce claims backlogs, improve transparency and accountability, and enhance fiscal reliability for public hospitals. &nbsp;
The experience of NHN-EHR in Karnali hospitals with digital records and insurance provides a compelling model for the rest of the country. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
Srijana Devkota is Director of Program and Partnerships at Nyaya Health Nepal (NHN).

Guest Editorial

Fix what is broken

The car’s trunk was crammed with boxes and suitcases, almost to the roof, and I was just waiting for the inevitable heart-wrenching screech or thud from underneath as I feathered on the accelerator, trying to cross through the infamous Daunne uphill section of the East-West Highway in an MPV.&nbsp; But to my surprise, the ground clearance of 170mm did not fail. Daunne, roughly 15km long, is the landslide prone ridge between Narayanghat and Butwal section, which is perennially affected by traffic jams, thanks to ongoing (and never ending) road expansion. Traffic jams here can be tens of kilometres long. On a November 2025 trip to Bhairawa it was dry enough to wade through the dreaded Daunne where the choice on the ‘road’ is either mud or dust (or both).&nbsp; The BYD M6 MPV EV borrowed for the journey claimed a range of 440km and 580L of space at the back in an almost 4.7m long form factor.&nbsp; On board were two family members and my five-year-old dog, Kulfi (pictured) who needed frequent stretch breaks for his paws. Stopping to charge the car was most certainly not on my to-do list. Within the first 20km from Koteswor, there were already multiple DC chargers along the roadside. They were fast chargers usually between 30 to 60kWs capacities, meaning a charge to 80% would take on average less than an hour. Nepal now boasts over 1,200 charging stations, each station is often equipped with multiple charging guns. This was a stark contrast to the harsh reality of charger anxiety I faced a couple of years in our family car, the Hyundai Kona. Back then, on the way back from Pokhara there was only a single charging gun at River Side Resort in Kurintar.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013104014_d36a1ed529caa0b67424699407da8b42b51f4a4b63dd6dbeb662b0ab513b77a8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026013104014_d36a1ed529caa0b67424699407da8b42b51f4a4b63dd6dbeb662b0ab513b77a8" data-rendition-name="original" width="2652" height="984" loading="lazy" alt="Page 5 map"> </figure>  These were only fast AC chargers of speeds up to 6kWs, unlike today’s much faster DC chargers. This meant the car would take multiple hours to hit the 80% mark -- and the charger would sometimes (shockingly, and without explanation) be out of operation. No one to ask questions, and no one to answer either. While I never needed to charge my EV on the way to Pokhara from Kathmandu, my precautionary nature never allowed me to climb into the Valley via Naubise without a charge. One bad accident, some sort of natural disaster, and you knew the roads would be clogged with traffic and shut down for at least a couple of hours.&nbsp; Fast forward to the present. My mind was at ease. Even if one of the charging stations was crowded, there was conveniently another one 15 minutes away. But the BYD M6 did not require any of that anyway.&nbsp; Not only did it traverse the rough highway from Kathmandu to Mugling, and then onward over the Daunne pass with ease but because the car was heavy and low, it handled high speeds and corners like a champ.&nbsp; Foot down on the accelerator and it climbed to triple digit speeds without breaking a sweat. Put your foot relatively harder on the brakes and it would equally shed its momentum, all the while being economical. After multiple quick stretch stops for Kulfi, and a proper one hour lunch break, I had arrived at Bhairawa before nightfall, still with around 100km of range left in the car and most importantly, with all the luggage intact.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013104018_1cc05d858d14f0b83fcf586c7270be003f462d60cd19934218e271d59fef3496.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026013104018_1cc05d858d14f0b83fcf586c7270be003f462d60cd19934218e271d59fef3496" data-rendition-name="original" width="1384" height="808" loading="lazy" alt="Bye-bye range anxiety NT"> </figure>  ROUNDTRIP A week later, my return trip to Kathmandu saw an additional passenger and even more luggage – but once again, I arrived back in Kathmandu with ease: both the M6 and Nepal’s charger infrastructure had exceeded my expectations and needs.&nbsp; This 600km drive to and from Bhairawa from the mountains around Kathmandu to the Tarai plains, with not-so-smooth hilly terrain in between, highlighted not only how far electric vehicles have evolved but also showed how far the charging infrastructure (once a major irritant during the Covid years) had come.&nbsp; EVs in Nepal are no longer niche products; they are available across budgets and segments, ranging in form factor from micro city commuters and family hatchbacks to compact SUVs, pickups, and even full-size MPVs.&nbsp; One noticeable improvement on the highways is that the charging infrastructure has grown from a scattered and company-installed. NEA units along major routes have now converted into full-fledged, round-the-clock networks that allow flexibility and convenience to those of us who like to enjoy our times on the road.&nbsp; What once felt like a gamble, now feels like momentum — and the road ahead for electric mobility in Nepal looks smoother. &nbsp;&nbsp; Arnav Upadhyay reviews automobiles and promotes road safety under the handle Casually Annoyed Driver on Youtube, Tiktok and IG and this monthly column Drive Line in Nepali Times.

Arnav Upadhyay

Drive Line

Bye-bye range anxiety

Monday, 8 September marked the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-8-september-massacre">largest single-day, state-led massacre of protesters</a> in Nepal’s recent history. The indiscriminate firing of automatic weapons on the GenZ demonstrators for over three hours killed 21 people. Most were below 28, waiting to fly overseas as migrant workers.
This sparked the violence of the following day that ultimately left 76 people dead. Postmortem reports show that the protesters on 8 September were <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/security-forces-targeted-protestors-disproportionately-hrw">shot directly in the chest, head, and abdomen</a>.
During the GenZ protests, the Nepal Army also killed 10 prisoners who were attempting to flee jails. Yet, no one questioned or condemned the Army for taking such lethal measures.
Brutality and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/transitional-injustice-in-nepal">extrajudicial killings</a> by the security forces are not uncommon in Nepal. They peaked during the Maoist conflict, and recur often. What happened during the GenZ protests was a continuation of culture.
During the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Comment/masochism-in-madhes,563">Madhes Movement in 2015</a>, the K P Oli-led regime was also responsible for more than 50 deaths. Police forces shot and killed 16 people. In Janakpur, a police officer shot and killed a 14-year-old child, Nitu Yadav, at point-blank range while he was trying to hide behind some bushes.&nbsp;
According to witnesses, the masked police officer forced the child to the ground, shot him in the head, and kicked him while shouting, “Shoot this motherf**ker.” No police chiefs were held accountable for these atrocities. The state has still not released the Laal Aayog Report, which investigated <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/tikapur-s-protracted-trauma">killings in the Tarai</a>.&nbsp;
In 2026 the Armed Police Force (APF) shot and killed rickshaw driver Bijay Shah in sunsari while he was transporting goods across the border. From 2017 to 2021, at least 22 people died in police custody alone, most of them Madhesi and Dalits.&nbsp;
Police routinely described these deaths as suicides, yet this was never independently verified. In Shah’s case, the APF claimed without evidence that he died in a crossfire. Police institutions continue to function <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/mob-movement-and-mayhem">as they did under the Panchayat regime</a>. In the absence of proper investigation, there is impunity and the killings go on.&nbsp;
This lack of accountability means that the Nepali state has normalised killings by its security apparatus. When pressed about shooting protesters outside Parliament in September, Prime Minister KP Oli and Police Chief Chandra Kuber Khapung defended themselves saying, “Bullets do not have eyes.”&nbsp;
There was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/election-vs-escalation">no remorse or empathy</a>, and a refusal to accept responsibility. They failed to acknowledge that the state has a constitutional mandate to protect its citizens, including those accused of crimes.&nbsp;
Those in power routinely shift the blame onto protesters. In reality, police often initiate intimidation and violence at otherwise peaceful protests, as seen on 8 September. According to witnesses, protesters only became agitated after Nepal Police started firing tear gas, and shooting one of the demonstrators.&nbsp;
The Gauri Bahadur Karki Judicial Investigation Commission has not yet filed its report. But there will be justice only when then-Prime Minister KP Oli, Home Minister Ramesh Lekhak, and Kathmandu CDO Chhabi Rijal are held accountable for their actions or inaction. But it should not end there -- all police officers involved in the killings must also face justice.&nbsp;
No government or political leader in the past decades has tried to <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=2809">reform police to end their impunity</a>. Politicians in power and police forces maintain an unspoken, unholy nexus – from the local to the state level. It is a mutual protection arrangement. Those in power rely on the police to maintain their power and even prosecute opponents, while the police depend on them for political patronage.&nbsp;
To be sure, Nepal Police just reflects the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-story-so-far">state of the country’s democracy</a>, as well as its lack of commitment to human rights and the rule of law. Genuine reform and democratisation of the police force is needed to uphold human rights and the Constitution, and increase institutional diversity with greater representation of women, Dalits, Madhesi, indigenous and the traditionally excluded.&nbsp;
The <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18719">APF was originally formed </a>to suppress the Maoist armed conflict and is now used to quell public protests. It should be dismantled, and the post of Chief District Officer abolished. &nbsp;
The Office of the Attorney General and the National Human Rights Commission have repeatedly failed to address police killings and torture. A strong independent mechanism is needed to investigate abuses of power and prosecute those responsible.&nbsp;
The argument is that holding police to account will damage their morale. Actually, ending impunity and enforcing accountability would enhance the police’s public image and strengthen the institution, enabling it to maintain law and order without turning into a killing machine.&nbsp;
More importantly, we need to design <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/two-sides-of-the-same-coin">state institutions</a> to be empathetic. Only then will society embody tolerance. If culture of killing is accepted, it fosters violence. This is what happened on 9 September. The mayhem was no coincidence.&nbsp;
Police killings and abuse of power, and their entrenched impunity, have led to mounting public anger towards the state and resentment towards the system. If this continues unchecked, it will threaten the very stability of democracy that these institutions are supposed to safeguard. &nbsp;
Prashanta Khanal is an independent climate and transport policy researcher.&nbsp;

Policing the Police

The Trump administration’s recent announcement of its <a href="https://www.whitehouse.gov/fact-sheets/2026/01/fact-sheet-president-donald-j-trump-withdraws-the-united-states-from-international-organizations-that-are-contrary-to-the-interests-of-the-united-states/" target="_blank">withdrawal from 66 international organisations</a> has been met with a mixture of alarm and applause. &nbsp;While the headline number suggests a dramatic retreat from the world stage, a closer look reveals a more nuanced, and perhaps more insidious, strategy.&nbsp;
The move is less a wholesale abandonment of the United Nations system and more a targeted pruning of the multilateral vine, aimed at withering specific branches of global cooperation that the administration deems contrary to its interests. While the immediate financial impact may be less than feared, the long-term consequences for the UN and the rules-based international order are profound.
At first glance, the withdrawal appears to be a sweeping rejection of global engagement. <a href="https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2026/01/withdrawing-the-united-states-from-international-organizations-conventions-and-treaties-that-are-contrary-to-the-interests-of-the-united-states/" target="_blank">The list of targeted entities</a> is long and diverse, ranging from the well-known UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) to more obscure bodies like the International Lead and Zinc Study Group. However, as <a href="https://casquebleu.substack.com/p/unpacking-the-results-of-the-review" target="_blank">Eugene Chen</a> has astutely observed, the reality is more complex.
The vast majority of the UN-related entities on the list are not independent international organisations, but rather subsidiary bodies, funds, and programmes of the UN itself. The administration is not, for now, withdrawing from the UN Charter, but rather selectively defunding and disengaging from the parts of the UN system it finds objectionable.
This selective approach reveals a clear ideological agenda. The targeted entities are overwhelmingly focused on issues that the Trump administration has long disdained: climate change, sustainable development, gender equality, and human rights. The list includes the UN’s main development arm, the Department of Economic and Social Affairs; its primary gender entity, UN Women; and a host of bodies dedicated to peacebuilding and conflict prevention.&nbsp;
The inclusion of the UN’s regional economic commissions, which play a vital role in promoting regional cooperation and development, is particularly telling. This is not simply a cost-cutting exercise; it is a deliberate attempt to dismantle the architecture of global cooperation in areas that do not align with the administration’s narrow, nationalist worldview.
The decision to remain a member of the UN’s specialised agencies, such as the World Health Organization (from which the administration has already announced its withdrawal in a separate action) and the International Atomic Energy Agency, is equally revealing. This is not a sign of a renewed commitment to multilateralism, but rather a cold, calculated decision based on a narrow definition of US national security interests.&nbsp;
The administration has made it clear that it sees these agencies as useful tools to counter the influence of a rising China. This ‘à la carte’ approach to multilateralism, where the US picks and chooses which parts of the system to support based on its own geopolitical interests, is deeply corrosive to the principles of collective security and universal values that underpin the UN Charter.
What, then, should be done? The international community cannot afford to simply stand by and watch as the UN system is hollowed out from within. A concerted effort is needed to mitigate the damage and reaffirm the importance of multilateral cooperation.
First, other member states must step up to fill the financial and leadership void left by the United States. This will require not only increased financial contributions, but also a renewed political commitment to the UN’s work in the areas of sustainable development, climate action, and human rights.&nbsp;
Second, civil society organisations and the academic community have a crucial role to play in monitoring the impact of the US withdrawal and advocating for the continued relevance of the affected UN entities.&nbsp;
Finally, the UN itself must do a better job of communicating its value to a sceptical public. The organisation must move beyond bureaucratic jargon and technical reports to tell a compelling story about how its work makes a real difference in the lives of people around the world.
The Trump administration’s latest move is a stark reminder that the post-war international order can no longer be taken for granted. It is a call to action for all who believe in the power of multilateralism to address our shared global challenges. The UN may be a flawed and imperfect institution, but it remains our best hope for a more peaceful, prosperous, and sustainable world. We must not allow it to wither on the vine.
Jordan Ryan is at the Toda Peace Institute and a former UN Assistant Secretary-General with extensive experience in international peacebuilding, human rights, and development policy.&nbsp;
This article was issued by the Toda Peace Institute and has been republished from <a href="https://toda.org/global-outlook/2026/the-uns-withering-vine-a-us-retreat-from-global-governance.html">the original</a> with permission.

The UN’s withering vine

Despite funding setbacks, Nepal’s public health sector keeps developing new initiatives to strengthen maternal and newborn health. Two in particular, aimed at improving maternal nutrition and safe delivery, are in the pipeline for 2026.
The first initiative is multiple micronutrient supplementation (MMS) for pregnant women. The MMS will replace the iron and folic acid (IFA) supplements that the government now provides with 15 essential vitamins and minerals, including IFA.
The second plan is to do field research on the use of carbetocin as a drug to prevent post-partum haemmorhage (PPH). This is important because carbetocin is not as heat-sensitive as oxytocin, the current main option for treating PPH. In fact, the new medicine is known as heat-sensitive carbetocin (HSC).
The study is scheduled to start early in the new year. It will be a collaboration between One Heart Worldwide, Ferring Pharmaceuticals and the family welfare division (FWD) of the Department of Health.
A recent study in Nigeria found that health-care providers preferred giving HSC to women delivering babies because it had fewer side-effects and was of higher quality than oxytocin, which was often reported to be degraded by heat or supply-chain issues. The same issues are also barriers in Nepal.
PPH has for decades been one of the leading causes of maternal deaths, in Nepal and globally.
“We are confident that transitioning from IFA to MMS will enable expectant mothers to receive a more comprehensive suite of micronutrients, leading to improved pregnancy outcomes,” says Pooja Pandey Rana, Country Director of Helen Keller International for Bangladesh and Nepal.
The MMS plan is a collaboration between the FWD, the NGO Helen Keller International, Eleanor Crook Foundation, a US-based organisation that funds nutrition work globally, and other development partners.
According to Lili Bikram Thapa, Chief Nutrition Officer at the FWD, they are now preparing a road map for the rolling out of MMS once an assessment is finalised. Meanwhile, Indra Dhoj Kshetri of Helen Keller International said that his organisation is providing technical support to develop the road map.&nbsp;
“We hope that the government will gradually roll out MMS in a few provinces towards the end of this fiscal year July 2026,” said Kshetri, Officer, Africa and Asia Content Marketing, at the organisation.
He added that the partners are now researching possible “issues and bottlenecks” about switching to MMS as well as acceptance of the new supplements by pregnant women. Findings of both analyses are expected in January 2026.
MONEY MATTERS
Another current task, said Kshetri, is trying to get MMS added to Nepal’s essential medicine list (EML). That would reduce its cost. Today, MMS is imported as a food supplement and subject to 30% customs duty. But once on the EML, that duty would drop to about 5%, making it easier on the wallets of development partners and — if the government eventually takes over the programme as planned — on the public purse.
Of course, getting it on the list does not guarantee its availability. As many previous reports have pointed out, including a recent article in NepalNews, local governments have had a hard time keeping all medicines in stock. This would of course also apply to HSC if it is approved for use.
Earlier this year a Micronutrient Survey planned for 2025 was cancelled after USAID shut down.&nbsp;
When asked if it was a good idea to go ahead with MMS if they didn’t know the current state of micronutrients in Nepali diets, Pooja Pandey Rana of Helen Keller International said that while a micronutrient survey would have added useful insights, it is unlikely to have a significant impact on the government’s planned transition to MMS.&nbsp;
“There’s already a body of evidence from the Nepal Demographic and Health Survey and past micronutrient surveys that Nepali women have high levels of micronutrient deficiencies and undernutrition,” she added.
“Prior research consistently shows that MMS leads to better pregnancy outcomes compared to IFA alone. A large body of global evidence reinforces these findings. And therefore, WHO has recommended to include MMS in the antenatal care package. We are confident that transitioning from IFA to MMS will enable expectant mothers to receive a more comprehensive suite of micronutrients, leading to improved pregnancy outcomes.”
The plan is to start rolling out MMS in one province by July 2026.&nbsp;

Marty Logan

Safe delivery in 2026

Nepal’s 2022 elections, its second under the federal system, was marked by the disruption in Nepal’s political status quo. Two figures stood out in particular: Balen Shah, whose outsider candidacy transformed urban political imagination, and the Rastriya Swatantra Party under Rabi Lamichhane, which leveraged his extensive media-built credibility to secure unexpected influence within months of its formation.&nbsp;
Their success was not an ideological victory, it was the victory of leaders who presented a vision of leadership that was different from Nepal’s political norm. It was the result of sophisticated public relations, effective message dissemination, and the careful cultivation of the credibility of these forces.&nbsp;
Last week, these once-separate trajectories formally converged as Shah and Lamichhane first joined forces, and within twenty-four hours their alliance expanded further with Kulman Ghising’s Ujjyalo Party. Ghising, who was appointed Minister in Nepal’s post-September interim Cabinet largely due to his public goodwill, has been another public figure whose reputation has been built as much through performance as through perception.&nbsp;
Together, Balen-Rabi-Kulman (BRK) now present themselves as an alternative front to the entrenched Oli–Prachanda–Deuba(OPD) power centre. But as this emerging bloc positions itself as a corrective option to “old politics”, the first substantive glimpse into its internal political behaviour raises important questions. The alliance’s Proportional Representation (PR) list provides an early indicator of priorities.&nbsp;
“The PR list of RSP showcases the utter disrespect for the constitution,” says Shailee Chaudhary, a PR candidate from Gatisheel Loktantrik Party. “It reveals that RSP at its core is an opportunistic clique instead of a political party. For them the PR list became a corporate takeover for their investors and brand ambassadors.”&nbsp;
Prospective candidates were reportedly required to pay Rs50,000 to have their names included, and the resulting roster reads less like a reflection of Nepal’s diverse social fabric and more like an inventory of recognised public figures.&nbsp;
The party’s explanation for the Rs50,000 fee requirement was that it has been raised to ensure that candidates are well off enough to not engage in corruption. But Mangpahang says this defense implies that corruption is exclusive to the poor.&nbsp;
“The PR system of RSP has been captured by elites,” says Yajaswi Mangpahang, President of Youth Congress Nepal. “The fact that one had to be affluent to be considered in the list is exclusionary.”
Mangpahang compares the PR selection process of the RSP to the Nepali Congress. The NC has exploited the PR list, she says, but the party has at the least understood the essence of the system, and why it exists.
“Nepal’s diversity, its socio-economic and political history, as well as where we are now must be understood by politicians,” she adds.&nbsp;
POLITICS OR POPULARITY CONTEST?
Actors, singers, pageant winners to business personalities and athletes in RSP’s PR list have positioned themselves as representatives of marginalised communities from dalit, adhiwasi janajati, and khas-arya communities. Notable names include: singer Prakash Saput (Dalit), actress Reema Bishwokarma (Dalit Woman), former Miss Nepal Anushka Shrestha (Adhivasi Woman), executive director of Goldstar shoes Vidhusi Rana (Khas-Arya Woman) and the once formidable contender for KMC mayoral race, Ranju Darshana (Khas Arya-Woman).&nbsp;
“The legal benchmarks of the representations are met but there is no clarity of principle in the list,” says Mangpahang.
Rather than reimagining representation, RSP’s PR list appears to extend the same reliance on visibility and public appeal that has driven the BRK’s rise so far. Reducing politics to communication tactics and profile-building not only trivialises governance, it fundamentally distorts the purpose of the proportional representation system, which was designed to broaden inclusion, not as a stage to curate and amplify personalities with pre-existing social capital.&nbsp;
“The inclusion of already established figures in the PR list meant for marginalised communities is evidence of intellectual and moral poverty,” says Chaudhary. “It signals that their approach is 100% about marketing and 0% about representation. They are not building a party, they are merging fan clubs, they confuse social media trends with grassroots movements and celebrity recognition with democratic legitimacy.”
Indeed, this strategy is akin to the dynamics of social media, where visibility translates directly into political currency. Shah’s politics has been inseparable from his online persona, carefully crafted through bold declarations, poetic nationalism, and viral digital performance. Lamichhane’s rise, meanwhile, is rooted in years of television-driven credibility, now amplified through algorithmic circulation that rewards outrage, emotional immediacy, and charismatic confrontation over deliberative politics.&nbsp;
The BRK project exemplifies how Nepali politics is increasingly being shaped by algorithmic culture. Platforms such as Facebook, TikTok, and YouTube don’t simply reflect political sentiment; they actively shape it by privileging sensationalism, conflict, and personality-driven storytelling. Their political momentum is therefore less a reflection of ideological consolidation and more a product of digital mobilisation, where “followers” begin to substitute party structures, and engagement metrics are mistaken for mass legitimacy.&nbsp;
In such an ecosystem, leaders who can command attention are rewarded more than those who can articulate policy. Indeed, political power in Nepal is increasingly determined by who commands the loudest applause, especially online. This risks reducing democracy to an algorithmic popularity contest: noisy and charismatic, but ultimately no different from the legacy political figures, just with a new facade.&nbsp;
“In the long run this subverts the constitution rendering its core components meaningless. It kills the spirit of inclusive democracy, it also erases marginalised voices, pushing the voices of women, Dalit, adivasi janajati and other marginalised groups and reduces politics to a spectator sport,” adds Chaudhary. “It teaches voters that politics is about cheering for individual heroes, not about advocating for communities or ideologies.”
Political legitimacy online may appear like that people and the leader are interacting, directly in touch with one another, but to pursue popularity over policy-driven politics is to avoid facing the public. What the RSP has done now is to make a safety valve for elites so that they do not actively interact with the people.&nbsp;
“To run an election is to have guts, you must have an understanding of your constituency, you must have a vision, and it is a gamble,” says Mangpahang.&nbsp;
When political legitimacy becomes increasingly tethered to personal popularity and digital visibility, it risks sidelining individuals who possess competence, policy expertise, and grassroots understanding, because they lack comparable social capital.&nbsp;
If the system rewards recognition over representation, leadership opportunities go to those embedded in media and celebrity ecosystems. This could consolidate power and perpetuate the marginalisation of communities who are structurally disenfranchised from politics.
Ayusha Chalise is a communication and development scholar specialising in how politics is experienced in the digital space.

Ayusha Chalise

Cyberia

RSP’s PR list is not good PR

As the Global North turns inward, foreign aid has become an easy target. The decimation of the US Agency for International Development (USAID) has dominated headlines, but the UK and many Europeans have also cut foreign-aid budgets.&nbsp;
Policymakers in these countries view this spending as a form of charity, and think that bolstering their economic and military might can deliver more benefits for more people.
This is short-sighted. It recalls the great-power ambitions of the 19th and early 20th centuries that culminated in two world wars. The global governance architecture that emerged from this unprecedented tragedy initially focused on responding to reconstruction and humanitarian needs, before turning to development.&nbsp;
Despite its flaws, this approach helped lift more than one billion people out of extreme poverty and build stable and thriving economies around the world.
The global health system built with funding from the US, the UK, and others &nbsp;reduced infectious disease rates and health inequalities, creating a safer and more secure world. Five years ago, this system was instrumental in detecting Covid-19, tracking its spread, and mobilising a global response.
But Covid-19 also illustrated how poorer countries and households are caught in an inequality-pandemic cycle. Contrary to claims that the Global North gives too much aid and receives too little in return, it is the Global South that is getting the bad deal.&nbsp;
After compiling and analysing hundreds of peer-reviewed studies, the Global Council on Inequality, AIDS and Pandemics found that poor and marginalised people struggle to access health services during disease outbreaks, leaving them more susceptible to infection, illness, and death. Viruses and other contagions prey on these vulnerabilities, turning outbreaks into epidemics, and epidemics into pandemics, which deepen inequalities and reinforce the cycle.
In the early days of Covid-19, this inequality-pandemic cycle was on display in Global North countries. White-collar professionals worked safely from home, thanks to high-speed internet and teleconferencing platforms, whereas small businesses and factories closed, throwing blue-collar workers into financial crisis. In these countries, the pandemic hit low-income and minority communities the hardest.
The unequal impact of the pandemic was also felt between countries. Vaccines were developed in record time – the result of a remarkable multilateral investment in strategic industries – but high-income countries purchased most of them, and then refused to share excess doses with the developing world. This vaccine hoarding caused more than one million deaths and cost the global economy an estimated $2.3 trillion.
The same pattern played out in the early response to the AIDS pandemic. At the end of the 20th century, effective antiretroviral drugs became available in the Global North. But AIDS continued to kill hundreds of thousands of people in the Global South, and especially in Sub-Saharan Africa.&nbsp;
In 2002, fewer than one million people living with HIV had access to antiretrovirals, whereas more than 30 million do today, expanding access to treatment has so far saved an estimated 26 million lives. And, before the recent foreign-aid cuts, the world could have achieved its goal of ending AIDS as a public health threat by 2030.
The decades-long journey to end AIDS has underscored the importance of investing in health systems, medical research, and vaccine and drug production. It has highlighted that people’s living conditions determine their well-being.
GOING VIRAL
In 1996, Botswana, which was hit particularly hard by the AIDS pandemic, effectively added a year of secondary school to its public education system. This created a natural, population-level experiment on the effect of schooling on the risk of HIV infection.&nbsp;
An analysis of huge cohorts of young people who went to school under the old system and the new system found that each additional year of schooling reduced a young person’s risk of HIV infection by 8.1%. This protective effect was strongest among women, whose risk of contracting HIV decreased by 11.6% for each additional year of school.
Building fairer societies leads to healthier populations that are better prepared to react to disease outbreaks and prevent pandemics. By contrast, defunding public education, slashing social safety nets, imposing tariffs, closing borders, cutting foreign aid, and disengaging from multilateral cooperation will widen inequalities, fuel political instability, accelerate economic migration, and create the conditions for viruses to thrive.
This is evident in Ukraine, where an over-burdened health-care system has accelerated the spread of drug-resistant infections through war-torn communities. Meanwhile, outbreaks of Ebola, mpox, measles, and Marburg are on the rise, partly owing to globalisation and climate change.&nbsp;
Weakening the global health system will enable these outbreaks to fester and spread, taking lives, deepening inequalities, and destabilising societies. Experts are already warning that cuts to US programs (including those delivered by USAID) could lead to a 400% increase in AIDS deaths by 2029.
The abiding lesson of pandemics is that no one is safe until everyone is safe. Building walls and shutting out the world will not protect people. The only way to do that is by reducing inequalities and investing in the global health. Cooperation is the ultimate act of self-interest. &nbsp;© Project Syndicate
Winnie Byanyima is Executive Director of UNAIDS and an under-secretary-general at the United Nations. Michael Marmot is Director of the Institute of Health Equity and Professor of Epidemiology at University College London.

Protectionism will not protect against pandemics

Nepal has made dramatic progress in expanding health services, yet millions of people still do not fully benefit from their Constitution-ensured right to basic medical service. Many of those deprived of accessible and affordable healthcare are in remote far-flung areas of the country, but increasingly they are also among the urban poor who have migrated to the cities and live in the margins. In both areas there are gaps in service quality, health workforce availability, and governance capacity. Out of pocket expenses for medical treatment of a family member can push families into absolute poverty and debt. The 2025 WHO–World Bank Global Monitoring Report on Universal Health Coverage underlines this challenge -- financial hardship from health spending remains a major barrier to equity, even where medical coverage has improved. In Nepal, rising demand for better and more affordable healthcare and workforce shortages due to outmigration of medical personnel and other factors mean that the government is unable to bridge these gaps through public provision alone. Well-governed and accountable public-private partnerships (PPPs) aligned with national priorities offer <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Crowding-it-out,1003" target="_blank">a practical pathway from policy commitment to real-world impact</a>. The experience of the non-profit Nyaya Health Nepal (NHN) in partnership with the Sudurpaschim Province is an example of where this has worked well. Through <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/altruistic-healthcare-models-in-nepal" target="_blank">public ownership and non-profit management</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJzWlnYd0ZM&amp;t=17s" target="_blank">Bayalpata Hospital</a> in Achham and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/unique-hospital-handover-in-dolakha" target="_blank">Charikot Hospital in Dolakha</a> strengthened service delivery, supply chains, health workforce management, and digital health systems, while keeping all services free at the point of care.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251231101244_b59dabd4604a24426a55fe91c0e5866b5029858bdb4c4028c331557aeb5408ae.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20251231101244_b59dabd4604a24426a55fe91c0e5866b5029858bdb4c4028c331557aeb5408ae" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Bayalpata"> <figcaption>Bayalpata hospital in Achham.</figcaption> </figure>  NHN managed Charikot from 2016-2020 and handed it over to Bagmati Province, and Bayalpata was handed over to Sudurpachim after 17 years in August 2025. These partnerships reduced out-of-pocket spending, improved trust in public facilities, and directly addressed financial concerns of citizens. The WHO–World Bank Global Monitoring Report emphasised that universal health coverage requires strengthening primary health care, providing free services at the point of care, and protecting families from financial hardship. Public–nonprofit partnerships like NHN and others in Nepal provide a model to directly address these challenges. By improving access to quality care, supporting local health workers, and keeping services free, these partnerships help reduce health costs for families, build trust in local health facilities, and narrow the gap between rural and urban health services, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJdxLD0hBqo&amp;t=3s" target="_blank">turning </a><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJdxLD0hBqo&amp;t=3s" target="_blank">policy commitments into real improvements for communities.</a> The experience of <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/state-of-the-art-rural-hospital" target="_blank">Bayalpata and Charikot hospitals</a> show that effective PPPs are governance-driven, not market-led. Clear agreements, transparent data sharing, performance-based management, and strong government oversight guaranteed that public institutions were strengthened rather than sidelined. Bayalpata and Charikot successfully transitioned leadership and full management to Sudurpaschim and Bagmati provincial governments, proving that public-private partnerships can build lasting government capacity, not dependency.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251231101244_a8821faa2059498bbd3318386a1bea25b7cfe7a36600c2e2ce250e97caed51e8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20251231101244_a8821faa2059498bbd3318386a1bea25b7cfe7a36600c2e2ce250e97caed51e8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1570" height="940" loading="lazy" alt="Charikot hospital"> <figcaption>Charikot hospital in Dolakha.</figcaption> </figure>  This model combined facility-level operational flexibility with public stewardship, and tackled long-standing weaknesses in Nepal’s health system, from workforce retention to evidence-based decision-making. Scaling such models through a national, gap-focused partnership framework is now an urgent opportunity. Replicating Bayalpata model partnerships in selected hospitals and primary health care centers could rapidly advance the three pillars of universal healthcare: equitable access, quality services, and financial risk protection. Institutionalising public-private partnerships within the Ministry of Health and Population and &nbsp;linking it to national health insurance reforms could help fulfil the promise of Article 35 of the Constitution guaranteeing basic healthcare to all citizens. For development partners and donors, this could represent a high-impact, evidence-informed investment aligned with the WHO–World Bank call to reduce financial hardship while strengthening healthcare systems. If Nepal is serious about leaving no one behind, strategic public–non-profit partnerships must move from the margins to the mainstream of health system reform. By <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/is-free-health-care-possible-in-nepal" target="_blank">scaling the NHN model</a> at Bayalpata and Charikot nationwide, Nepal can build a resilient, equitable health system where every community regardless of location or income has access to quality care, financial protection, and the opportunity to succeed. Investing in well-governed PPP models is not only essential to protect the health of the Nepali people but also to safeguard the country’s economic stability and long-term resilience. &nbsp; Srijana Devkota is Director of Program and Partnerships at <a href="https://nyayahealthnepal.org/" target="_blank">Nyaya Health Nepal</a> (NHN). <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJdxLD0hBqo&amp;t=3s" target="_blank">Watch a video of Bayalpata Hospital.</a> <div class="embed-block"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xJdxLD0hBqo?si=_gSoClqwmI-ecSxh" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>

A healthier, wealthier Nepal

This is the 81st episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. I went to Australia in 2008 because everyone was headed there. It was my first time leaving the country and my first job. My college helped me find work as a kitchen helper at a Brisbane restaurant.&nbsp; I did not know that being a kitchen helper meant washing dishes. I was young and did not know how to wash dishes or how to handle the steam, the hot water, and the busy kitchen. The utensils were thrown at the dishwashing station continuously, and water splashed on my face. My shoes and clothes were always wet. It was an on-call job. A couple of days into the job, I was asked to come in when I was at the movies. I refused. They fired me. That was that. I then worked on a farm, picking lemons and oranges. The lemon work was particularly hard because I would get cuts all over my hands. This hustle was not for me.&nbsp; Within a year in Australia, I decided to return to Nepal because the foreign life did not suit me. After spending eight months in Nepal, reality sank in. Nepal was not all that great either. I went back to Australia. On the plane, I befriended a Nepali woman who was homesick and a first time traveler. At the immigration in Australia, the officer noticed my long absence and started interrogating me. He noticed the Nepali woman waiting for me and asked who she was. Without thinking I lied that she was my girlfriend. That seemed to do the trick because he did not want us to be separated. He stamped my passport. She went her way. I went mine.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260127130112_5e7bfa6acc5f94d5f1905537e387c2d4169469679ace2b71de368912f3bd514f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260127130112_5e7bfa6acc5f94d5f1905537e387c2d4169469679ace2b71de368912f3bd514f" data-rendition-name="original" width="987" height="1004" loading="lazy" alt="DD 81 NT"> </figure>  In Sydney, I again found a dishwashing job at a fine dining restaurant. A Sri Lankan colleague helped me learn the job. The pace at which I had to do the dishes was insane but I got the hang of it in two weeks. I always dreamt of one day wearing the chef’s white coat. It commanded respect, I could tell. In addition to becoming good at my job washing dishes, I also had good language and networking skills so I built good relationships with colleagues. There was a need for a pizza chef at the restaurant. It was expensive to hire someone new, and they asked me if I was up for the job. I said yes even though I knew nothing about making pizzas. My Italian colleagues coached me and before I knew it, I became better than others at the job. Soon, I realised that I did not just want to make pizzas. Whatever I wanted to learn, I just asked seniors to take me under their wings and I would help without pay. They would agree but still pay me. It wasn’t a strategy per se, I genuinely wanted to learn. At some point, a Japanese sous chef in my restaurant and I had coincidentally applied to the same restaurant, and there, under him, I got to learn even more. Working with a Japanese chef is really difficult, but you learn a lot. He would sometimes even hold my hand with tongs dipped in hot water when I screwed something up. I worked in a few restaurants after this and was earning well. When one of my colleagues, a dishwasher, was let go unfairly, I decided to leave because I did not want to be a quiet bystander to this act. I returned to Nepal immediately after this.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012719010_f33ba38bb5f86f1d33262fd0d7ccd09ed01f6cc52148ca3d4cd66c434b695730.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026012719010_f33ba38bb5f86f1d33262fd0d7ccd09ed01f6cc52148ca3d4cd66c434b695730" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="DD 82"> </figure>  I started a restaurant called Ghumti, but it was struggling. The location of the restaurants was not good and it failed. I bought another restaurant in Darbar Marg. I was managing two restaurants when Covid hit. The rent kept piling up, and there was no revenue. I took a huge loss. I gave them up and returned to Chitwan and started making migration plans. I came across a job vacancy for Alba in Qatar by the famous Enrico Crippa. I still remember the heat when I got out of the airport in Doha, it was like entering an oven. Thankfully, I had a Nepali roommate who showed me around and helped me adjust.&nbsp; The hotel was still under construction, but training had started. We worked really hard for the opening and things went well. In 2023, we even won the Best MENA Restaurant award. But at some point in 2024, the international Crippa chain decided to leave.&nbsp; Some colleagues including the head chef left and I suddenly was put in charge. I had some head chef experience from Australia and had previous experience working in high pressure environments, so I stepped up. We had to start from scratch again, this time as Alba in Raffles, Doha.&nbsp; The name of our restaurant comes from the Alba white truffle, which is the best available and is expensive, selling at around 40,000 QAR per kg. We had heard the official announcement that the Michelin was coming to Qatar, and we worked even harder.&nbsp; Michelin inspections are strict, highly secretive and you have no idea you are being investigated. Even then, we were up for the game. We were ‘selected’ which meant we had potential.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012719010_bab3a904af69603e9e79f333aeea89b035401c0c8d1750930107f3594ff1f565.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026012719010_bab3a904af69603e9e79f333aeea89b035401c0c8d1750930107f3594ff1f565" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="697" loading="lazy" alt="DD 81"> </figure>  I went to the award ceremony with low expectations. But because they announce the name alphabetically, Alba came first. I was very happy and felt validated. Being recognised as a Michelin one star restaurant is a huge achievement for us. My MD reminded me of a promise I had made of getting a Michelin tattoo if we got the award. I guess I will get it done when I come to Nepal next. My plan is to get a tattoo that captures my journey right from the dishwashing days.&nbsp; I have cooked for Obama, Beckham, Kaka, Trump, 50 Cent, Lindsay Lohan, you name it, because our restaurant is visited by high profile guests. At first, I used to feel the pressure. Now I view all guests as the same. The food you make is the same no matter who is eating it. I love the work. In fact, it does not feel like work. The rush in the kitchen, the atmosphere, the heat, the scent, I live for it. When I am not working, I get bored. It is like an addiction without which I get withdrawals. I want to contribute in introducing Nepali cuisine and ingredients in the worldstage. Nepalis overseas have a lot of potential in the hospitality sector. But my advice to youth is to focus on building a strong base and invest in learning. It is increasingly common for Nepalis to job hop for a salary jump. While other skills like language are also important, it is the hard skills that we really need to focus on. In our field of work, it is the plate that needs to speak.

Sky is the limit

During the 2022 election, populist candidates campaigned with algorithms and were elected mayors. In 2026, they are campaigning with AI-generated memes and videos. Four years ago, the idea that the most potent weapon in the next election in Nepal would be artificially generated clips of politicians beating each other up would have been science fiction. Yet, here we are: at a fever pitch of AI-based political content. Some are generated by the IT cells of political parties, while most are just produced and posted by young tech-savvy supporters of the new candidates. Most of them ridicule older leaders, and the predominant target is former prime minister K P Oli who was forced to resign after the September protests. On 20 January the TikTok account ‘iamfunnyman88’ posted a slapstick video in which former Kathmandu Mayor Balendra Shah is seen accosting ex-prime minister K P Oli with a giant bell (pictured), swinging it in Kung Fu Hustle style in what looks like Patan Darbar Square. Oli is sent splattered on the ground. K P Oli has become a symbol of the legacy parties and their aged leaders, and everything that is wrong with them. Balendra Shah represents the new protest candidate. The two are contesting from Jhapa-5, and it is turning out to be a prime ministerial race for 5 March. In another video, the RSP vs UML clash played out as a high-stakes war from the Mahabharat. Oli is a young warrior with a chiselled jaw and wearing a heavy golden armour ready to lead his followers to battle (pictured). A stylised Nepal flag flutters above him to the accompaniment of filmy dialogue.&nbsp; The videos are everywhere on TikTok, YouTube and Facebook. Many of the posts are hitting over 200,000 likes and 5 million views. Such content seems to be engaging more voters than speeches and door-to-door campaigning at the hustings. The videos are fake, but the numbers, and the attention they command, are very real.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013014010_ed52fe3248b54eb4f9f391ee718e874a86c1b98297dde203800ad7b114bdacda.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026013014010_ed52fe3248b54eb4f9f391ee718e874a86c1b98297dde203800ad7b114bdacda" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal election memes"> </figure>  At first, it looked like the RSP’s digital media presence was a joke aimed at getting easy-to-access publicity via the far-reaching arms of the algorithm. But it is looking like a carefully designed strategy promoting Balen Shah as the RSP’s star player in this election.&nbsp; In 2022, it was just for the mayor of Kathmandu. This time, Balen Shah is already being promoted in these videos as a winner who has defeated the legacy politicians.&nbsp; In previous elections in Nepal, political parties used to spend lavishly on the ‘masu bhat’ strategy — feeding heavy plates of mutton curry and rice to constituents in return for votes. Ideology was swapped for immediate caloric gratification often accompanied by free-flowing alcohol.&nbsp; But surely, the new voter is too sophisticated for this. Politicians insist they have rebooted their operating systems to serve this enlightened demographic. We are talking, after all, about the generation that brought down a government over 36 hours in September.&nbsp; The assumption is that young voters today are too aware and far too proud to trade democratic agency for something as crude as a plate of steaming mutton curry and rice.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013014014_983476ba334f895b64cd8ea34bd0ad79c1632c428feb119c84477d8e929eb057.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026013014014_983476ba334f895b64cd8ea34bd0ad79c1632c428feb119c84477d8e929eb057" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal elections meme"> </figure>  But the question is: are voters today any different? Aren’t these social media memes digital versions of the masu bhat that delivers a dopamine rush to voters? Watching the videos is entertainment that delivers a state of bliss, a protest against what is old but no enlightenment about how to get to the new. &nbsp; The I-cannot-go-a-single-minute-without-checking-my-phone demographic has leaned firmly towards politicians whose main focus is to be a social media star first, and an accountable politician second. More than 70% of Nepalis have smartphones now and most are hooked on data plans. The public has acquired a taste for a different kind of masu bhat - the digital kind. Instead of being made to slurp up the free spicy, fatty goat curry with deep guttural satisfaction, voters are being made to swallow easy-to-digest online clips to make serious voting decisions.&nbsp; After all, it is more fun than paying attention to a candidate’s policy proposals and actually thinking critically about the candidates.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013014014_eb3a9e0c50f4a47706a6695e78ae41556c3d9754c15d564d42fb0de3f4199999.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026013014014_eb3a9e0c50f4a47706a6695e78ae41556c3d9754c15d564d42fb0de3f4199999" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal elections meme"> </figure>  TURNING POINT An important moment for the evolution of this digital masu bhat is the 2020 pandemic. It was just six years ago that the entire population was cut off from physical interaction. The phone screen became the sole mediator of social existence.&nbsp; Technology changes what we see as important, and this prolonged immersion fundamentally alters our perception of reality, training us to accept the flattened, binary logic of the algorithm as a substitute for the complex, multisensory texture of political reality. What is on the phone has started to dictate the questions we ask and the answers we accept. If it is not on the phone, it is starting to look irrelevant. The memes manufacture consent. Gerontocratic politicians habituated to legacy media have not fathomed the implications of this new virtual world. Everyone has been swayed by a good story since the beginning of time. Now, the phone has allowed millions of Nepalis to tell, retell, consume, and remix stories that would traditionally have huge barriers to entry. Consider the vegetable vendor killing time between customers, Gen-Z youth with no memory of the Maoist conflict, or the grandad who cannot distinguish an AI video from real footage.&nbsp; When they finally step into the voting booth, what is guiding their hand? Is it a careful calculus of policy proposals, demonstrated competence, and leadership integrity? Or is it the cumulative impact of those AI-generated dopamine hits they have been fed on a loop? This digital fog of war cuts both ways. In a twist of supreme irony, actual footage of candidates behaving badly is now routinely dismissed as ‘AI-generated’ by their PR teams. This was a convenient get-out-of-jail-free card that Balen’s camp used when a video of him shoving cadres went viral.&nbsp; Meanwhile, completely fabricated tear-jerkers of old leaders like Prachanda weeping are consumed by the public as gospel truth. We have arrived at a point where the inconvenient real is dismissed as a glitch, and the emotional fake is embraced as history.&nbsp; In Society of the Spectacle, Guy Debord argued that images eventually replace real life. Today’s voters in Nepal and elsewhere are not even consuming the actual meat-and-bones of mutton curry; they are swallowing the 15 second digital imitations of it.&nbsp; Welcome to the age of digital मासु भात.

Nepal’s AI-generated election

We walk past familiar neighbourhoods and wonder how much it has changed. An ongoing exhibition at The Kalā Salon titled Changing Times by The Pagoda Group aims to do just that -- capture ever-changing society within a captivating display of colourful canvases. Brick-lined houses, local tea shops, ancient temples, quiet devotion are themes in Pradhumna Shrestha’s series Shangri-La, much of which is an imagined past filled with nostalgia of the place he grew up in. By keeping people out of the frame, he allows space for what he calls a divine aura to surface.&nbsp; “I was born and brought up here and my canvases echo the nostalgia of cities like Kathmandu, Bhaktapur, and Lalitpur which are dense with myth, folklore, religion, and an ever-present divinity. All of this is truly what is ours, and we must treasure it,” says Shrestha. “Whatever I truly felt in my heart, I translated it into my work.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_32a8f9e9816595f12ec0da357528feffbb249fd19adbb658c18e72e2b721f9df.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260128100132_32a8f9e9816595f12ec0da357528feffbb249fd19adbb658c18e72e2b721f9df" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="1036" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  The swirling clouds that drift across Shrestha’s canvases borrow from thangka and paubha traditions, lending the scenes a sense of mysticism and otherworldliness. Within this dreamscape are red circular forms which represent wheels of chariots. &nbsp;The presence of divinity dominates from above, its presence asserted in soft blue brushstrokes below, as if the deity’s gaze itself has seeped into the land. Gods linger as guardians and temples hum with enigma in his paintings. In his much earlier work, Cultural Bond, a lakhe masked dancer bursts forward in vibrant red, dancing against a backdrop of molten gold clouds. The lakhe’s trance signifies protection and where it steps, the evil cannot follow. Hence, the skulls that surround but never fall beneath its feet but, one leg hangs suspended in midair, suggesting uncertainty, raising questions.&nbsp; Is this a symbol of culture and tradition, secure, or is it endangered by modernity? The work captures a society at a crossroads, honouring tradition while grappling with the risk of drifting away from it.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_c78307920acc7b14fb9f469a011043661accec66c230b5e7587bcba0199bcbf1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260128100132_c78307920acc7b14fb9f469a011043661accec66c230b5e7587bcba0199bcbf1" data-rendition-name="original" width="979" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  In Panchatatva Mandala, Pasang Bikram Lama fuses two mandalas into a single visual meditation, suggesting unity where each colour carries symbolic weight: yellow evokes the soil of the earth, blue flows as water, red burns with fire, and black opens into the vastness of the spatial sky. Together, these elements form a quiet cosmology that speaks of creation and dissolution, of life folding endlessly into death and returning again. Says Lama, “Everyone has a mandala of their own being, and the elements represent their cycle of life.” Mala Shrestha’s works Water of the Divine Mother and The Spirit of Serenity unfold in a dreamy and delicate fusion of nature and religion, suggesting that divine forms are not separate from the natural world. Trees and branch-like motifs appear as origins of sacred sculptures and spiritual presences.&nbsp; Her goddesses, adorned in alluring ornaments, emerge from trunks and streams, painted in aqua green, pink pastels, and rustic browns, as if grown rather than created, affirming that the divine is inseparable from nature and present everywhere.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_1f8cce84b4515a0d6d8b8fc169367bf5d39a7479c2c30038dafe90ec2bb3c4c9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260128100132_1f8cce84b4515a0d6d8b8fc169367bf5d39a7479c2c30038dafe90ec2bb3c4c9" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  Kishor Nakarmi’s Essence of Nepal, where Gautam Buddha appears embedded within leaves, brick walls, birds, and wilderness, dissolving boundaries between the sacred and the earthly. These canvases radiate calm and their subtlety is enriched by finely observed details. Similarly, Rudra Bahadur Pun captures the vitality of mask dances and ritual movements found in the monasteries of Mustang, weaving together tradition, landscape, and daily life. The essence of the exhibition comes together in Roshan Pradhan’s works. His paintings reflect a contemporary tension where technology collides with ancestral myth and the power of tradition. A fierce Garud rises within a landscape saturated by technological apparatuses, while at its feet a human form representing AI clings tightly, attempting to assert control.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_dc2c1ad4a4cefea6c6c7d02e9ed500309b7c862535247fe6451038e1d053d6b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260128100132_dc2c1ad4a4cefea6c6c7d02e9ed500309b7c862535247fe6451038e1d053d6b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  In another work, Bhairab confronts a human embodiment of AI in a theatrical standoff, with the deity ultimately prevailing, reaffirming endurance over technological dominance. The human figures in Pradhan’s paintings are drawn from life with his friends volunteering as models, photographed and later translated onto canvas.&nbsp; “Technology has taken over our lives. Many can probably not even imagine life without it now. But, culture, too, is integral to human existence. Our life would be much different without our culture; it is a part of us,” notes the artist. Rather than framing technology as purely antagonistic, Pradhan explores coexistence, and while acknowledging its destructive potential, he affirms his belief in the power of our myths and traditions.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_bc831a663ca8977c39979a363a95bcae5e41cfe624d78152c546579caa3e680f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260128100132_bc831a663ca8977c39979a363a95bcae5e41cfe624d78152c546579caa3e680f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  Pradhan adds, “These paintings are also an archive of its time. Viewers centuries from now may read these paintings as records of the age we inhabit. While technology is important, cultural continuity must walk alongside it. Festivals must still be celebrated, oral traditions must be sustained, and our roots must be remembered, especially by future generations.” Curator Sophia L Pande says the exhibition took more than a year to put together:&nbsp; “It responds to a shifting world, seeking to capture both transformation and the quiet fear of loss. Its themes move fluidly across environment, technology, artificial intelligence, and climate change, reflecting the diverse yet interconnected practices of the artists, providing a glimpse into the evolving landscape of contemporary Nepali art.” Changing Times The Kalā Salon Chhaya Centre, Thamel 11AM-8PM

Time, transience, transition

The slow, arduous labour of democracy rarely announces itself with the fanfare of constitutional moments. &nbsp;It proceeds instead through committee rooms, ward meetings, half-attended assemblies, the awkward choreography of speech and silence, and the everyday compromises between aspiration and constraint.&nbsp; The book Nepal’s Federalism and the Pursuit of Deliberative Democracy attends precisely to this unglamorous terrain. In it, Vishnu Kumari Tandon does not ask whether democracy is desirable — an already settled question — but whether it can be made to think, to listen, and to endure under conditions of inequality, historical fracture, and institutional novelty.&nbsp; Her wager is modest yet demanding: that federalism, when tethered to participatory planning and deliberative fors, might recalibrate the relationship between state and citizen without promising redemption. Tandon’s Nepal is neither a site of democratic salvation nor a study in failure. It is a space of trial, where ideas migrate from constitutional text to municipal practice, altered by context, power, and expectation. Democracy here appears not as an ideal form but as a situated practice -- procedural, contested, and unfinished.&nbsp; The book’s quiet achievement lies in redirecting debates on deliberative democracy away from abstract normativity and toward the ethical friction of lived institutions. Federalism arrives in Nepal not as a technocratic reform but as a historical concession, wrested from conflict, exclusion, and prolonged political unrest. Tandon, who is a governance consultant at the World Bank, situates the 2015 Constitution within this unsettled genealogy, treating federalism less as an administrative innovation than as a moral response to longstanding claims of marginalisation.&nbsp; The constitutional recognition of local autonomy is thus freighted with ethical expectation. Yet the book refuses to equate decentralisation with empowerment. Federalism, Tandon insists, redistributes power without dissolving hierarchy. Domination may simply reappear closer to home. The central question, therefore, is not whether local governments exist, but how they govern: whether institutionalised participation genuinely alters the terms on which citizens speak, decide, and contest public priorities. Federalism emerges not as a stable structure but as a field of tension—between autonomy and dependence, inclusion and capture, aspiration and capacity. It is within this unstable terrain that the democratic experiment unfolds.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260127090120_62bd86d5cbb0dc9d199b797b2c90a5be37213b6c9236f79220706469cd3689a0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260127090120_62bd86d5cbb0dc9d199b797b2c90a5be37213b6c9236f79220706469cd3689a0" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Vishnu Kumari Tandon"> <figcaption>Vishnu Kumari Tandon</figcaption> </figure>  UNEQUAL SKIES&nbsp; Participation, one of democracy’s most invoked terms, often risks conceptual exhaustion. Tandon restores its weight by treating participation as labour rather than ritual. Drawing on fieldwork in Buddhabhumi and Dhanushadham municipalities, she reconstructs the choreography of local planning: assemblies, committees, and councils through which proposals circulate, stall, or vanish. Participation here is unevenly distributed. It is shaped by gendered expectations, caste hierarchies, economic precarity, and anticipations of return. Attendance becomes a calculation rather than a civic reflex. This analytical attention to motivation marks one of the book’s strengths.&nbsp; Citizens participate not out of abstract virtue but through pragmatic reasoning, moral obligation, and strategic interest. Participation thus appears neither ennobling nor cynical, but politically intelligible. If participation concerns presence, deliberation concerns voice — and, crucially, whose voice matters. Tandon’s engagement with deliberative democratic theory is respectful yet revisionist. Habermasian ideals of reasoned consensus are treated as aspirational rather than portable, strained by structural inequality. In municipal assemblies, deliberation is patterned by authority: who speaks first, who commands attention, whose claims are legitimised. Marginalised citizens may be present without influence, audible without consequence. Deliberation risks becoming procedural affirmation rather than substantive redistribution of voice. Yet Tandon does not abandon deliberation as a democratic practice. Instead, she broadens its normative horizon. Drawing on second-generation deliberative theory, she legitimises emotion, self-interest, and strategic speech as components of democratic reasoning. Deliberation becomes a contested exchange rather than a purified rationality. The common good, if it appears, emerges provisionally: negotiated rather than presumed. One of the book’s most original contributions lies in its treatment of fiscal decentralisation. Money is not merely a resource but a language through which priorities are articulated and participation structured. The devolution of budgetary authority transforms deliberation into distributive politics. Citizens attend assemblies not simply to speak but to secure roads, water systems, clinics, schools. Voice is tethered to material expectation. This proximity intensifies engagement while sharpening conflict. Fiscal autonomy thus amplifies the stakes of deliberation without guaranteeing its equity. Local representatives emerge as paradoxical figures: empowered yet constrained, accountable yet insulated. Tandon resists binary judgments, showing instead how fiscal decentralisation deepens democratic possibility while exposing institutional fragility. Threaded through the book is a sustained interrogation of the ‘common good’. Revered in theory and suspect in practice, the concept is neither discarded nor sanctified. In unequal societies, appeals to the common good can obscure asymmetries of sacrifice. Empirically, deliberation proceeds through articulated self-interests: neighbourhood demands, caste claims, gendered priorities. Far from undermining democracy, these claims animate it. Self-interest becomes deliberation’s motor rather than its negation. The book thus advances a quiet ethical argument: democracy does not require the transcendence of interest, but its articulation under conditions of mutual visibility. The common good, if it exists, is emergent, fragile, and revisable. Institutions, for Tandon, are moral technologies. Laws mandate participation, but they cannot generate trust, courage, or equality. Procedural compliance may coexist with substantive exclusion. Yet repetition matters. Even imperfect fora can cultivate habits of speaking and being heard. Deliberative democracy, the book suggests, is not an event but a discipline, learned slowly, unevenly, and reversibly. Federalism is less a solution than a condition: one that opens space for democratic learning without securing its outcome. Firmly grounded in Nepal’s political history, the book resists parochialism. Nepal functions as a mirror, reflecting broader dilemmas of democratic deepening across unequal societies. Comparative resonances with Brazil, India, and donor-driven governance reforms are handled without formula or prescription. Nepal is neither an exemplar nor an exception. It is a site where democracy reveals its ordinary difficulties. The prose mirrors the argument: careful, analytic, resistant to grand claims. What lingers is not a verdict but a sensibility: an attentiveness to democracy’s tempo. Deliberative democracy appears less as consensus achieved than as disagreement sustained without rupture. In an age of democratic impatience, Tandon offers a quieter ethic. Democracy must be allowed to think slowly, to falter, and to learn. This book stands as a thoughtful companion to that discipline, reminding us that democratic transformation often occurs far from the centre, in places where speaking itself remains an achievement.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260127090112_4bd0fdb8c4ef4e44c21e9cba4ae63a8481ca1d61bb20f716b29f649bcdf1a4bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260127090112_4bd0fdb8c4ef4e44c21e9cba4ae63a8481ca1d61bb20f716b29f649bcdf1a4bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Federalism book details NT"> </figure>  Aftab Husain is a Pakistan-born poet and literary and cultural critic. He teaches South Asian literature and culture at the University of Vienna.