<figure><img width="1400" height="1050" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110811110/636a28a59c7e80680e045883jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: SONIA AWALE</figcaption></figure>For someone who jet sets around the world, hobnobbing with governments and scientists to promote affordable and ecological toilets, Roshan Shrestha found out for himself just how difficult maintaining loos can be during a recent visit to his home in Nepal.The Seattle-based 55-year-old sanitation expert (pictured below) found that the septic tank at his family home below Swayambhu was overflowing. But he had no clue who to turn to, and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/where-to-take-a-dump/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">how to get it emptied</a>. “I did not know where to go,” recalled Shrestha during a break at a Faecal Sludge Management Conference last week in Cape Town. “If it was so difficult for me, I can only imagine how hard it must be for the general public.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/toilet-trained/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Toilet trained</a>, Sonia Awale<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/where-to-take-a-dump/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Where to take a dump</a>, Bhushan TuladharShrestha finally got in touch with a private service provider and got the problem fixed after a few days. With over 30 years of experience in improving sanitation, Shrestha was promoted last month as Deputy Director of the Urban Sanitation Markets at the <a href="https://www.gatesfoundation.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation</a> (BMGF).Shrestha is a leading authority in the field, and involved in the BMGF’s <a href="https://www.gatesfoundation.org/What-We-Do/Global-Growth-and-Opportunity/Water-Sanitation-and-Hygiene/Reinvent-the-Toilet-Challenge-and-Expo" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Reinvent the Toilet Challenge</a> that has scientists around the world competing for the best design of a new generation of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/toilet-trained/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">toilets</a> that do not use water, are cheap to install and easy to operate.Shrestha has been recognised for promoting water and sanitation projects in Nepal with his new responsibility at the BMGF, a philanthropic arm of the founder of Microsoft.Says environmental expert Bhushan Tuladhar: “Roshan is passionate about sanitation, and does not treat it as just another job. He has great commitment and perseverance. His success is well deserved and it is only fitting that the foundation has recognised it.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/getting-our-shit-together/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Getting our shit together</a>, EditorialThe Gates Foundation’s Brian Abrogast said of Shrestha’s promotion: “Roshan Shrestha has been the best ambassador the foundation could ask for, exuding respect and compassion while generating admiration – and impressive results.”The BMGF’s toilet challenge has prompted top scientists from China, India and other parts of the world to come up with innovative new designs, from solar-powered smart toilets that generate hydrogen and electricity to sanitation systems that convert human waste into biological charcoal, fuel gas, minerals and clean water.Shrestha had humble beginnings in a public school in Kathmandu before getting an MSc from Tribhuvan University in 1988. He worked in a water analysis laboratory to test the water in the Bagmati River. And later founded <a href="http://enpho.org/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Environment and Public Health Organisation</a> (ENPHO) that specialises in research and monitoring. Later, he got a PhD from a university in Austria in limnology, the study of inland water bodies. On his return, Shrestha successfully marketed the popular water purifier called Piyush.Shrestha went on to introduce Nepal’s first wetland system in Dhulikhel for small-scale wastewater treatment and reuse, and designed Nepal’s first faecal sludge treatment plant in Teku in 1998.“It was at this point that I realised that water quality would never improve without upgrading sanitation. At the root of water pollution is poorly managed sanitation,” said Shrestha, who then became involved in <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/dont-wait-for-melamchi-nepal,3765" target="_blank" rel="noopener">rainwater harvesting</a> and turned his residence into a model eco-home complete with urine diversion dry toilet.After a stint at UN HABITAT as a South Asia region technical adviser, he was convinced toilet technology had to be less water-intensive to improve sanitation in the developing countries. “We claim to have over 90% <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/getting-our-shit-together/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">latrine coverage in Nepal</a> but most structures do not meet required standards, and that is why we need a new breakthrough in toilets,” said Shrestha.The Gates Foundation has invested heavily in developing new  technologies that can destroy pathogens on site through faecal sludge management.“If a vast country like India can clean up its act, why can’t Nepal? All we need is political will and proactive leadership committed to improving sanitation,” adds Shrestha, whose foundation is currently developing a new course on sanitation at Kathmandu University, and working with Nepal Bureau of Standards on a new <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15235#.XHfVCMAzaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">toilet</a> standard.Here in Cape Town at the global conference he helped put together,  Shrestha says his goal is still to go back to Nepal: “I plan to head home, but after we have developed an adaptable technology for safer sanitation in developing countries so we can promote it in Nepal as well.”

Sonia Awale

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Toilet trained expert

<h4>As Nepal reaches the goal of sanitation for all, the next health challenge is to make latrines hygienic</h4>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeOw-x3Sp_E&amp;t=3sTill recently, across many parts of Nepal, where people defecated was a matter of life or death.Sidewalks and trails strewn with human excrement spread disease and contaminated drinking water. The main killer of children in Nepal used to be diarrhoeal dehydration.But in the past decade, the rapid spread of household latrines in Nepal is an internationally recognised success story. And it has saved the lives of many thousands of children who would otherwise have fallen victims to water-borne diseases like diarrhoea, typhoid and <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/%20jajarkot-open-defecation-free,2023" target="_blank" rel="noopener">cholera</a>.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/getting-our-shit-together/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Getting our shit together</a>, EditorialThere is an inverse correlation between the increase in the proportion of households with toilets and the decrease in child mortality. In 1980 only 2% of homes had toilets, that figure has jumped to 97% today. In the same period, Nepal’s under-five child mortality dived from 209 per 1,000 live births to below 35 today.“The achievement in health outcomes of household toilets, especially in reducing diarrhoea incidence in the last five years, has been dramatic,” said Siddhi Shrestha of UNICEF.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2b29c7e80680e033341jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="655"/>However, experts say just declaring a district open defection free does not mean it is -- access to water supply plays a critical role. In addition, the toilets need to be cleaned regularly to keep them hygienic. An evaluation found many latrines of substandard construction, not child or girl-friendly, many were located next to water sources, or were contaminating ground water. Open pits were buzzing with flies, which spread disease.Toilets in many schools and households were so dirty many students and villagers preferred to go out into the open.“Having a toilet in every household and declaring a district open defecation free is a major achievement. But having a toilet is different from using a toilet,” explained UN-HABITAT’s Bhushan Tuladhar.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/where-to-take-a-dump/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Where to take a dump?</a>, Bhushan TuladharBut as Nepal inches closer to the 100% household toilet target, another danger has already manifested itself: management of excreta that is overflowing out of pit latrines and septic tanks. There are only a handful of functioning faecal sludge treatment plants, even though emptying the sewage has become a booming business.“It is now time to think beyond the toilets,” said Bipin Dangol of Environment and Public Health Organisation (ENPHO). “Unless waste water and human excreta are safely disposed, we will continue to face health risks. The next step is to spread awareness about proper disposal of waste.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nature-calls/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nature calls</a>, Sonia Awale<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2b49c7e80680e033342jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="750" height="442">Toilets are now being thought of as part of a value chain system, starting from user interface, containment and transportation of the waste, followed by its treatment, disposal and safe reuse.The current toilet technology that involves flush tanks using drinking water is resource intensive, especially in Nepal’s cities which suffer a chronic water shortage. Engineers worldwide are experimenting with the next generation of toilet designs that allow excreta to be burnt and converted into valuable energy source. They also want the new prototypes to be affordable, work off-grid so that the poorest communities have access to safe sanitation solutions (read story below).Sanitation expert Doulaye Kone of the the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation was in Kathmandu recently for a meeting to approve a new standard ISO 30500 that set requirements for toilets of the future. They have to meet many criteria: destroy waste and kill pathogens, not use water or electricity, generate energy and water, cost less than Rs5 per use, and be easy to install and maintain.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vm_K5NvFpok“A new toilet that meets these standards will be a super vaccine,” he told Nepali Times in an interview. “A toilet is a health product so that people won’t have to suffer or die due to the lack of safe sanitation anymore.”A working model for a future breakthrough in Nepal's sanitation movement could be a new facility at an orphanage in Lubhu, which treats household effluent, turning it into methane gas, fertiliser and water for the kitchen and vegetable garden.Sanitation engineer Reetu Rajbhandari (pictured below at the Lubhu treatment plant) at ENPHO says the system is still expensive, and there are challenges of location.But she added: “This is an ideal solution for waste collection, disposal, treatment and recycling when everyone has a toilet. Future research needs to go into making it more affordable.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2b69c7e80680e033343jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="789"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><h2>Waste not, want not</h2>Nepal solved one problem, and created another. After a successful campaign against open defecation, 97% of households in Nepal now have latrines. But what to do with the waste that has accumulated in the pits and sewage?To solve the growing problem, the Ministry of Water Supply and Sanitation passed the Faecal Sludge Management (FSM) framework for the collection, transport, treatment and disposal of waste in urban areas. For Kathmandu Valley, this will go hand-in-hand with the government’s plan to free the Bagmati of sewage by 2020.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2b99c7e80680e033344jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1200" height="802"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>A first-of-its-kind project at an orphanage in Lubhu (pictured above) outside Lalitpur gives a glimpse of how it would work. Septic tank waste is collected from households that pay for the service, transported to the treatment plant to be turned into fertiliser, methane gas and water.The plant (right) was originally set up to treat waste at shelters after the 2015 earthquake by the German organisation BORDA, Environment and Public Health Organisation (ENPHO), and Saligram Bal Griha. A similar faecal sludge treatment plant has been built in Bardia.The system treats six cubic metres of sewage per week, with separate solid and liquid units. It takes three days for the sludge to be treated and the water reused for irrigation. The rest flows into a digester to generate biogas, and the effluent takes 12 days to dry into odourless fertiliser.Vegetables thrive in the nutrient-rich waste, and are enough to feed all 42 children and staff in the orphanage. Extra greens are sold in the market.“We didn’t have sufficient water to farm in the past, now we can grow our own food, and cook in gas from treated human waste,” says caretaker Surya Prasad Ghimire. With a price tag of Rs7 million, the only downside for now is the cost, but that is because it is a prototype.When biogas first spread in Nepal 40 years ago, users were squeamish about allowing latrine waste to flow into the digester along with cowdung. By now there are 400,000 household biogas plants in Nepal, and nearly a third of them process both animal and human waste. In addition, 100 Police stations, Army bases and jails use human waste to generate gas for their kitchens.Explains Prakash Aryal of the Alternative Energy Promotion Centre (AEPC): “There used to be a taboo about linking toilets with biogas, but it is now easier to convince people due to the rise in awareness.”<h2>Here come the smart toilets</h2><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2bc9c7e80680e033345jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="400"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In the last 200 years, humans have sent rockets to Jupiter, the Internet has transformed communication, the Human Genome Project has mapped the chromosomes. Yet in that time, toilets have remained the same.Social taboos about defecation have stymied toilet technology from evolving beyond the ceramic water closet that allowed loos to be located inside homes. Aside from some automation and digital spray control, toilet technology has remained unchanged for two centuries.Finally in 2011, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation launched the Reinvent the Toilet Challenge to provide safe and affordable sanitation solutions to 2.5 billion people worldwide who don’t have access to toilets. The idea was to stop open defecation with a cheap alternative that would also prevent the spread of infections.The Foundation’s specification was to re-invent the toilet that would destroy the pathogens in human waste, convert it into energy, and not need to be connected to the sewage, water, or electricity grids. And, oh yes, it should also cost less than $0.5 cents per user per day and be suitable for urban poor and rural settings.Many companies have joined the competition with ideas like: a solar-powered toilet that generates hydrogen and electricity, sanitation systems that convert human waste into biological charcoal, fuel gas, minerals and clean water. The challenge has gained momentum in India and China where engineers are coming up with innovative new technologies.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2be9c7e80680e033346jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="429"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Last week, 120 experts from 33 countries were in Kathmandu (pictured above) to brainstorm on sustainable non-sewered sanitation systems, and approved a new standard ISO 30500 that set the requirement for toilets for the Third World that are safe, cheap and don’t need water.“Toilets today do not work. We need a system that kills pathogens, runs off the grid, and is affordable. A structure that can operate without existing infrastructure and reach marginalised communities,” explained Doulaye Kone (pictured below), sanitation expert at the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.The Challenge is literally a challenge. What engineers have come up with so far are contraptions ranging from what look like mini nuclear reactors to glorified pit latrines.Kone says what the Foundation is looking for are appliances that will outwardly appear no different from existing toilets, but will be standalone structures with no sewers, and can convert waste into clean water and energy. Cost, maintenance and social acceptance will be the main hurdles to be overcome.Manufacturers are ready to bring some of the new inventions into the market, but the ones so far are still expensive. Kone argues that while the prototypes may be expensive and will target urban dwellers, mass production of a viable business model will eventually take it to the poorest.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221107111148/6368e2c19c7e80680e033347jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="578"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“This is innovative technology that allows for on-site treatment and produces minimum waste, while producing pathogen free water,” says Bipin Dangol of Environment and Public Health Organisation (ENPHO). “Its capital investment might be large, but we have a good financial mechanism and social marketing. We just need to convince people that this system will be good for the health of their families.”

Toilet trained

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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Toilet trained expert

Toilet trained

Sky is the limit

Nepal’s AI-generated election

Time, transience, transition

Nepal’s slow grammar of democracy