<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70439c7e80680e06006cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photos : JOSIE WANG</figcaption></figure>Standing in his field on the outskirts of Pokhara and below the dazzling snows of the Annapurna mountains, Xiang Shaohua points to peach saplings in his orchard.The seedlings were sent to him by his son and daughter who are studying back home in China. And just like Xiang himself, the peach are striking roots in Nepal’s soil.Xiang first came to Nepal 10 years ago as a tourist, travelled to Pokhara and was so mesmerised by the place and people here that he never left.Today, he rents 2 hectares of farm and is growing lettuce, cauliflower and fruits commercially to sell to the market and restaurants in the lakeside tourist town. He also works as a subcontractor at Pokhara airport, and at other infrastructure projects.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/miyahara-san-a-life-devoted-to-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Miyahara-san: a life devoted to Nepal,</a> Kunda Dixit“In the beginning, it was only supposed to be for three years, and if it did not work out, I planned to go back to China,” Xiang recalls. “It has not all been smooth sailing, but it has been worth it.”Xiang now has his father and wife helping out at the farm. The fact that he came from a farming family back in Sichuan where the climate and soil are similar to Nepal, has been helpful.Xiang says his most challenging period was during the 2015 blockade, when supplies were scarce. He felt like quitting, but realised he had greater responsibilities.“Actually, I could have left, but that would have meant that my Nepali employees would be out of their jobs,” recalls 32-year-old Xiang, who speaks Nepali with a distinct Pokhara lilt and considers himself “half Nepali”. Everyone here knows him by his Nepali nickname, Sandesh, and some call him China’s “non-governmental ambassador” to Nepal.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/from-liz-hawley-in-kathmandu/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">From Liz Hawley in Kathmandu</a>, Kunda DixitHis Nepali side was heartbroken to see the destruction after <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/photos-nepal-earthquake-2015,2207" target="_blank" rel="noopener">the 2015 earthquake</a>, and reminded him of the deadly Sichuan earthquake of 2008. He and some other Chinese from Pokhara set up a rescue team and headed off to <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/kundadixit/2015/11/26/winter-emergency-for-quake-survivors/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Gorkha</a> to dig among the ruins with their bare hands and shovels to rescue people.While tens of thousands of youth from Pokhara have migrated to the Gulf or Malaysia for work, Xiang is proof that there is plenty to do in Nepal itself, and it is possible to prosper if one is prepared for hard work.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70469c7e80680e06006djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000">“Farming is very labour intensive, and I notice that most educated young Nepalis are unwilling to do it,” says Xiang, who recalls the first time he came to Pokhara and noticed that farm productivity could be easily improved. That is when he saw an opportunity to put some of his own farming experience to good use, and stayed. Now, Xiang regards Nepal as his second home, and his Nepali neighbours regard the cheerful Nepali-speaking Chinese as a Nepali too.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/uncategorized/goodbye-jan-and-christine-2018/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodbye Jan and Christine</a>“I know Nepal. I know what Nepalis need. At the same time, I can communicate with Chinese enterprises to know what they want, and I can be a good go-between,” says Xiang.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/pokhara-nepals-new-aviation-gateway/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">With the new airport</a>, and Chinese contractors working on various hydropower projects in Central Nepal, Xiang sees lots of opportunity for mutual learning between Nepali and Chinese people.Xiang is not interested in making the quick buck, and says: “I would rather do something I like doing even if I do not make money for a while.”Farming is not that profitable, but it is a passion and he enjoys growing food among people he likes, and in a land he calls his second home.In his office, a poster on the wall in Mandarin characters says: ‘Remain true to your aspiration’. Xiang appears to follow his motto to the letter. And as he starts his second decade in Nepal, Xiang wants to make the best of his life in Pokhara.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4163#.XhbhGVUzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">We'll stay</a>, Ramyata Limbu

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Chinese farmer strikes roots in Nepal

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181144/636a95a09c7e80680e05dc1ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Photos: NARESH NEWAR</figcaption></figure>Farm entrepreneur Bishnu Bhujel did everything to not be a farmer like his parents in Sarlahi. Subsistence agriculture had ruined them, so they could not even send their children to school.Bishnu migrated to India for work when he turned 20 so he could support the education of his young siblings. He worked as a carpet machine operator in Banaras, a mechanic in a furniture factory in Rajasthan, and then repaired diesel generators for a living.Confident of his hands-on technical skills, Bishnu returned to Nepal to start his own furniture shop in Kathmandu. But running a business was tougher than he expected — operating costs were high due to long power cuts, staff salaries and high rent, and the furniture market was highly competitive. Profits were marginal and Bishnu lost all his savings.He then joined a local handicraft factory, where he made wooden buttons for shirts and tools for singing bowls. The salary was so low he could not even afford rent, so he started a bicycle shop, bought a taxi and ran a vegetable store. But after piling up debts, he sold all his businesses.Desperate, Bishnu decided to go back to farming as a last resort, even though he knew the pitfalls. “It was risky. We had heard stories of how small farmers struggled, but we went ahead because we had run out of options,” recalls Bishnu, now 49. He scouted around Kathmandu Valley and finally found an unused farm in Jharuwarasi, 20km outside the Ring Road in Thaiba Municpality. He and his wife Sanu leased 0.3 hectares of it for Rs100,000 a year.Read Also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/back-to-the-land" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Back to the land,</a> Sonia Awale<a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-cycle-of-migration,3230" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The cycle of migration,</a> Om Astha, RaiThey first built a small tin house and tomato greenhouses. But the 2015 earthquake struck, and there was no irrigation and no electricity. “All we had were candles and the moon for light — and this was just a few kilometres from Kathmandu,” Sanu recalls.“Sanu and I are hard-working, and we were forced to be creative to survive.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181144/636a95a39c7e80680e05dc1bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="471"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>This was a big test for both of us,” says Bishnu, who then lobbied endlessly with the local ward office to get the electricity they needed to pump water for irrigation. Today, the family has electricity, a sufficient supply of water and a dirt road, which they built themselves so buyers have access to their vegetables.“Finally, it has worked. We are not rich but we have now enough income to sustain our lives, educate our children and have a decent life,” says Bishnu, whose family also opened a small grocery to generate additional income.The success of the Bhujels has been an inspiration to many local residents, a majority of whom are not using their land for commercial farming but prefer to lease it to migrant families.Bishnu notes the irony of it all: “I abandoned farming, but it is farming that has saved my family from poverty.”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LB1CvIEhkr0&amp;feature=youtu.beLast year, the family was able to earn Rs400,000 from the tomato patch, double the initial investment. “Farming can be profitable, but you need patience and hard work. It takes time but it is well worth it,” explains Bishnu, who hopes more Nepalis will choose to remain in the country rather than migrate to toil in the desert, far away from home.Sanu agrees: “The young generation is restless, and wants to make quick cash. They need to be entrepreneurial so that they don’t have to migrate abroad and suffer hardship and financial risks.”Journalist-turned-farmer Naresh Newar is starting this fortnightly multimedia column, Made in Nepal, in Nepali Times with this first instalment. The columns will deal with success stories of small entrepreneurs in Nepal.Read Also:<a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Recharging-the-mountains,3465" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Recharging the mountains,</a> Sonia Awale<a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Cross-Cutting/returning-migrants-bring-back-positive-social-norms-skills,356" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Remitting knowhow,</a> Ashutosh Tiwari<a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/farmers-in-Surkhet-save-water-boost-harvests,2132" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Smart farmers practice smart farming,</a> Stéphane Huët

Migrant worker finds farming in Nepal more rewarding

https://youtu.be/7ai0bu0OtrwThere is something inherently elitist about labels like ‘expat’ and ‘diaspora’. They refer to skilled Nepalis studying, working or living abroad and not to the hundreds of thousands of migrant workers when, in fact, both are just individuals moving out for better opportunities.But Nepal’s migrant economy has also opened up new business prospects, as Kalyan Ghimire discovered. It was during a trip to Qatar to organise a musical event for Nepalis that he saw a market for ‘nostalgic products’ like dalle khursani and gundruk among the 400,000 Nepalis in Qatar.“On one hand, I saw Qatar’s reliance on imports of vegetables, especially after the embargo, with a high share of Nepalis as the consumers of these imports,” Ghimire explained. “On the other hand, farmers in Nepal were destroying produce using dozers to protest low prices.”Although he had little experience in the trade, Ghimire set out on a mission to play the role of a link by establishing Al Saman International. His business intuition told him Nepali migrant workers could be customers, marketers and advisers. Nepalis work in just about every sector in Qatar, and through them he was able to establish networks with higher-ups who make procurement decisions.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/dead-end-of-the-korean-dream/">Dead end of the Korean Dream</a>, Ki MindoGhimire’s son Saman is based in Qatar and now in charge of marketing Nepali produce. He says: “Nepali workers were reluctant in the beginning to believe that it was do-able. But once they saw the possibility, they are doing everything to help us.”It required just the first few orders for the business to take off. Nepalis were the biggest consumers and helped spread the word. A wave of selfies by migrant workers next to ‘Nepali Vegetables’ signs proliferated on social media. The red hot dalle khursani chillies have been a particular hit, including among Pakistanis.“Word of mouth and social media did wonders in expanding our consumer base,” says Saman Ghimire, who adds that Nepalis working in supermarkets go out of their way to help spread the word. “A Nepali bhai in one mart even changed the placement of our vegetables as he thought they were not visible enough.”Ghimire’s Facebook account now resembles review websites like Yelp. Workers send unsolicited reviews and advice. One of them reads in Nepali: “I was at the Able mart the other day where special vegetables from India and Bangladesh were being sold. There was a huge crowd of buyers there, including Nepalis. I recommend you to explore this possibility.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/us-ban-on-malaysian-glove-exporter-affects-nepalis/">US ban on Malaysian glove exporter affects Nepalis</a>, Upasana Khadka<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141156/636a606d9c7e80680e056e7cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1084"/>Recently, Qataris were spotted buying gundruk in Ghimire’s partner store in Doha, Fresh Food Mart. With many Nepalis working as cooks, their employers seem to have developed a taste for the fermented Nepali dish as well.The company has streamlined a supply chain to fly consignments of fresh Nepali veggies to Doha every Wednesday and Sunday. The seven markets place their orders a day or two before. Back in Nepal, farmers bring their produce to a collection point in Satdobato early morning on shipment day.The produce is graded, packaged and sent to the airport quarantine office, then put into the cargo holds of flights to Qatar. A team at Doha airport receives the shipments and dispatches them to market. This Wednesday orders were placed for 1,900kg of fiddleheads, chillies, radish, French beans and bamboo shoots.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/migrants-abroad-left-in-lurch/">Migrants abroad left in lurch</a>, Nepali TimesThere have been hiccups along the way. For example, there is a big demand for coriander and mustard leaves, but they have a short shelf-life and attempts to export them have not worked out.One big challenge is the cost of air freight, which puts Nepali produce at a price disadvantage compared to items from India, Bangladesh and Pakistan. The government could help by setting a lower rate for perishables in the cargo holds of Doha-bound aircraft.For now, the father-and-son team is trying to consolidate the business, make supplies reliable and fresh for current customers. Says Saman Ghimire: “If we can ensure the guaranteed supply of vegetables, demand is not a problem.”The Ghimires also have their eyes on FIFA 2022, when they expect demand to grow. They are also hoping to branch out into exporting bottled water and t-shirts for the World Cup games.Says Kalyan Ghimire: “There is potential for so much more economic activity beyond labour migration. Returnees can also play an important role in expanding their horizons in the Gulf and Malaysia.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/success-in-nepal-means-not-having-to-work/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Success in Nepal means not having to work</a>, Anil Chitrakar<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141156/636a606f9c7e80680e056e7djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><h2>US ban on Malaysian glove exporter affects Nepalis</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141156/636a60729c7e80680e056e7ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="500">The suspension of exports from Malaysia-based WRP Asia Pacific, a glove manufacturer, by the US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) Detention Orders this month has been hailed as a milestone in the fight against forced labour and has potential implications for Nepali workers in Malaysia.WRP Asia Pacific was accused of using forced labour at its plants in Malaysia, and the order has reverberated throughout the rubber sector, which accounts for 65% of the global glove industry.The company made headlines recently after a strike by over 2,000 Nepali and Bangladeshi workers, who said they had not been paid for months.“We held a strike for two days, and resumed work only after our Embassy intervened and the employer was forced to pay due wages.We have been paid in a timely manner since then, but we don’t know how the ban will affect our future,” said Dipak Rai, a Nepali worker.The media reports led Malaysia’s Ministry of Human Resource to file a court case against WRP Asia Pacific. The US move is as per its Trade Facilitation and Trade Enforcement Act, which makes imports produced by forced labour illegal.Other countries also have laws for due diligence in global supply chains, like the French Corporate Duty of Vigilance Bill or the UK’s Modern Slavery Act, holding parent companies liable for activities of subcontractors and suppliers.The CBP order has also halted imports from four other countries: China (garments), Brazil (bone charcoal), Democratic Republic of Congo (gold) and Zimbabwe (diamonds).It is difficult for the Nepal Government to unilaterally lobby or watch-dog destination countries outside its jurisdiction to ensure compliance of labour standards in ‘dangerous, dirty and difficult’ jobs Nepalis do. Given that migrant workers do not have freedom of association in many destination countries, collective bargaining is not always possible.The Nepal Government has tried to bypass the limitations by requiring Nepal-based recruitment agencies to be held accountable for non-compliance of contractual terms by a foreign employer. Licensed recruiters now have to contribute to escrow deposits so workers are compensated in case of exploitation.Malaysia is now proposing a new chapter on forced labour in its Employment Act, and pushing companies to conduct social audits, which they have so far been reluctant to do. A case like the WRP one can push for tangible outcomes for the welfare of often-overlooked workers, and could set a precedent for systemic reforms in labour migration.Upasana KhadkaSome names have been changed.

Upasana Khadka

Greens from Nepal in Qatar’s desert

<img width="2480" height="1753" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141148/636a5edf9c7e80680e056df2jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>Vidyadutt Sharma, 83, stands in front of his blue-tinted two storey home, looking out into a 360 panorama of the Himalayan mountains. This is Moti Bagh, Sharma’s farm in Pauri district of the Indian state of Uttarakhand. Tall, with an aquiline nose, white hair cropped close to his scalp and rugged features, weathered by work in the farm, Sharma in kurta pyjama and vest, points to the abandoned homes and locked gates. These are the ‘ghost villages’ where inhabitants have migrated permanently. “The mountains are dying,” says Sharma, who worked for the state government and resigned when he was 28. There is a photo of him with a fierce beard, which he grew in protest to get high school status for the village school. Now, it is an Inter College, he says proudly. Another family photo with his wife and four children, two daughters and two sons, one who died young. His wife died in 2000. “She kept us all together and whatever status I have today is because of her,” he says. Sharma (pictured right) ploughs his land with oxen, plants seeds, hauls his own water and chops wood. He sings while sowing seeds of monkeys and langoors who pick and destroy the crops, the wild boars, cows, parrots, jackals, porcupines. In 2019 Sharma’s record breaking 22.75 kg radish won a national award and made him famous. Cooking a vegetable dish over a wood fire he says ‘upper’ caste people have left the villages and abandoned farming. The ‘lower’ castes do all the work. With the demise of farming, producers are now consumers, people want to work with the mind, not hands, scared of physical labour, he says.“It’s easy to write books, but the challenge is to make a tomato seed grow,” Sharma adds.Consolidated fragmented farms would make agriculture more productive. The farms were rainfed, and when in 1976 Sharma started rainwater harvesting the villagers laughed at him. <img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141148/636a5ee29c7e80680e056df3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="2000">Pauri town is 35 kilometres from Moti Bagh and built up in concrete like most hill towns. Tribhuvan Uniyal, Sharma’s journalist son, lives here with his wife and two children. Will they farm? His daughter wants to do fashion design. In a trip to Pauri town to meet the Regional Transport Officer (RTO), Sharma protests about the re-routing of buses in their village. The bus contractor tells the RTO on the phone that there are not enough passengers on rural routes anymore. Get the buses back on the usual routes, orders the RTO. With locals having migrated, most farmhands here are from Nepal. Helping Sharma on his farm is Ram Singh, who came here from western Nepal 18 years ago and never left. He is happy the children got to go to school, he has savings to send back to the larger family back home.“Locals are jealous of me,” Ram Singh says with a toothy smile. When he first came, he and his family were called names and told to go back to Nepal. Now, he says, he is accepted. “I will have to return to Nepal one day or, maybe we will be made to go back,” he says.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108141148/636a5ee69c7e80680e056df4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="1280">Director Nirmal Chander Dandriyal (pictured left) is himself from Uttarakhand and his sensitivity to his protagonists shines through the film. He was born in Chennai, but began travelling to Uttarakhand more frequently around 2011. Seeing migration as a central issue interconnected to others, he felt it could be a theme for a film. But, how to tell the story?  Migration was not a new issue. But while it is seasonal in other states, in Uttarakhand it is permanent.So, Moti Bagh became the location, a microcosm to the big picture. The story unfolds through the characters, without hectoring, lecturing, or a voice over of gloom and doom. The characters in the film are fresh and rooted in the environment. Supported by India’s Public Broadcasting Service Trust (PBST) and Prasar Bharati, Chander was able to shoot in different seasons, various stages of cultivation, and events such as marriages and wildfires. Chander’s rhythms changed and informed the way he shot. He let it flow. The cycles and pace of life quietened him. He found peace.Moti Bagh has been picked as an entry for the oscars and will be screened at the South Asian Documentary Film Festival in November in Kathmandu.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHfTKPUBY1gMoti Bagh, 201960 minHindi

Moti Bagh

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

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

New vs New in Nepal

The dawn air in Muktikot is dewy as the sun sets over the horizon in the mountains of western Nepal. A sad farewell song drifts across the village from a mud plastered house.&nbsp; Rani BK sings a half melody, half lament: “I feel like my own hands are being cut off as you leave.” She is bidding farewell to her youngest brother, 37-year-old Ranne, his wife Akashe. They are going to Bangalore in India to find work. Neighbours gather quietly in the gathering light, some wiping their eyes, others joining in song. “Please, don’t cry,” Ranne says softly. “These tears will haunt us on the journey.” Migration is not new to Muktikot, but the tears are. For decades, nearly every household here has sent its men to India every winter to work. They return in spring to plant their crops.&nbsp; What is new is that women like Akashe BK are now also going, and for longer periods. The couple is leaving their two of their children behind, and will be away for at least five years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260203130224_f8d2d5980da1f3c1e22944003969d64cffd10f280c523ab207f983ef42b4cb9b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Daughter and son left behind with Rani BK after departure.</figcaption> </figure>  Ranne has been a daily wage labourer since he was 17, moving across Nepal and different parts of northern India. This journey is different — it will be to southern India.&nbsp; He had borrowed Rs50,000 from a local lender to cover the travel cost, hoping to recoup it from his earnings as a security guard. Aakashe plans to work as a household helper.&nbsp; “We would not go if we have a choice,” Aakase says quietly, her eyes fixed on “We are forced to leave our children. We cannot afford to educate them, there is little to eat here, no water, no work, no electricity.” Their daughter Sitala, 12, and son Dipson, 10, put auspicious red tika on their parents’ foreheads. Aakase sobs as she asks relatives to look after their children and their house.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260203130224_a6316df8ff8a7f95d963396f2a01a7549dca3dcc1ac0364763eecd9f29b7bed7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Departure of Ranne BK.</figcaption> </figure>  “We may return by the time you finish school,” Ranne tells Sitala, who is in Grade 6. Sitala stands forlorn by herself, not saying anything. Across Muktikot, women who once stayed back to raise children and manage households now join their husbands in India to support families in these remote mountains of western Nepal.&nbsp; Unnati BK, 30, and her husband Barune BK decided to migrate to India after their home was damaged by landslides in 2021 and the family was nearly killed. The arid farms did not produce enough food as rains failed. “Nothing grows here,” says Unnati, who is also leaving for Bangalore with her husband, along with Ranne and Akashe.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260203130228_50db0f2d1827584bc9aa6d19d7d79b385ea1211192ccfc1f1147b245c941912e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Unnati BK</figcaption> </figure>  After 54 families lost their homes in landslides four years ago, the district administration has set aside Rs500,000 for families including Unnati and Barune. But although nearly complete, they have received only Rs175,000 each. Unnati had realised and told her husband that if they stayed in the village, their sorrows would multiply. So they planned to leave, hoping that a little extra hardship in India would allow them to pay for the education of their three children, who are 11, eight, and six years old. “We chose Bangalore because relatives told us it is easy to find jobs there for both men and women,” Barune says. They plan to leave their children with Unnati’s parents for now, and later send them 250km away to Kailali to attend school.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260203130228_3ee37136e936fe7dba7d1320452c83a17f08805663a7cbb4b6efa986c79147ed" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Landslide four years ago caused 54 families to lose their homes.</figcaption> </figure>  More than 75 couples from 350 households in Muktikot have left for cities like Mumbai and Bangalore in the past three years alone, leaving behind their children either with their in-laws or in the Tarai cities where they go to school. Ajay Kumar BK, chair of the rural municipality of Muktikot says, “There is a clear intention to leave the village altogether.” &nbsp; Diksha BK, 25, has three sons aged six, three, and one. Her husband Dhirjan works in Surkhet. She and her husband have given up on Muktikot, saying they see no future there. DISASTER-PRONE Muktikot is populated mostly by Dalit families, and used to be named Dumkot after a derogatory term used by higher caste people for Dalits. During the Maoist conflict, many Dalit boys joined the guerrillas and the rebels renamed it Muktikot, meaning ‘freedom’.&nbsp; The village clings to a steep mountain flank wrinkled with rain-fed farm terraces. Many of the men who have left for India have never come back, and now even the women are leaving. The 2020 Disaster Preparedness and Response Plan of Bajura identifies Muktikot as a disaster-prone area, making its rain-fed agriculture vulnerable to droughts. The denuded slopes above are at risk of landslides.&nbsp; The 2021 International Migration in Nepal report counted 13,482 people migrating to India from Bajura alone that year. There are an estimated 3.5 million Nepalis living and working in Nepal — mostly from the western mountains.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260203130228_df4f333c7a5bc0b0a7fd75ae6c2e9f02444a097fc5b13c24dc61a276ea6ac3ff" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Houses being built under resettlement plan.</figcaption> </figure>  National Environment and Equity Development Society (NEEDS) Nepal found that 70% of households in Sudhurpaschim Province have had at least one member migrating to India at some point in their lives. “Female migration used to be low, but there is now an observable trend of women migrating for work from Sudhurpaschim,” says Prakash Madai of NEEDS Nepal. However, anthropologist Jeevan R Sharma says female migration is not new, what is different is the scale and duration of women migrants. Increasing demand for part-time household help in India makes it a pull-factor for Nepali women from the rural west to enter the informal workforce. “Women used to go only when opportunities arose, working for half a year to maximum two years, and frequently going back and forth,” says Sharma. “The potential rise is likely due to the need for greater income driven by rising cash-based expenses for health, education, food, and purchase of consumer goods.” COST OF LEAVING “Previously people struggled for basic needs, and we did not have the money or the roads to travel to Kathmandu, which is why most people went to India for manual work,” says Kartik Kami, 60, of the rural municipality. “Migration trends have changed because both men and women can make money washing, cooking, and cleaning in cities. Soon, there will be no one to conduct weddings or funerals, only children will remain.” While women from other parts of Nepal began participating in foreign employment three decades ago, women from traditional Sudurpaschim families are only now venturing into the Indian labour market. “This surge is filling a labour vacuum in India created when its domestic migrants shifted their focus to Gulf countries,” explains historian Yadab Devkota. Yet, research paints a social cost. A 2020 study found that children of migrant parents suffer loneliness and neglect due to the absence of parental care and love. Children fall back in studies, and girl children are burdened with excessive workload managing the household and siblings.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260203130232_e1e02cd082e7cbb77243103b2197fd1dfca75531bb9d6f518763afccb9ed452c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Sitala BK, daughter of Ranne and Aakashe.</figcaption> </figure>  The emotional toll is manifested in anxiety, stress, depression, and in some cases, suicide, especially for those whose mothers have migrated.&nbsp; “The significant shift towards couple migration is driven by families making difficult and high-cost decisions in the hopes of breaking the cycle of poverty,” says Arjun Kharel at the Centre for the Study of Labour and Mobility (CESLAM ). “Migration remains primarily a strategy for subsistence rather than development, it is a calculated family decision made in the absence of local opportunities.” Migration to India remains largely invisible to the Nepal government. The country’s foreign employment framework does not extend to migrants going to India. And because they travel through the open border, they are not regulated by formal systems.&nbsp; There is no accurate count of how many Nepalis are working in India, or of Indians in Nepal. According to the Indian Population and Housing Census, there are 600,000 Nepalis working in India, but this is a gross underestimation.&nbsp; A study by Aapti Institute describes Nepali migrants in India as ‘liminal’ neither fully protected as citizens nor recognised as foreigners there, exposing them to exploitation and risk.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260203130232_14a613729f6ebb1db0bec63032cc78abe3087341680b2f88bc0ab4456621b012" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1067" loading="lazy" alt="women migrating"> <figcaption>Ranne and Aakashe's last night at home.</figcaption> </figure>  “Nepali migrants in India are not covered by compensation if they fall sick and or if die, unlike migrants to other overseas destinations who can receive compensation of up to Rs700,000,” notes labour migration expert Saru Joshi. The recent draft National Labour Migration Policy 2025 of the Ministry of Labour, Employment, and Social Security offers a flicker of hope for migrants to India with provisions for welfare, social security, and mental health support for families left behind. The draft also mandates better data collection of the movement of people.&nbsp; It is unlikely that these initiatives will make any difference to the people who remain in Muktikot. Many like Ranne and Akashe are likely to go to India for work. “If I had only two or three children, I would take my wife to India too,” says Jaya BK, 46. But he has seven children, including newborn twins, whom he has stayed behind to help his wife look after this time, rather than leaving for Uttarakhand in winter like he usually does.&nbsp; With the support of Internews' Earth Journalism Network.

Mass migration from Muktikot

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