Sajha Yatayat formally inducted 40 new electric buses to its fleet and inaugurated Nepal’s biggest simultaneous charging station for them in Patan on Tuesday. The 1.1 MW charging station shows that Nepal’s energy transition to renewables is not just environmentally beneficial but also economically viable. The green buses seen on Kathmandu Valley routes are now fully green — running on hydroelectricity that Nepal itself produces and not on imported diesel. The 40 new e-buses are made by CHTC company in Nanjing and the entire fleet can now be charged at the new charging station. Kulman Ghising of the Nepal Electricity Authority was on hand at the inauguration and extolled the virtues of going electric, mainly that it is 33 times cheaper to run. However, the capital cost for an electric bus is much higher than diesel and the outlay has to be recovered over a decade of operation. Government tax subsidies for electric public transport would help.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240410040436_57e25a3338995639178d953009e76d39c8fb0fc42714042eda77bf286bf9d33b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240410040436_57e25a3338995639178d953009e76d39c8fb0fc42714042eda77bf286bf9d33b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Sajha Yatayat charging depot NT 1"> <figcaption>Nepal Electricity Authority Managing Director Kulman Ghising. Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  “Focusing on public transport yields a much bigger impact on reducing emissions,” Ghising said. “While the number of private vehicles may be higher, public vehicles run all day.” Kathmandu’s air quality further plummeted this week with AQI reading 300 and higher. While wildfire smoke was mostly responsible for this instance, petrol and diesel emissions make Kathmandu one of the most polluted cities in the world.&nbsp; Replacing them with battery-operated vehicles would help clean up the air. &nbsp;Electric vehicles are already saving Nepal Rs20 million a day with reduced petroleum consumption. Further reduction in petroleum use by 60-70% would help reduce Nepal’s trade deficit with India.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240410040436_5b761590e2fadebfac56ced0c780b71035dc635d13c6ade5f863c050b9c072e9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20240410040436_5b761590e2fadebfac56ced0c780b71035dc635d13c6ade5f863c050b9c072e9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1063" loading="lazy" alt="Sajha Yatayat charging depot NT 1"> <figcaption>Minister for Physical Infrastructure and Transport Raghubir Mahaseth inaugurated the new charging station at Sajha Yataya. Photo: GOPEN RAI</figcaption> </figure>  Electric buses, however, are expensive up front even though they are cheaper to operate over time. Sajha bought the 40 buses with Rs3 billion investment from the government. “The government must promote financial packages as it is too expensive for private companies to go electric at a massive scale on their own,” said Sajha Yatayat chair Kanak Mani Dixit at Tuesday’s event. “Buses charge at night when there is an electricity surplus. We are blessed with &nbsp;renewable hydro, while most countries have coal-powered electricity.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240410040436_8d3cb73fd6bdc47e5a6f811120d3098ae28984ae687b965905cf7adc5abaf854.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240410040436_8d3cb73fd6bdc47e5a6f811120d3098ae28984ae687b965905cf7adc5abaf854" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Sajha Yatayat charging depot NT 1"> <figcaption>Sajha Yatayat Chair Kanak Mani Dixit. Photo: GOPEN RAI</figcaption> </figure>  Night routes and implementation of digital travel cards for commuters would spur Kathmandu’s economy. Electric buses may need to be charged for one hour on longer trips, but solutions exist: a relay system for passengers to swap buses at charging points.&nbsp; The inaugural event also showcased a Sajha diesel bus that has been converted to electric. For the moment, the model is only a prototype, made for research and learning purposes.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240410040436_4c2680b476cc141815b0b2fb61202333d173211bac7512c72541c98be5c3bf89.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240410040436_4c2680b476cc141815b0b2fb61202333d173211bac7512c72541c98be5c3bf89" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Sajha Yatayat charging depot NT 1"> <figcaption>A Sajha diesel bus that has been converted to electric. Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  “It is a lot more than just a straight engine swap -- we have also implemented a cooling system,” says engineer Janak Risal who workd on the conversion. “We ran simulations of digital models to see whether having the components in the back made the bus move around too much.” Sajha worked with the EU-supported SOLUTIONSplus which made prototypes of remodelled Safa-tempos for passengers and cargo. The building team and Sajha are holding a workshop on 25 April to discuss conversion, as well as the viability of manufacturing battery-powered cars in Nepal.

Vishad Raj Onta

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Sajha’s green buses go greener

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108111156/636a369c9c7e80680e04831ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>RENEWABLE TRANSPORT: Symbolic gestures like President Bidya Devi Bhandari using an electric limousine, and more practical tax breaks for EVs have won Nepal international praise for a proactive energy policy. However, reforms are still needed to encourage electric public transport. Pic: THE PRESIDENT’S OFFICE</figcaption></figure>Residents of Kathmandu by now know that they breathe some of the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/page/every-breath-you-take-air-pollution" target="_blank" rel="noopener">dirtiest air in the world</a>. But unlike elsewhere, that awareness has not created the public opinion pressure to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/open-air/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">force politicians to act</a>.Up to 35,000 Nepalis lose their lives annually due to diseases caused by air pollution. One in every 10 people in Kathmandu suffers from chronic lung diseases like COPD, bronchitis and emphysema. The average life expectancy of Nepalis <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/air-pollution-decreases-life-span,3999" target="_blank" rel="noopener">is reduced</a> by over two and one-half years because of air pollution.“We have seen that electric public transportation <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/guest-editorial/public-transport-is-equal-to-public-health,844" target="_blank" rel="noopener">can improve public health by reducing pollution</a>,” says Sajha Yatayat Executive Director Bhushan Tuladhar. “Recent advances in electric transport provide the solution. What is sorely lacking in Nepal is political will, long-term commitment and strategic planning for electric mobility.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=25485&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Life in the time of tornados</a>, Ajaya DixitIndeed, Nepal’s policy makers no longer have an excuse to do nothing about air pollution: they can follow the example of China and India and announce a national campaign to switch to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/cleaner-air-with-greener-buses/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">electric public transport</a>.India is rolling out 7,000 electric buses this year. The Delhi Metro is now powered by solar energy and plans to go fully solar by 2021.All 16,000 public buses in Shenzhen are electric. China has replaced all its petrol two-wheelers with electric motorcycles and scooters.Global demand for electric vehicles is rising rapidly, and manufacturers are having a hard time meeting demand, mainly because of the shortage of lithium ion batteries. The sale of electric vehicles overtook fossil-fuel cars in Norway last month.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/electri-city-cars/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Electri-City Cars</a>, Sikuma Rai<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/20-electric-by-2020/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">20% electric by 2020</a>, Om Astha RaiHere in Nepal, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/electri-city-cars/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">electric cars</a> now make up 10% all of all new sales. The first 40 Hyundai Kona EV sold out as soon as they arrived, and the next batch of 40 are already booked. In fact, Hyundai launched Kona in Nepal before it did so in Australia and the US. The Korean car-maker listed Nepal as a top priority market in the Asia- Pacific because of tax breaks for electric vehicles here.“We were able to convince the manufacturers that Nepal was ready to go electric because of our hydropower potential and the tax difference between electric and non-electric vehicles that showed a strong government commitment,” explained Nirakar Shrestha of Laxmi InterContinental, which represents Hyundai in Nepal.While the retail price of petrol and diesel reaches up to 261% above the cost price, electric vehicles carry just a 10% tax on the purchase price.  Electric cars are exempt from road tax, which can be Rs30-50,000 per year for fossil-fuel cars. Nepal is the only country in the world with such a huge relative tax difference.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/from-a-fossil-past-to-an-electric-future/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">From a fossil past to an electric future</a>, Om Astha Rai<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/cleaner-air-with-greener-buses/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Cleaner air with greener buses</a>, Bhushan Tuladhar<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108111156/636a369f9c7e80680e04831bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>However, there are still challenges to overcome before electric vehicles gain greater public acceptance, including the lack of charging stations, undependable electricity supply, and inadequate parking lots. A fast-charge electric station costs a minimum of $30,000 and can charge only 25 vehicles a day. Establishing one requires a government subsidy as well as a regulator to permit the charging of different EV models.Kathmandu Valley alone has <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/poisoning-the-air-we-breathe/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">750,000 motorcycles</a>, which are a major source of toxic gases like carbon monoxide and ozone. Introducing tax incentives for bikes and scooters similar to those for private cars could be a pivotal move. Also, at the moment there is no registration policy on electric two-wheelers, discouraging buyers.In October last year, Prime Minister KP Oli unveiled an <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/20-electric-by-2020/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">electric mobility action plan</a>, proposed to transform at least 20% of the fleet of public vehicles into battery-operated ones by 2020. Amidst much fanfare he inaugurated the first five Chinese, BYD electric buses inducted by Sajha Yatayat. President Bidya Devi Bhandari herself has a BYD electric limousine.Last year, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/mayoral-airs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Kathmandu Valley’s 18 mayors gathered for a workshop</a> organised by ICIMOD to discuss an air pollution reduction strategy. Since then, beyond lip service little has been done to establish electric public transport and make emission tests for fossil vehicles more effective.Local and provincial governments have shown an interest in providing financial support to develop electric public transport, but the plans are sketchy and ad hoc. A case in point is the confusing and conflicting proposals for electric bus rapid transit, monorail and light rail transit along the Ring Road. The proposals are restricted to speeches and slogans, but nothing concrete has been done.One reason is the high investment cost of electric public transport, which requires government to step in with subsidies.Over the years, revenue from the Petroleum Tax has grown to a whopping Rs5.2 billion. Some of this could be invested in a clean-energy electric transportation strategy.The Seoul-based Global Green Growth Institute (<a href="http://gggi.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">GGGI</a>) has been helping the central government with just such a strategy on electric mobility, and to find potential investors. General Director Frank Rijsberman was in Kathmandu last week to sign an agreement to implement e-mobility in Nepal. GGGI is keen to help Nepal with its first purchase of 300 electric buses for cities across Nepal.  (See interview below)“Operating an electric transport fleet is more complex, requires higher initial investment and more infrastructure than traditional buses, but in the longer-term, renewable energy sources are not only ecologically but also economically viable,” said Rijsberman. “We believe that it is not only the right thing to do but also the best way of growing in the 21st century. In the coming years we hope to see a breakthrough and electric buses on the streets of Kathmandu.”Electric vehicles are now a necessity, not just an environmental statement. Neighbouring India and China have committed to manufacturing only electric automobiles by the year 2030. This means Nepal will be forced to go electric since most vehicle imports are from those two countries.Said Bhushan Tuladhar of Sajha Yatayat: “Like it or not, Nepal will have to go all electric in about a decade. So we may as well start planning for it. That way, the transition will be much smoother, efficient and advantageous.”<h2>Investing in renewables</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108111156/636a36a29c7e80680e04831cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="799"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Frank Rijsberman of the Korea-based <a href="http://gggi.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Global Green Growth Institute</a> was recently in town to sign an agreement with the government and Sajha Yatayat on electric mobility. Nepali Times asked him about the future of electric public transport globally and in Nepal.Nepali Times: Why is your Global Green Growth Institute so involved in electric mobility around the world?Frank Rijsberman: We are a young intergovernmental organisation set up in 2012 with 32 member countries and 20 more in the process of becoming members, like Nepal. We help governments plan green growth, a model of economic development that is both more environmentally sustainable and socially inclusive. In Nepal, we helped the government develop a national electric mobility strategy, and we have also helped members mobilise $1 billion in climate finance.We are also working to make cities greener by managing water, sanitation and solid waste. I met with Nepal’s minister of forests and environment and he asked us if we could start working on forests as our next priority. We have done similar work in Indonesia and Myanmar, and that is likely to be our next priority here.Do you see Asian countries moving towards renewable energy?It is challenging to switch from big investments in coal and nuclear energy, because all those investments have become stranded assets. China and India are making enormous progress in renewable energy. Many other Asian countries are a bit behind — Vietnam is still planning to build 25 new coal fire power plants. We are working with governments to introduce large-scale renewable energy sources. The private sector will invest only if the government has the right policy, so we work with governments for that.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/from-playing-victim-to-proactive-leadership-on-climate/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">From playing victim to proactive leadership on climate</a>How can Nepal mitigate on carbon, while adapting to climate change?Adaptation is still very much the number one priority for Nepal but it must grow to middle-income status by 2030, without increasing emissions, by investing in renewable energy. This is now the cheapest form of energy and decentralised solar energy is a much easier way to reach remote communities that were very poorly served by a centralised grid.So I would call it adaptation with mitigation co-benefits. It may well be possible to trade those emissions with countries that should reduce more but cannot on their own. You can have mitigation measures too, but the first priority for countries like Nepal that rely on agriculture is to make sure that society is no longer vulnerable and is more resilient to climate change.Also, many governments still want growth. But the quality of growth really matters; it should be environmentally sustainable. It used to be the right thing to do, but being sustainable is also commercially attractive.What progress are other Asian countries making to become low-carbon economies?China has become a real leader in electric transport. Shenzhen is the first city in the world with an all-electric fleet of buses. Beijing has also taken big steps in curbing air pollution. India has also made considerable progress in renewable energy. The next big thing will be energy efficiency in buildings.What are the prospects for electric public transport in Nepal?We have done electric bus projects in a number of countries and while it is more expensive initially, and also for infrastructure like charging stations and batteries, its operational cost is much cheaper. We are helping the Nepal Government find interested investors, and hope to see a breakthrough in coming years with electric buses on the streets of Kathmandu.

Sonia Awale

Nepal’s electric transport future is here

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

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