At the start of 2023 I was working in a bank, by the end of the year I was standing at the top of Gokyo Ri watching as the last light of the day hit the top of Everest. If you had told the January 2023 version of me what my life would be like now, I would have laughed. I have spent the last five months in Nepal, while this is my fourth time in Nepal, it has been the first time that I have properly lived in the country and my first time pursuing my passion for journalism and photography. There is something magical about Nepal that is apparent from the moment you arrive - a sense of comfort and innumerable possibilities. It is a rare thing to visit a new country and immediately feel at ease. I never knew it was possible to be overcome with nostalgia for a place I had never visited before until I came to Kathmandu.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060252_97157c465c2bf34d65eb7af17bcac6d2204042f1fc4c51b6de30047155f98c51.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240208060252_97157c465c2bf34d65eb7af17bcac6d2204042f1fc4c51b6de30047155f98c51" data-rendition-name="original" width="4992" height="3328" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog3"></figure>  Throughout my time at the Nepali Times, I have written about <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/a-flowering-artform">Nepali botanical art</a>,<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/just-jazz-in-kathmandu"> jazz festivals</a>, profiled an ex-soldier and athlete, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/mobile-rule-makes-nepal-immobile">mobile phone legislation</a>, climate change, and Nepali <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/business/nepali-chef-s-french-connection">cuisine</a>. I have found that journalism is a wonderful vehicle through which one can develop a better understanding of the world and one’s place in it, and, ultimately, learn and experience things that you would otherwise never have the opportunity to. I have been able to learn more about Nepal, its culture, and its society. By writing articles for the Nepali Times, I’ve been able to join together the diverse fragments of Nepal that I have experienced into one cohesive tapestry. The highlight has been meeting the people and having the opportunity to share their stories. In October in the Annapurna Region, I had the good fortune of meeting Captain Poon when I stayed at his teahouse in Ghorepani, who graciously shared with me his incredible life story. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/ex-soldier-dives-into-business-and-politics">Captain Poon</a>’s life can only be described as remarkable, he began his journey as a Gurkha before becoming an international diving champion only to then become a business owner, a politician, and a local hero. I loved being able to learn more about his life and ultimately share his story so that others could also have the privilege of knowing him. Seeing the reaction to the story by him, and his family, was truly wonderful and allowed me to realise the power and impact that stories can have, and the ability of journalism to allow people to connect with the lives of those even in the most remote of places.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060252_d904f5a6fa3dc0181b5eeadae1e37399dadb7a8d80a310a97b7af1c31e020463.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20240208060252_d904f5a6fa3dc0181b5eeadae1e37399dadb7a8d80a310a97b7af1c31e020463" data-rendition-name="original" width="2948" height="2806" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog2"></figure>  Naturally, no trip to Nepal would be complete without a trek, so I spent the first two weeks of December journeying to <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/go-gokyo">Gokyo Ri</a>. It was a spellbinding experience, the deafening beauty of Nepal’s mountains was heightened by the fact that for the majority of the journey, the only people on the narrow paths were the guide and I. The sheer scale of the towering mountains and the vast and expansive landscapes were so overwhelming that I often felt the urge to look away. In the best possible way, I had never felt so small in my life, talk about giving you a sense of perspective. However, my perspective was also altered in another way - while I was able to witness the diverse beauty of the Khumbu region, I also witnessed the devastating impact that climate change is already having on the beautiful Himalayas. Despite being in one of the highest places in the world and in the depths of winter, there was a distinct lack of ice and snow, this was most notable looking down on the Everest Range, where the snow was sparse at best where even the tallest mountain in the world looked bare. In Europe, talk is cheap, and climate change is treated as a selling point but it is these regions such as Khumbu that will be the most affected. It was truly an eye-opening experience that I will forever remember.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060256_58f188835a61d00c9b1640020703021355c324cc4ead410cec28fffd1ddfff0d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20240208060256_58f188835a61d00c9b1640020703021355c324cc4ead410cec28fffd1ddfff0d" data-rendition-name="original" width="4096" height="2730" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog 5"></figure>  Another thing that was particularly striking was witnessing the different attitudes towards life and death in Nepal, especially in comparison to Western perceptions. A few days after landing in the country, I had the privilege to experience Gai Jatra in Bhaktapur, a celebration of life in the face of death, for those who had lost loved ones the previous year, it is a chance to celebrate their honour, very much reminiscent of the “Day of the Dead”. Generally speaking, in “the West” we shy away from death, refuse to speak of its existence and ultimately dedicate our lives to delaying the inevitable. Through festivals like Gai Jatra, I found that death became not a scary, elephant in the room, nor a source of tragedy but rather an opportunity to celebrate life, to bring people together, to create a sense of hope. Life and death are not beginnings and endings but rather part of the constant passage of time. No place is a better embodiment of the refreshing Nepali attitude toward mortality than Pashupathinath where I was lucky enough to witness the evening prayer, and to put it plainly, I had never seen anything like it. The exuberant atmosphere would never make you think that is technically a site of death. While grieving families cremated their lost loved ones, 100m away were people singing and dancing, and street vendors selling cotton candy. One would think that this would be a juxtaposition but upon reflection, perhaps not, perhaps joy and grieving need not be mutually exclusive.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060252_4c6d8eac5bd31e5b757be8980be6e86541e27c8647d33ed11f48cce0f022eba8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20240208060252_4c6d8eac5bd31e5b757be8980be6e86541e27c8647d33ed11f48cce0f022eba8" data-rendition-name="original" width="3120" height="2080" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog4"></figure>  At the risk of sounding clichè, the more of Nepal I experienced, the more Anthony Bourdain’s “travel is about the gorgeous feeling of teetering on the unknown” rang true. There is nothing more rewarding than getting to know a place, to slowly peel back the layers of expatriate separation, and begin the process of making a new place your home. There is truly no place easier to make your home than Nepal, the country is warm and welcoming, and its people even more so. Journalism has provided me the opportunity to unfurl my tourist pre-conceptions of Nepal and enabled me to dive head first into the complexities of this magical country. I found that just when you think you have experienced everything that Nepal has to offer, something shifts and a completely new, unexpected side of the country is serendipitously revealed.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240208060256_4e6f6f0d70a4e07f8bdf5a668b96b7baf04d3e8a060c924d442505b60867d531.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20240208060256_4e6f6f0d70a4e07f8bdf5a668b96b7baf04d3e8a060c924d442505b60867d531" data-rendition-name="original" width="2080" height="3120" loading="lazy" alt="Aisha blog 6"></figure>  As someone who grew up reading Tintin and spent their teens idolising Anthony Bourdain, this experience has been the manifestation of my childhood daydreams. I witnessed the sun setting over the World’s tallest mountain, visited the holiest of temples, tried the sweetest of foods, and most importantly, met the most incredible of people. While a part of my heart breaks that this experience has come to an end, I do not feel bitter or forlorn, rather I am filled with immense gratitude. I have never experienced such kindness and joy as I have from the Nepali people and I hope to take some of that warmth back with me to Europe. Namaste Nepal, and thank you for everything.

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Beyond the pre-conceptions of Nepal

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238939c7e80680e0c7392jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"/><figcaption>VECTOR FOR VIRUS: Stagnant pools of water, an ideal breeding site for the dengue mosquito, outside the Sukraraj Tropical &amp; Infectious Diseases Hospital at Teku, which on Thursday saw 250 new dengue patients. Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption></figure>It is not called ‘breakbone fever’ for nothing. Every bone, every muscle, every joint throbs with searing pain, as my body burned with high fever. It was not just for a day or two, it lasted weeks. The fever has finally subsided, but I am too weak even to walk.As a public health graduate myself, and someone who has covered health and environment for this publication, I am used to covering disease outbreaks. But my experience with Covid last year, and now being struck down by dengue, I became the story I was reporting on.It has been two months since the first cases of dengue surfaced in Kathmandu Valley. There was  an outbreak in 2019, and everyone thought it would pass.But this monsoon, there has been no letup. The virus has spread like wildfire, exposing just how woefully unprepared national and local governments are in preventing a disease that has no cure.The fever has now spread to all 77 districts with 10,000 patients in hospitals, many thousands more are recovering at home. Doctors have reported Covid patients with dengue complications.“We are at the peak of the dengue outbreak,” warns Sher Bahadur Pun, virologist at the Sukraraj Tropical &amp; Infectious Disease Hospital in Kathmandu which is seeing 250 patients a day. “I wish I had better news, we are at the mercy of the virus, and will just have to wait for winter.”But Kathmandu Mayor Balen Shah posted on Facebook asking the public not to wait for winter. He said money had been allocated for wards, many are carrying out  ineffective fumigation.Roshan Pokhrel, Secretary at the Ministry of Health says: “There is no cure for this. The only way is to search and destroy mosquito breeding grounds.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/state-of-malaise/">State of malaise</a>, Sonia AwaleBut that is easier said than done. Draining stagnant pools is too late, infected mosquitos are already inside homes. The female Aedes aegypti mosquito has ideal breeding areas during this wet monsoon, and climate change is letting the virus move to higher elevations.A female mosquito can lay up to 700 eggs even in a small pool of water, and can pass on the virus to its offspring. The mosquitos then can fly and infect in a radius of 300m, and they bite mainly in the daytime so that mosquito nets while sleeping are not really a deterrent. When the pools dry up, the larvae lie dormant and carry the virus next summer.“Preventing mosquito bites is still the priority, people need to know about effective repellents, especially the ones containing DEET (diethyltoluamide), recommended by WHO and CDC as the most active ingredient in insect repellents,” says Buddha Basnyat, a physician at Patan Academy of Health Sciences.Also important is to assure patients that although painful, dengue is rarely fatal, Basnyat assured me this week as I tried to regain my strength after two weeks of high fever.Last month, I was preparing a review of new studies about air pollution when I started feeling feverish. It got difficult to even sit at my desk. Wincing with pain, I barely met the deadline for page 1. At that point, air pollution seemed to be the least of my problems.The next two weeks are a blur. Fever that reached and stayed at 103°F for days on end, even touching my skin was painful, my eye sockets hurt. Paracetamol was the only medicine, and I needed cold presses to keep the fever down.One evening, the temperature hit 104°F and that was when I felt like I was hallucinating. With such high fever, sleep is impossible. I could not even toss and turn because of the pain.Eating was out of the question, even drinking water took enormous effort. Aside from the pain was the nausea and retching, which made the pain worse.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-dangers-of-the-dengue-virus/">The dangers of the dengue virus</a>, Tom RobertsonI cannot explain in words just how unpleasant dengue is. God forbid, you have to experience it yourself.The other experience of my convalescence was how the medical profession in Kathmandu from doctors to pharmacies are abusing this epidemic for unethical profit. There is no medicine for dengue, just paracetamol to numb the pain, water to replenish the body’s fluids, and rest – lots of it.My neighbourhood in Patan is a dengue hotspot, every household has at least one person who is sick. Some neighbours have been prescribed antibiotics, even though they are harmful to dengue patients.“Dengue is a viral infection, prescribing antibiotics does no good,” Buddha Basnyat told me. “They are prescribing Azithromycin used for typhoid and typhus. This misuse can actually lead to resistance against those diseases.” Virologist Pun at Teku Hospital says he is getting patients at his fever clinic with complications because of antibiotic intake. Patients buy antibiotics over the counter in the misguided notion that it will make the fever go down.The only effective prevention is to remove mosquito breeding grounds, but with the city being in the state it is in with garbage piles, open drains and potholes, it will need a mass awareness campaign with enforcement and fines as is done in other tropical Asian cities.Climate change means that mosquito vectors and their pathogens are moving up, and besides dengue we will also have to watch out for malaria or encephalitis in areas they were unheard of before.“Vector insects are moving from the southern plains to the northern mountains and with them the diseases they carry,” explains Pun.This means Nepalis may have to experience more deadly outbreaks before the most vulnerable people become a priority for the state.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mosquitoes-move-up-mountains-as-the-earth-warms/">Mosquitoes move up mountains as the earth warms</a>, Sonia Awale-----------------------------<h2>Operation Search and Destroy</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114131144/637238959c7e80680e0c7393jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="699"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Dengue is a viral infection transmitted to humans through the bite of infected Aedes aegypti or Aedes albopictus mosquitos. Because there are four different serotypes, an individual previously affected can get even more severe dengue due to the body's auto-immunity.There is no cure for dengue. A vaccine is available, but it is recommended only for those previously infected. Patients can be tested for dengue with RT-PCR or enzyme-linked immunosorbent assays (ELISA).Prevention is better than cure, and this is most true for dengue. Some 80% of dengue cases are asymptomatic, but for the rest it could be a very painful experience for up to 2 weeks.Painkillers are not advised, only paracetamol, up to 1,000mg at one time 3 times a day.The only antidote to dengue is to deprive the mosquito of stagnant pools of water to breed. It can be a plastic bottle cap in a garbage dump or the inside of a discarded tyre, anything is suitable for the female mosquito to lay her eggs.She can lay up to 700 eggs in their two-week lifetime. And if the mother is infected, all her offspring are born with the virus too. These mosquitos can fly and infect everyone in a 300m radius.Dengue was first detected in Nepal in 2004 on a visitor. Since then there have been cases every year with the biggest outbreaks in 2019 and this year. Once present in the environment, the virus can remain for years since the infected mosquito larvae can carry it into next summer.The only way to prevent dengue and other mosquito borne diseases like malaria and encephalitis is to declare Operaton Search and Destroy on their breeding grounds.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/climate-health-emergency/">Climate-health emergency</a>, Sonia Awale

Sonia Awale

Dengue days are here to stay

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.

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Nepal’s AI-generated election

Time, transience, transition

Nepal’s slow grammar of democracy