<figure><img width="1165" height="600" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8469c7e80680e0737cejpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>All photos: HEALTHY SMILES</figcaption></figure>Health care facilities are in much demand during the Covid-19 pandemic, but one branch of medicine that is not seeing any patients is dentistry. The patient cannot wear a mask, it is impossible for the dental surgeon to maintain physical distance during treatment, and patients, dentists and their nurses all face extended exposure to virus-carrying aerosols.The World Health Organization (WHO) has advised patients to delay visiting their dentists during the pandemic, and the Nepal Ministry of Health has told dental surgeries to close during the lockdown period.However, dentists interviewed for this overview told Nepali Times if there is one field of medicine that is most prepared to stop the spread of infections, and who were already following strict protocols, it is oral care.“Long before Covid-19 dental clinics already had strict protocols to prevent the spread of airborne infections, so if any doctors already had  preventive measures in place it would be dentists,” says dental surgeon Sushil Koirala of the <a href="http://www.punyaarjanfoundation.org.np/main/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.punyaarjanfoundation.org.np/main/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1598755551072000&amp;usg=AFQjCNG60e9232rmC_ehPE51HjcNhCR4iw">Punyaarjan Foundation.</a>Koirala says most dentists in the region were already following the WHO protocol from the SARS epidemic in 2003, and even before that dental clinic staff in Nepal have been taking precautions against tuberculosis, seasonal influenza, and other airborne pathogens.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/protecting-those-who-protect-us-from-the-epidemic/">Protecting those who protect us from the epidemic</a>, Ramu SapkotaFor the first four months of lockdown after March, the government ordered all dental clinics closed, and had allowed oral care departments in two hospitals to remain open for dental emergencies. However, they soon closed after staff tested positive for the novel coronavirus. From March to mid-July most dentists spoke to their patients on the phone about symptoms, and depending on the case, the patients were given advice, prescribed painkillers or antibiotics.Over 90% of the cases were gum infections or tooth decay due to excessive snacking during the lockdown. Most could be treated with analgesics and mouthwash. “With the more serious cases, we practiced a crude form of telemedicine where we asked the patient to take a live video of their oral cavities so we could advise on a course of action,” Koirala says. “Some of my patients learnt to take really good selfies.”Even when the restrictions were partially lifted on 21 July, clinics were still largely empty because the patients were too scared to visit, and the staff stayed away. Dental clinics then followed their standard protocols, adding new guidelines on pre-appointment interviews, disinfection of surgery after every patient, personal protective equipment, and procedures like limiting the number of patients and minimising contact.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/tb-patients-in-limbo-due-to-covid-19/">TB patients in limbo due to COVID-19</a>, Devika Agarwal <img width="1138" height="600" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141116/636ba8499c7e80680e0737cfjpeg.jpg" alt="">Some innovative clinics like Healthy Smiles in Kathmandu developed their own protocols a based on guidelines issued by the US Centre for Disease Control (CDC) and have <a href="https://youtu.be/MV048n6EuPE" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://youtu.be/MV048n6EuPE&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1598755551072000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEeNub-ibeeEVrwxo8E6Oz-ul--QQ">made videos</a> to illustrate the process to patients.“As this is a droplet infection with aerosol transmission, our attempt is to minimise it with online screening of limited patients, social distance and masks, well ventilated rooms with negative pressure along with high vacuum dental suctions and a floor level exhaust at floor level,” explains dental surgeon Neil Pande of Healthy Smiles.After every patient, the entire outer wear is changed by all to ensure no cross contamination between patients. The donning and doffing of PPE is carried out in a strict sequence and disinfected before cleaning. All the surfaces are decontaminated with 70% alcohol three times, once immediately after and other twice after, with an interval of one hour. Healthy Smiles actually got Nepali engineers to design and build its new ventilation system that sucks air out of the surgery and passes it through HEPA filters to decontaminate it.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/govinda-kc-treats-patients-in-remote-nepal/">Govinda KC treats patients in remote Nepal</a>, Achyutraj Bhandari“We believe infection control to be one of the main pillars of the healthcare system, and it is even more important during this pandemic,” Pande says. “It has completely changed the face of dentistry.”Elsewhere in developed countries, many dentists have defied the WHO’s recommendations saying they are already used to taking necessary precautions to prevent infections. In fact, they argue that patients may suffer other health complications if they cannot see their doctors in time, and that oral infections can worsen the outcome of patients with Covid-19.  In Singapore, where a very strict testing and tracing regimen is in place, dental clinics have remained open and the flow of patients is at 80% of pre-pandemic level. In Australia, except in the state of Victoria, most dentists are seeing patients.In Nepal, Punyaarjan Foundation has <a href="http://www.punyaarjanfoundation.org.np/main/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.punyaarjanfoundation.org.np/main/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1598755551072000&amp;usg=AFQjCNG60e9232rmC_ehPE51HjcNhCR4iw">published a booklet</a> and posters in Nepali that allow individuals and families to self-evaluate their own risk levels with various activities. Says Sushil Koirala: “Dentists are taught to be extra-cautious about infections, and with this publicity material we want to share that knowledge with the Nepali public -- that the only way to fight infectious disease transmission is through individual responsibility and discipline.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/kidney-patients-dying-due-to-covid-19-lockdown/">Kidney patients dying due to COVID-19 lockdown</a>, S Dhiren

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Need to see a dentist during the pandemic?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJLBI7sim0M&amp;feature=youtu.beA revolutionary treatment for open wounds has dramatically reduced the healing period of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=711#.XSckw-szaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">leprosy patients in Nepal</a>, saving them money and prolonged pain. The new procedure has huge implications internationally, as it reduces the medical cost for treating patients with chronic open wounds.The technique, called Leukocyte Platelet Rich Fibrin (LPRF), was <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6089057/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">devised for dental surgery</a> by Nelson Pinto of Chile and has proven to accelerate the healing of tissue. Now, it is also being used to treat hard-to-heal skin lesions of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/diabetes-in-south-asia,3018" target="_blank" rel="noopener">diabetes</a> and leprosy patients.“LPRF has shown miraculous results in the treatment of chronic wounds in Nepal,” says dental surgeon Sushil Koirala who is pushing the new treatment in government hospitals. “It does not need special equipment, is cheap and, so simple even paramedics and nurses can perform it.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4f009c7e80680e04fce5jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"/><figcaption>SECOND CHANCE: Surgeon Indra Bahadur Napit guides a paramedic during a session of LPRF on a patient with leprosy at Anandaban Hospital. Pic: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption></figure>There are three specialised leprosy hospitals in Nepal: Ananadaban in Lele, Green Pastures in Pokhara, and Lalgadh in Dhanusa. Anandaban Leprosy Hospital 16 km south of Kathmandu has been trying out LPRF on patients with excellent results.Leprosy is a biblical disease in which bacteria called Mycobacterium leprae damages the patient’s nerves and causes the fingers, toes and limbs to go numb, leading to further injuries. Leprosy is treated with antibiotics, but some patients suffer antigen reaction and need long-term rehabilitation.One of the patients at Anandaban is Phelit Sahi, who was ostracised by her community in Jumla because she had leprosy and had been living in a cave for 25 years. Reporters who had gone to cover a local event in a helicopter found out about her, and flew her to Kathmandu for treatment.Every week, doctors draw 80cc of blood from her and place it in a special centrifuge for 12 minutes. The clear plasma separates from the red corpuscles and is compressed to form a high-density fibrin clot which is applied to her wound.“She is among more than 100 patients that we have treated with LPRF, and we have gained enough experience in this technique to lead the way for the world,” says surgeon Indra Bahadur Napit at Anandaban, who presented his results at WHO in Geneva.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4f039c7e80680e04fce6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Raju Lama was 27 when he was diagnosed with leprosy, but because of late diagnosis, his fingers and toes were deformed, and he had to abandon his job. Doctors recommended amputating his right leg, but became the first patient to get LPRF treatment. He is happy with his “ragat upachar” (blood treatment) and says after several LPRF procedures his wounds are healing much faster.Ram Kumari Sah and her husband from Janakpur have been living with leprosy for decades. She does not feel pain in her hands and legs and often hurts herself. Her lesions become infected and never healed. This week, she was waiting for her turn at the LPRF ward in Anandaban.The hospital’s LPRF pilot study has shown that 97% of the cases healed completely within seven weeks. The results are so encouraging that news of this revolutionary treatment has spread through word of mouth. A dozen patients, currently at Anandaban were referred by hospitals in India. A team of Nepali doctors is also training doctors in Burma, Bangladesh and Nigeria.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4f069c7e80680e04fce7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1003"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The new treatment is expected to add to Nepal’s success in reducing the prevalence of leprosy from 21 cases per 10,000 in the 1980s to less than 1 today. Nepal was officially declared leprosy-free in 2010 when the prevalence rate came down to 0.79%.However, in recent years, the prevalence rate is creeping up again, and was 0.94% in 2018. More than 3,000 new patients are diagnosed with leprosy every year, with most of the cases found in Province 2. Experts say this could be a result of active case finding and may not mean that the prevalence is increasing.Leprosy is curable with multidrug therapy but many do not get treatment on time. The incubation period is five years on average and symptoms may occur within a year, but can also take as long as 30 years to become visible, making the disease difficult to diagnose, and the delay leads to nerve damage and deformities. Leprosy is transmitted through the air during close and frequent contact with untreated cases.“Leprosy can afflict anyone but there is a correlation between the disease and poverty,” explains dermatologist Mahesh Shah. “If one’s immune system is strong, the bugs do not do any damage. But poor hygiene and nutrition increases susceptibiltity. Neglected people from neglected countries suffer from leprosy the most.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4f0a9c7e80680e04fce8jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1169"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Up to 40% of patients undergoing multidrug treatment develop a reaction, and need long-term hospitalisation. Since the patients are poor, most private hospitals are not interested in treating them. At Anandaban, treatment is free as it is supported by government grants and charities.Since 1% of cases suffer from relapse in Nepal, active door-to-door case finding is important to meet the WHO target of zero leprosy transmission by 2030.Even more daunting is to counter societal stigma and ostracisation of leprosy patients. Family members regard the disease as punishment from the gods, and even some medical interns and nurses refuse to touch patients despite patients being on antibiotics and unable to spread the disease. Nepal’s laws still allow husbands to divorce their wives if they have leprosy.“It is a complicated disease made even more so by stigma and ignorance,” says Napit, “but with LPRF, we now have a powerful weapon in our arsenal. A vaccine would be the final solution, but no one cares about leprosy. All the funding goes for diseases like HIV.”   <h2>Miraculous healing</h2>When Nelson Pinto’s favourite horse broke its leg, he had two options: either put it down or amputate its leg. The Chilean dentist decided on a third option.He drew some blood from the horse, spun it in a centrifuge to separate the autologous fibrin matrix which is rich in platelets, and applied the plasma to the horse’s wound. After a few weeks, the horse was cantering again.Pinto knew about the technique because Leukocyte Platelet Rich Fibrin (LPRF) was developed for dental implant treatment. The surgeon was so convinced that the new process would be useful in treating chronic open wounds that he embarked on a global crusade to spread its use.Pinto convinced fellow-dentist from Nepal, Sushil Koirala, whom he met at an international conference, to adopt the technique. Since then, Koirala has been trying to convince the government and private hospitals to adopt the procedure, but without much success. However, Anandaban Leprosy Hospital in Lalitpur has seen phenomenal improvements in the healing time of lesions among its patients. (See adjoining report above)LPRF is now used to treat diabetic wounds, lesions caused by leprosy, localised <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/burning-in-the-aftermath,3757" target="_blank" rel="noopener">burns</a> and surgical wounds, and with this, healing time is often cut in half. It is also being used in cosmetic surgery to remove wrinkles and rejuvenate the skin. The reason why it is so effective, Pinto explained during a trip to Nepal last month, is because it is completely natural and autologous, which means a patient is not receiving any foreign tissues or chemicals.And the treatment is cheap. A similar treatment used in Europe, which involves a kit manufactured by a multinational pharmaceutical company, costs $3,000 per patient. LPRF costs only $30. But it seems as though private hospitals are not interested in this treatment as patients heal so quickly. Many doctors are also not enthusiastic because LPRF can be administered by a paramedic or a nurse.Says Sushil Koirala: “The reason they don’t like it is because there is no money in it. LPRF only uses the patient’s blood and there are no chemicals or equipment involved for multinational companies to make money out of.”Koirala’s Punyaarjan Foundation has donated centrifuge machines to a few hospitals in Nepal including the Sushma Koirala Memorial in Sankhu, Anandaban Leprosy Hospital, Bir Hospital in Kathmandu and to three hospitals in Burma with varying degrees of acceptance.The Bible relates how Jesus Christ miraculously and instantaneously cured ten lepers at the gates of Jerusalem. LPRF may not cure leprosy lesions as quickly, but the procedure is nearly as miraculous.<h2>Life after leprosy</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131140/636a4f0d9c7e80680e04fce9jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1050"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Kumar Tamang, 47, is putting the final touches on his painting of an elephant with a bejewelled crown and a howdah. He dips his paintbrush on a palate and paints the border bright red. His fingers are numb and deformed by leprosy, yet he has been painting for 25 years. His love for Mithila art is on full display on the walls, pillars and ceiling of Shanti Sewa Griha, a leprosy clinic set up by the German charity, Leprahilfe, in 1992.Nearby, in a dark corner, is 50-year-old Nathuni Barai from Nawalparasi, who also has deformed fingers which he uses deftly to draw intricate patterns on a letter pad. Both Tamang and Barai are former patients at <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15213#.XSckyeszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Shanti Sewa Griha,</a> making a livelihood from products that Leprahilfe buys from fundraising. Their families live nearby, and their children attend a school set up by the charity.Now, nearly three decades after the clinic was set up, Shanti Sewa Griha runs a school and orphanage in Budhanilkantha, an organic farm in Sundarijal and a rehabilitation centre near Pashupati.As the number of patients grew, they were trained in painting, tailoring, quilt making, carpentry and jewellery making as a form of livelihood. Bags, uniforms, paintings, stationery and decorative items are sold as souvenirs to raise money for the upkeep of the shelters and to pay former patients.“This is a form of operational therapy which tries to break the vicious circle this disease has formed,” said Marianne Grosspietsch, one of the founders of Leprahilfe. “Our goal is to create hope in Nepal.”In 1974, Grosspietsch adopted a young boy named Puskar Limbu who had leprosy like the rest of his family. She took the boy to her home in Germany, treated his leprosy and sent him to school. Limbu went on to pursue a successful career in graphic design in Germany and is a grandfather himself today.Children of former leprosy patients have also gone on to become nurses and doctors.Kalpana Pariyar (pictured above) was 14 when she was diagnosed with leprosy before there was serious nerve damage to her fingers. She grew up in the shelter and married fellow-patient Krishna Majhi, whom she took care of until he died eight years ago. She now has a college going daughter and an eight-year-old son.“I have spent my entire life here. This is my home, this is where I made my life and found peace,” says Pariyar, looking up from her sewing machine on which she was weaving dhaka fabric.Sonia Awale

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New treatment offers hope for Nepal’s leprosy patients

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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