<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636baced9c7e80680e077f60jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>A milieu-matching restaurant on Freak Street from Desmond Doig’s book My Kind of Kathmandu.</figcaption></figure>Perhaps it’s the reflective, introspective mood brought on by the lockdown, or the re-examination of history as we seek to define Nepal’s border limits, but the media has recently seen considerable nostalgic chatter about the distant days when <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-gangster-of-love/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-gangster-of-love/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594612316531000&amp;usg=AFQjCNHRPD2GXfM-mgsEKKzI-MEOmlNgvw">Kathmandu was a hippie haven.</a>The freedom of the well-worn Hippie Trail of the early 1970s, overland from Istanbul to Kathmandu, seems unimaginable in today’s world of COVID-19 travel restrictions – during this pandemic we can only dream of the joys of the open road.From the mid-1960s, hordes of hippies in search of Shangri-La bussed or hitchhiked through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India before culminating in our Valley paradise, the end of the road. They came in tens of thousands pursuing enlightenment, preaching peace, finding themselves, escaping conformity, defying convention or fleeing the Draft, packed into gaudily-painted combis, busses and trucks resonating with Bob Dylan and Van Morrison.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-grass-is-greener-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Grass is greener in Nepal</a>, Sonia Awale<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/clothed-in-cannabis/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Clothed in cannabis</a>, Pema SherpaConstrained by centuries of insecurity and conflict, the turbulent regimes along their overland route learned little from their legacy, persisting in more war than peace, more hate than love. Coinciding with the Haight-Ashbury movement, the respite in hostilities presented a brief window of opportunity. Seldom has this section of the Silk Road been safe for travellers to transit since Marco Polo passed this way, protected by the Mongol Khan’s engraved tablet laissez passez.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bacf19c7e80680e077f61jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Back in London, the ebullient <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tony.jones.77312477" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.facebook.com/tony.jones.77312477&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594612316532000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEIPvciE8HtjuhYtJN5Oig4vOX_dw">Tony Jones</a> was one of the first to capitalise on the trend, organising truckloads of punters to drive to Kathmandu in his specially converted Encounter Overland vehicles. Keen to know more, one spring morning over a decade ago, I sat on a yellow cushioned cane chair in the garden of a dilapidated homestead just outside Nuwakot. The neat rows of vegetables and ranks of blossoming fruit trees in the orchard reflected Tony’s British army background.Long since settled in Pokhara, Tony was in the process of rebuilding what became the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/buzz-drive-through-nepal-dasain,746" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/buzz-drive-through-nepal-dasain,746&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594612316532000&amp;usg=AFQjCNG3I2HbjDFnVysMk6Nm211g_wEg_g">Famous Farm</a>, twinned with his game-changing Old Inn which he had cleverly and carefully restored in the centre of Bandipur, the original inspiration of the tourist rehabilitation of that by-passed Newar trading town. Tony and his team pioneered rural heritage accommodation in historic village houses.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/feeling-groovy" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Feeling groovy</a>, Lucia de Vries<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/So-far-so-good/the-hippie-era-in-kathmandu,837" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The unsuccessful hippie</a>, Lisa Choegyal“There’s a good chap, do get a move on, chito chito!” Tony Jones was hanging off a carved balcony of the rambling Newar farmhouse, waving his hammer and yelling at Laxman who laboured up the narrow staircase under a pile of wooden planks. Grinning, Laxman dumped them noisily on the exposed beams at Tony’s feet. Together, they laid and nailed them into place. Puffing with exertion, Tony continued to mutter in Nepali interspersed with English cockney expletives.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bacf39c7e80680e077f62jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1082" height="754">[caption id="attachment_50470" align="alignnone" width="1082"]<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bacf59c7e80680e077f63jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1082" height="796"> The Famous Farm was conceived and restored by Tony Jones in an old homestead outside Nuwakot. Photos: THE FAMOUS FARMDistracted by the hammering but enjoying the banter, his wife and I shared a companionable pot of tea. I wanted to know more about managing the logistics of those unique overland operations, plus Rinchen was planning a big drive from UK to Mongolia in a beat-up old car.“Two pieces of advice for your son driving to Ulaanbaatar. First is be careful not to cross the Thames too many times as you leave London – most of my drivers got lost on their way to Folkstone before even reaching the English Channel!” Tony has a deep deprecating laugh, his eyes glazing as he remembered those far off days despatching truckloads of eager overlanders.“And never be the last in a convoy of vehicles! Fatal.” Which is exactly what happened to Rinchen when his engine flooded going through a river on the edge of the Gobi Desert and he sat powerless and increasingly desperate whilst his mates disappeared over the sandy horizon – but that’s another story.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/hippinis/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Hippinis</a>, Lucia de Vries<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/freak-me-out/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Freak me out!</a>, Marty LoganThe Hippie Trail’s terminus was <a href="https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/feeling-groovy" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/feeling-groovy&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594612316532000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEYph3yiqQWjLMwxU3SYVMDZpMP7w">Jhochen, Freak Street</a> and I arrived there from the opposite direction towards the end of their era in March 1974. Have travelled from Bali by train through Malaysia and Thailand, my first glimpse of the then-emerald Valley was through the grimy windows of a United Burma Airways plane from Yangon. As we circled over the rice terraces, the afternoon sun glinted off the golden spires of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/circumambulating-with-swayambhu-billy,2193" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/circumambulating-with-swayambhu-billy,2193&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594612316532000&amp;usg=AFQjCNGpXV9XSuoiwl5CWeXAEWRisLK0vw">Swayambhu</a> and the white dome of Bodnath flashed beneath us.The long-haired, beaded, colourfully-clad, chillum-toting hippies thronging the medieval streets of Basantapur when I first arrived in Kathmandu were no doubt free spirits, dropping out and hanging loose. Joints were rolled openly on table tops, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-grass-is-greener-in-nepal/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-grass-is-greener-in-nepal/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594612316532000&amp;usg=AFQjCNEfvZdZiu-dZXiGinxGPp1pxaq0VA">ganja was legal</a> and hashish-laced cookies featured on menus in the cafes, restaurants and pie shops blaring western music that had flourished to cater to their alternative needs.More interested in getting high and higher trekking than tripping, I soon grew impatient with the smoke-blurred far-out cross-legged posturing, checked out of my six-rupee a night City Lodge, and headed for the hills.But it is simplistic and misleading to say hippies came to Nepal only for the dope. They were also tuned in to the chilled Himalayan hospitality, timeless culture, spiritual vibes, temple bells, chanting monks and exotic mountain mystery that the remote Kingdom offered in spades. They perched picturesque on the pyramid steps to witness Newar festivals and religious ceremonies, admired rooftop sunsets on the pink peaks, and pottered the streets amidst the ancient rituals of daily worship.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bacf79c7e80680e077f64jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1498" height="1006"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bacfa9c7e80680e077f65jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="886" height="761">Between the cycle rickshaws, tiger taxis, lounging bulls and grazing goats, their dusty decorated vans parked on palace cobbles or unmade bazaar lanes – the few other vehicles of the 1970s were UN-emblazoned SUVs, black palace limos with tinted windows, and the occasional vintage car carried in for the Ranas.The demise of Kathmandu’s hippie scene was not only precipitated by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJ-ER0GdJd8" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">President Nixon’s global crusade against drugs</a> that leveraged Nepal’s leaders to ban cannabis, marijuana and the harder stuff, but more that King Birendra wanted the Valley tidied up prior to the arrival of royal guests and world dignitaries for his lavish state coronation. By the time he and the Queen swayed down a spotless Durbar Marg on their jewel-encrusted elephant on the auspicious date of 4 February 1975, their death knell had sounded, visitor visas had evaporated and the hippies had departed.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bacfd9c7e80680e077f66jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="706" height="1064"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>When I came back in late 1975, only the hard-core were still to be found in Nepal – explorers, entrepreneurs, art dealers, dreamers, poets and devout students of Hindu and Buddhist philosophy. Many returned later in life with respectable friends and families to holiday in the ultimate destination of their errant youth. Thus the hippie subculture usefully kick-started Nepal’s nascent tourism with both American dollars and an enduring flower-power image.And some are still here to this day, including Tony Jones and myself, although neither of us would consider ourselves successful hippies. We just happened to be around at the time.

Lisa Choegyal

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Hippie Trail nostalgia in Kathmandu

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3NZJcggr4FQ&amp;feature=youtu.be<a href="https://nepalitimes.atavist.com/feeling-groovy" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Hippies flocked to Nepal</a> in the 1960s and ’70s, drawn by the freedom to buy and smoke pot. But today, tourists are attracted by t-shirts, shawls and jackets made from the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=879#.XRSFXuszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">marijuana plant</a>.While there are still weed pushers on the streets of Thamel trying to sell you a smoke, the tourist hub is now better known for designer apparel made from a blend of cannabis fibre and cotton.“In my business cannabis isn’t illegal. If cannabis was illegal then we wouldn’t have these products on sale,” says Yubaraj Timilsina, who started out as a vegetable vendor and now owns Hemp Headquarter, which manufactures and runs a wholesale shop for cannabis-based attire.Timilsina and others who deal in cannabis fabric source their products from western Nepal, where <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/marijuana-high-time-to-lift-ban,2548" target="_blank" rel="noopener">marijuana cultivation</a> is permitted for hemp production, under strict supervision of the local police. Western Nepal suffered greatly from the US-induced ban on cannabis in the 1970s, when already impoverished farmers were pushed into deeper poverty because of the loss of their cash crop.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=879#.XRSFXuszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Legalise it</a>, Alok Tumbahangphey<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/undo-hash-ban,3657" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Push to undo hash ban in Nepal</a>, Sahina Shrestha<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a46f09c7e80680e04d405jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933"/><figcaption>PHhotos: SONAM CHOEKYI LAMA/PEMA SHERPA</figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a46f39c7e80680e04d406jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933">On 26 June, International Day against Drug Abuse and Illicit Trafficking, instead of encouraging farmers to plant hemp and start a local industry, police are destroying plants in Tanahu and Chainpur.“The cannabis bushes grow in the wild, they are not cultivated, and we collect the stems from which the fibre is sourced,” says Baburam Bohra from Bajura, the district known to produce the healthiest cannabis plants.While the shrubs can grow up to 3m tall, those harvested for fibre are cut before they flower, which means they cannot be used for smoking. The stems are soaked in water for 10 days so that the outer layer peels off, making it easier for the pulp inside to be extracted.The raw plant tissue is then boiled with ash and washed multiple times to produce fibre. The whole process takes up to three weeks, giving one roll of fibre 3m in length. Hemp fibre is dark tan or brown and is difficult to bleach, but it can be dyed bright and dark colours.Read also:<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/marijuana-high-time-to-lift-ban,2548" target="_blank" rel="noopener">High time to lift ban</a>, Sarthak Mani SharmaThe fibre does not contain tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), the naturally occurring psychoactive compound that gives cannabis its narcotic property, so it will not, for example, alert sniffer dogs at airports.Clothing and bags made from 100% hemp fabric can cost up to Rs10,000 depending on their design and size. Yet production is still limited with those bags that are made going mostly to Australia, Spain and Canada, which have legalised marijuana to varying degrees.“I come to Nepal every six months to buy hemp bags to sell them in Spain,” says Nacho Baranas, who owns a shop in Barcelona featuring handicraft from all over the world, including Nepal.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a46f79c7e80680e04d407jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="746">Timilsina sells a variety of hemp-based products, including bags, shawls, shirts, trousers and yoga bags. “Foreigners like our hemp bags because they are durable and all-natural,” he says.Thamel trader Prem Dahal is acknowledged by his peers as the pioneer of the hemp trade. He was inspired to take it up 28 years ago after travelling with shepherds in western Nepal and finding that their hardy mattresses were woven from cannabis fibre.“Hemp fabric is stronger, more absorbent and has better insulation against heat and cold than cotton,” Dahal explains. “Hemp is environmentally friendly.”Given that half the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/heavy-pesticide-use-and-low-consumer-awareness-affecting-public-health,1394" target="_blank" rel="noopener">pesticide</a> sprayed worldwide is in cotton plantations, hemp is a nature-friendly alternative fabric. The plant also prevents soil erosion on mountain slopes because of its thick deep root system, and the fabric can be made into at least 100 types of products.“If hemp was fully legal, and allowed to be grown on an industrial scale, it would be as valuable as gold,” says Dahal, who is critical of MPs from western Nepal who do not <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/undo-hash-ban,3657" target="_blank" rel="noopener">push for the legalisation of marijuana</a>, which would be a rare job booster.Timilsina sells up to 400 hemp bags per month, but sees another threat on the horizon: cheaper Chinese bags.<h2>Social fabric</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a46f99c7e80680e04d408jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933">A blend of fabrics from the Himalaya with creative patterns and effective marketing have made Nepal’s hemp-based products trendy in designer stores in Europe, North America and Japan.For the past 20 years, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2017/05/03/sixth-sense-success/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Karuna Natural Wears</a> has been exporting high quality clothes blending hemp with other natural fibres like nettles, aloe and bamboo designed for durability and comfort.“The reason hemp textiles are popular among our customers here and abroad is that they are comfortable, suitable for people with sensitive skin, they are naturally resistant to UV rays, the design to holds shape well and stretches less,” explains designer Nabina Maharjan.Indeed, the hemp clothing on display at Karuna’s store in Darbar Marg and Lazimpat, and Juju in Jhamsikhel in their subdued earthy colours and tastefully rendered minimalist traditional patterns, are soft to the touch. There are t-shirts, pants, skirts and a whole range of bags and other hemp-based products.Although the hemp fabric is mainly sourced from western Nepal, the quality and supply was not reliable enough and Karuna now imports some raw material from China and India.Most in demand at Karuna and Juju stores are apparel from blended fabric, and although they are slightly more expensive, the hemp-cotton fabric is the most popular.Sonam Choekyi Lama<h2>Green Gold</h2>In 1976, after American youth started flocking to Nepal by the thousands attracted by cheap and legal pot, Nepal was forced by the US government to ban the use and sale of marijuana.This threw thousands of farmers out of work, and made impoverished western Nepal even poorer. Today, while US states are legalising marijuana it still remains banned in Nepal.Ravi Pradhan is a Nepali consultant who has been advising the Cambodian government on legalising marijuana. He says it is absurd that the US government still classifies marijuana as a narcotic drug when experts agree on its <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17997#.XRSFWeszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">medicinal properties and therapeutic effects</a>. “For Nepali farmers it can be a green gold,” Pradhan told a recent conference in Kathmandu on legalising marijuana.Nepal’s Narcotics Drugs Control Act allows the use of the wildly grown cannabis plant, but it is vague and confusing, and its enforcement even more arbitrary. Activists are now pushing for legalisation of hemp cultivation so that plants can be used to make fabric, and – that battle won – they say want to shift their focus to legalising ganja for medical use and even recreational consumption.The activists’ approach is to clearly show the difference between hemp and marijuana. Although they are both derived from the cannabis plant, their morphology, properties and uses are different.Marijuana is a variety of cannabis that contains tetrahydrocannabinol (THC). Hemp, on the other hand, is a non-psychoactive variety of the cannabis plant. Because the leaves look like marijuana, however, most people cannot tell the difference.Sales of hemp products worldwide are expected to reach $2.6 billion by 2022, with China being the world’s largest exporter. Hemp production in Nepal is not banned, but is limited. For example, businesses can only use wild plants.Although marijuana is classified as a narcotic drug, the oil is used traditionally as a muscle relaxant, the leaves are made into chutney, and it is an active ingredient in many ayurvedic products.Pawan Joshi produces hemp oil called Dava, which contains Omega 3 and 6. He says: “It is totally legal to produce the hemp oil as the hemp seeds are legal and the oil doesn’t get you high. We now need across-the-board legalisation of hemp.”<h2>POT VOCAB</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a46fc9c7e80680e04d409jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="933">Marijuana: Psychoactive drug made from the dried leaves and flowers of the Cannabis plant, contains tetrahydrocannabinol (THC). Also known as weed, pot, grass, Mary Jane.Hemp: A variety of Cannabis plant that grows up to 3m tall and contains less than 0.3% of THC. Fibre is used to  make clothing and bags (see large story).Ganja: Marijuana in Nepali, Hindi and Sanskrit, used to denote both the drug and the Cannabis plant.Bhang: Edible form of marijuana made by crushing green leaves and buds of the Cannabis plant. Smoked and eaten at festival time in Nepal.Hashish: Also known as charas in the Subcontinent, is the resin made from rubbing Cannabis flowers and top leaves.<h2>Wearing paper</h2><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a46ff9c7e80680e04d40ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="1360"><a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5642#.XRSFdOszaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Traditional Nepali paper</a> made from the bark of the lokta plant is used for legal documents because they are insect resistant. Now, one company in Nepal is also making shirts and jackets from the paper.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3860#.XRSFd-szaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Lokta pulp</a> sourced from the mountains of Myagdi district are processed and pulled out into lokta thread which are then interwoven with other fabric like cotton or hemp to make items of clothing, cushions, tote bags and placemats.“We decided to experiment and do something different, and thought why not use lokta also for fabric and not just for <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Putting-it-down-on-paper-nepali,3750" target="_blank" rel="noopener">paper products</a>,” says Rita Bhandari of Nepal Paper Crafts, which has been exporting Nepali paper products.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110813118/636a47029c7e80680e04d40bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1400" height="401">Bhandari collaborated with the Netherlands-based designer Janske Megens with whom she was the recipient of the Dutch Design Award 2008 for innovation and simplicity of design for Paper Text Cushion. Nepali paper clothing is most popular in Holland.“Lokta fabric is strong, can easily be dyed, printed, embroidered and washed. It will not get brittle with age and has natural insect repellent properties,” adds Bhandari.Paper cloth is made from lokta thread as weft and weaved with allo, silk, cotton, hemp, wool fabric as warp. The warp on the cloth depends on customers’ order, and the whole process is natural and handmade which is their unique selling point.“They are popular in the West because it is all natural, the clothings are cool in summer and warm in winter,” says Bhandari, who is now exploring a larger international market for Made in Nepal paper fabric.Pema Sherpa

Clothed in cannabis in Kathmandu

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.

hash

Hippie Trail nostalgia in Kathmandu

Clothed in cannabis in Kathmandu

Sky is the limit

Nepal’s AI-generated election

Time, transience, transition

Nepal’s slow grammar of democracy