In her small, shared rented room in Sitapaila, Kathmandu 22-year-old Nisha Chauhan gets ready for her class at Padma Kanya Campus. She wants to be a counsellor and a social worker because she herself was abandoned at age 5 on the streets and rescued. Attempts to trace her parents failed, and she spent the next 13 years in a care home.
She has vague memories of her biological parents but considers the care home her family.
“The shelter had around 50 to 60 children and we were looked after by our house parents and caretakers,” Nisha remembers. “The environment was favorable and while growing up, I had many friends.” &nbsp;
At 18, Nisha was required to leave the care home because she was now an adult, and it has been a difficult adjustment.
She relocated to a small rented room which she shares with a friend. The care home where she was staying provided her Rs 5,000 a month, which was barely enough to cover her monthly expenses. &nbsp;
“It is a huge change to go from always having people around you to suddenly being on your own,” Nisha explains. “And you have to pay the bills, find a job, and juggle studies.”
Nisha now works as an intern at Department of Social Work at Padma Kanya Campus. However, since the internship does not pay her anything, she still has to rely on the limited amount that she gets from the care home.&nbsp;
For many young people in care, reaching adulthood and leaving shelters is a source of anxiety. They often struggle with their identity, face stigma and carry trauma from their past.
Young people leaving care are one of the most vulnerable groups in society. <a href="https://www.udayancare.org/research-and-publication/research-studies-and-papers" target="_blank">A 2019 research study</a> in India shows that when care leavers step into the adult world without adequate education, vocational skills, financial support or a social safety net, they often are often trapped by poverty, homelessness, mental health problems and exploitation. Many end up on the streets.
The<a href="https://lawcommission.gov.np/en/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/Constitution-of-Nepal.pdf" target="_blank"> Constitution of Nepal</a>, guarantees that the state is the ultimate guardian of children, responsible for their necessary protection and fulfilment of their rights.<a href="https://www.lawcommission.gov.np/en/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/The-Act-Relating-to-Children-2075-2018.pdf" target="_blank">The Act relating to Children 2018</a> also states that children who are deprived of parental care or are on the verge of losing parental care should be placed at alternative care system. However, there is no clear policy for the aftercare support of young people. &nbsp;&nbsp;
“Shortcomings on the part of the government and poor data gathering have negatively impacted care leavers in Nepal,” says Ganga B Gurung, National Director of SOS Children’s Villages Nepal.&nbsp;
According to the National Child Rights Council,<a href="https://risingnepaldaily.com/news/24044" target="_blank"> in the fiscal year 2021/2022,</a>there were more than 10,000 children in 417 alternative care homes. However, there is little information on what happens to them when they leave the shelters after 18. &nbsp;
“The present system doesn’t recognise their vulnerability and need for extended support,” adds Gurung. “As a result, they are excluded from policies related to social protection and reservation.”&nbsp;
Care leavers often fail to get documents such as citizenship, national identity cards, and birth registration.
General Secretary of Child Care Home Network Nepal, Rabin Nepali says that obtaining citizenship is a challenging process for many care leavers in alternative care system whose parents are unknown despite the progressive constitution provision.
The Constitution of Nepal stipulates that the young people who have a legal custodian, foster parents or orphanage have to vouch for their parentless status are eligible to obtain citizenship.&nbsp;
But Nepali says that the authorities are often prejudiced and torment care leavers with needless harassment.&nbsp;
“It is difficult for care leavers to easily get legal documents such as citizenships unless they are accompanied by care home staff who can convince the official,” he adds.&nbsp;
Rita grew up at SOS Children’s Villages Nepal and took along her care home mother to the district office for her citizenship. Each SOS village house have 5 to 8 children in the ‘family’ and are raised by ‘mothers’ and ‘aunts’.&nbsp;
District officials refused to accept Rita’s citizenship application, saying her surname did not match the SOS mother’s. “Although we tried to explain to them the constitutional provision, they wouldn’t listen to us,” says Rita, who finally got her citizenship after a lawyer accompanied her to the office.&nbsp;
Nisha also took eight months to get her birth certificate and citizenship card, while most others get theirs in a day or two.&nbsp;
Nisha wants to study abroad, but the idea of getting her passport makes her anxious because she doesn't want to deal with government officials.
“There must be many young people from care homes who have faced mental trauma as I did during the process of acquiring legal documents, and it is unfair to us,” she says.
To ensure support for other young people leaving care, care leavers across the country have formed Baikalpik Herchaha Yuwa Samaj Nepal (बैकल्पिक &nbsp;&nbsp;हेरचाह &nbsp;युवा समाज नेपाल), a peer-support network where young people feel they are not alone with challenges.
“The objective is to form a network so care leavers like us have a platform to bring reform,” says Binayak Manandhar, president of the organization. “Young people leaving care frequently feel isolated, lonely and lack the safety net of someone to talk to and advise them in a crisis.”
Says Nisha, “After care policies are crucial for our well-being and we need extra support for financial aid, jobs, and legal documents. Our inclusion at local, national, and global levels in policy and practice discussions is necessary. I don’t think we are asking for more than what we deserve.”
Some names have been changed.
Elisha Shrestha is a communication manager at SOS Children's Villages Nepal.

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Better care of care leavers

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141156/636d032c9c7e80680e0a36bajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Bhuvan Kharel and his father Yadav Kharel were inseparable but earlier this year the young boy lost his father to Covid-19. All photos: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>Eight-year-old Bhuvan Kharel used to start his day with a glass of milk in bed brought to him by his father. Yadav Kharel would then prepare a lunch box for his son, drop him off at school and in the afternoon bring him back home.Born to the Kharel couple in Panchkhal of Kavre<a name="m_-7349375543753954955__GoBack"></a> district after 12 years of marriage, Yadav raised his son with care and affection. He used to carry the boy on his back to and from school every day. Bhuvan was equally attached to his Dad, they were inseparable. But on 2 June 2020, Bhuvan lost his father to Covid-19. Since then, the boy has withdrawn from friends and stopped going outdoors. He has lost his appetite and rarely speaks. The fourth-grader at a school in Panchkhal was a class topper, but has now lost his  enthusiasm for studies. <figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141156/636d032f9c7e80680e0a36bbjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“He used to revise his lessons every morning and evening with his dad. But without him, he has lost interest in everything,” says his mother Laxmi, who is yet to pay Rs250,000 in hospital bills and another Rs50,000 she borrowed for the last rites of her husband.Yadav wanted to see his son grow up with a good education but Laxmi is now struggling with schooling Bhuvan with <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-epidemic-of-hunger/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">limited income</a>. She says, “How can a single mother without an income give her son a better future?”--<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141156/636d03329c7e80680e0a36bcjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Bishnu Tamang <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-story-of-nepals-first-covid-19-fatality/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">died of Covid-19 at Dhulikhel Hospital</a> in July, 18 days after giving birth to a son. Her husband Min Bahadur Tamang was then infected and in isolation. The couple’s daughters Anju, 12, and Aarti, 10, have now taken it upon themselves to raise their newborn brother.  “My eldest gets up at 5 in the morning to feed and clothe her brother, washes his diapers and looks after him until he sleeps at night,” says Min Bahadur. “Since getting Covid, I haven’t been able to regain my health, and my own parents are old. These two daughters do everything to  take care of the family.”Anju, who is in 6th grade, has not been able to touch her books for months. When her mother was alive, she and her sister helped their mother. Now they have to do everything themselves, and there is no time for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/lessons-not-learned-from-the-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">online classes</a>. Min Bahadur knows he has to send his daughters back to school, but he has lost his job as a driver. He says: “It will probably take over a year for me to pay off my Covid treatment costs, how will I educate my children?” --<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141156/636d03359c7e80680e0a36bdjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>At 20, Rajkumar BK is already the sole guardian of three younger siblings. First, he lost his mother to Covid in August 2020, then his father earlier this year. “My father was depressed after my mother passed away. One day when no one was at home, he set himself on fire,” recalls Rajkumar.Unable to raise them all, Rajkumar left two older siblings in the care of a relative and got married at 20 to support his family. He exchanged his dreams of higher studies for cheap labour and now works at a handicraft shop in Lalitpur’s Gwarko earning Rs12,000 a month. His 16-years-old brother Shyam is undergoing training to repair mobile phones. Rajkumar is already deep in debt building the house after the fire from his father’s suicide and his mother’s hospital bills.Adds Rajkumar: “I couldn’t continue my studies, but I thought at least my siblings could go to school. But after losing also my father, I don’t think I can do it anymore.” --<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141156/636d03389c7e80680e0a36bejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Divindra Tamang died of Covid at Kathmandu Medical College in May. His two-and-a-half-year-old daughter Rubina still does not know that her father is gone. Every time she hears a car pass by, she rushes out of the house, looking for her father who was a driver. "He always honked when he came back from work, so whenever she heard a horn, she thought he might have returned," says Rubina's mother Rupa, who had married Divindra only three years ago.After their daughter was born, Divindra had bought insurance for Rs900,000 for Rubina’s higher studies, and wanted her to become a nurse. “It is time to pay the Rs25,000 annual premium, but after buying food and paying rent there is no money,” says Rupa.--Siblings Rupa, Susmita, Usha and Rupak Sunar range in age from 3 to 15. They first lost their father to asthma and then mother to Covid in the last three years. With no one to take care of them, the children are now at the SOS Children’s Village in Kavre. --Nearly 11,000 <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-uneven-covid-19-deaths/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepalis have lost their lives to Covid-19</a> since the outbreak began in January 2020, most of them in the age group 20-50, but there are also children under 18. Hundreds of children have become orphans in the wake of the pandemic.There are no reliable statistics since the country does not have a proper child protection system at local government level.  So far, data from only 32 out of 753 local municipalities have been recorded, where 224 children have lost their parents, seven of them lost both fathers and mothers.“The rescue, assistance and protection of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/children-are-collateral-damage-in-nepal-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">children</a> without parents cannot be done on time because of the lack of data,” says Milan Raj Dharel, executive director of the National Child Rights Council (NCRC). “We estimate that we are missing more than a thousand children who have lost their parents.”The NCRC says it is paying for the support of orphaned children at the recommendation of the local levels. But local wards and village councils have not come forward with records of children despite written letters to do so, adds Dharel.Losing parents at a young age has left the children mentally vulnerable and at <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/post-pandemic-mental-health-epidemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">heightened risk of psychological illnesses</a>. Bhuvan Kharel, 8, has taken to locking himself in his room and inflicting self-harm.“He has four cuts on his hand,” says his worried mother, Laxmi. She is too busy taking care of the family’s needs to attend to her son.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7iEEYDpoCY“Children are often most affected by conflicts, epidemics, accidents, and their young minds are highly vulnerable, which in turn affects their personality development,” says psychiatrist Prasad Ojha. “The uneasiness they show in their behaviour when a family loses a member is called a neurotic disorder. ”Orphaned children feel alone, insecure, are scared and angry, and often unable to sleep and have panic attacks. Depending on their personality, some like to be alone while others become restless.“The family should keep the children busy, play together, develop a routine and make them follow it,” says Arun Kunwar, a psychiatrist at Kanti Children’s Hospital in Kathmandu.Child experts also recommend not telling children about financial stress in the family, or hiding the death of the parent. “If you lie to children, they will continue to wait for them causing further confusion and stress, which in turn can increase the risk of depression, running away, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepal-sees-spike-in-suicides-during-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">suicide attempts</a>, and addiction," adds Ojha.The Children's Act 2019/20 has a provision of a child rights committee at every province and local level in addition to a child welfare officer. It also stipulates establishing a child fund for immediate rescue, relief, rehabilitation of and compensation for children.But less than 10% of local governments have abided by the Act, which means there are no reliable records about the condition and the number of orphans, homeless and needy children who need rescue and protection.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110141156/636d033b9c7e80680e0a36bfjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Last year, NCRC formulated an action plan to protect and manage the children who have lost their parents to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-real-cost-of-nepals-second-wave/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Covid-19</a> and came up with two strategies: for the 800-900 of children with relatives to provide a social security allowance of Rs30,000, and to place children who have no one to care for them in shelters.For this, the Council is re-examining and verifying the recorded 224 orphaned children from 32 local municipalities and is planning to construct 10 alternative care centres for them.But despite the plan, the budget has not been allocated by the Ministry of Women, Children and Senior Citizens because it does not have a minister since Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba is <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/government-in-installments/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">yet to expand his Cabinet</a> more than two months after taking office.However, spokesperson Umesh Dhugana at the ministry says: “The program hasn’t stalled in lack of a minister. The cabinet will decide on the programs to ensure the protection and management of the children.”(Translated by Sonia Awale from the the Nepali original in the September-October issue of Himal Khabarpatrika.)

Helping Nepal’s Covid orphans

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

In December we headlined an analysis in this paper that the election was going to be a fight between <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/old-vs-new-in-2026-eyyt3itl">Old and New</a>. With just a month to go for polls, it is now looking more like New vs New.
The symbolic Balendra Shah vs K P Oli struggle has now been replaced by a face-off between Shah and Gagan Thapa, the new leader of the Nepali Congress (NC).
The Tarai with its vast vote bank has become the battleground for this fight with Shah contesting against Oli in Jhapa and Thapa standing in Sarlahi. And social media is the arena for this epic clash of personality cults.
Which means that instead of finding solutions to problems like health, education, jobs, inflation and social welfare, it is all about optics and stunts. AI-generated and algorithm-driven memes are influencing people’s choices.
“This is not democracy but a very morphed form of political consumerism where political men are selling their brand, and people are lapping that up,” says political scientist Sucheta Pyakuryal.&nbsp;
“Democracy is a way of life, it is not one size fits all, it doesn’t bully opposing voices, it is civilised, personable, tolerant.”
To be sure, Shah and Lamichhane claim to represent GenZ aspirations for cleaner and more efficient government, much like they did in 2022. But elections are expensive, and that is the root of corruption. Shah driving around Nepal in a flashy Defender SUV loaned by a noodle tycoon is proof to some that despite all the rhetoric of ‘new’ it is the same old crony-driven politics.
Author Mohan Mainali says party cadre used to mobilise voluntarily during campaigns, but Nepal’s elections have long stopped being about issues and ideology,
“But political parties lost their morality, and when their actions opposed their avowed principles, the spirit of elections was lost too,” Mainali says. “Cadre and crowds have to be rented, making elections more expensive, and it looks much worse this time around.”
Parties both old and new have moved so far away from what they promise in their manifestos, that it makes little sense to have them. All this means that this election is not so much about what the new candidates can do, but a protest vote against the tried, tested and failed legacy parties.
And that decision is made on the basis of ‘who’ rather than ‘what’. Who wins in Jhapa 5, for example, will determine the future course of Nepal. The winner there will eliminate one prime ministerial candidate, and then set up the possibility of a contest with Gagan Thapa.&nbsp;
“The real question is, can the RSP and NC, which have already declared their prime ministerial candidates muster majorities in Parliament?” Mainali muses. “In all likelihood no. The proportional representation vote is very important so people are tempted to vote based on who will be the next prime minister. But that is not how our system is supposed to work.”&nbsp;
Madhes Province has over 3.6 million voters, and more than half of Nepal’s population is in the Tarai. That can make or break the election for candidates. In the past parties have canvassed in the polls only to ignore the region once in power. And that goes for many Madhesi leaders themselves.
It was only after the 2015 federal republican Constitution that Madhes saw some representation, but it has been mostly sidelined in the GenZ protests.
In his analysis for the Annapurna Post this week, Birganj-based political commentator Chandrakishore writes that the Madhes should not just be a vote bank, but a political conscience for the nation.
‘Federalism has not favoured the Madhes, but it is the duty of the state. The parties that made the Constitution should tell us why federalism was weakened. The RSP should answer why it ignored the provincial structure in the past. The Madhes only wanted identity, representation, rights, and good governance,’ he wrote.
Indeed, it is ironic that the RSP that has been ambiguous on federalism, is now actively campaigning in the capital of federalism with Balendra Shah now capitalising on his plains ancestry — something he has not emphasised in the past.&nbsp;
“On one hand you say you want to remove provinces because there are too many positions which have become extremely costly for the state but you are also assuring your aides that there are plenty of positions to be doled out in the current federal structure,” says Sucheta Pyakuryal.
She adds: “You could forgo the ideology which we have done in Nepali politics for a long time now, you don’t even have to be a diehard socialist or liberal to enter the political arena but when even the lowest benchmarks such as basic decency and honesty are not met, how can you represent the people? We want representatives who look like us, sound like us, think like us, not brand names and saviours.”&nbsp;

New vs New in Nepal

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

covid-orphans

Better care of care leavers

Helping Nepal’s Covid orphans

Nepal’s AI-generated election

Time, transience, transition

New vs New in Nepal

Bye-bye range anxiety