Illegal wildlife trade is the fourth most lucrative trafficking crime after drugs, humans, and weapons. Most wildlife ends up in China and Southeast Asia to be used mainly in traditional medicine or as bushmeat. Nepal is both the source and transit for wildlife trafficking, and while the authorities have been successful in protecting flagship mammals like tigers, rhinos, and leopards, the country still serves as a major transit point for less popular wildlife. Despite strict laws against wildlife crimes members of indigenous communities are easily tempted by organised transboundary criminals. They are recruited to poach endangered animals and plants, and end up in jail, while ring leaders are rarely caught.&nbsp; Many are not hardened criminals, just regular folk like Bishnu Adhikari, 30, who served time in Kathmandu’s Central Jail. He had gone with a friend to sell pangolin scales without knowing it was illegal and that the punishment was so harsh. Bikash Chhetri, a Grade 11 student, was riding a motorcycle with college friends when they were intercepted by the Central Investigation Bureau (CIB). Chhetri says he had no idea his &nbsp;friend was carrying the contraband in his bag. Both Adhikari and Chettri served five years in jail. But most people from Nepal’s indigenous communities are often unaware of the protected status or importance of the wildlife they were recruited to smuggle, handle, or transport. “Most of indigenous people involved in wildlife trade in Nepal are not criminals, they are poor and live near protected areas are simply trying to support their families, and mostly it is opportunistic killing,” says wildlife researcher Kumar Paudel of Greenhood Nepal. “Often they are exploited by higher-ups in the ladder of organised crime.” Paudel filed a petition at the Supreme Court in 2018, and the Supreme Court five years later ordered the government to implement the law in a full, fair, and consistent manner. One of the indigenous communities is the semi-nomadic Chepang who have a long tradition of eating fruit bats. Dibesh Karmacharya of the Center of Molecular Dynamics Nepal in Kathmandu has been looking into new diseases for over a decade and a half, and this community in Makwanpur next to Chitwan National Park was selected. “Bats are known to carry viruses and bacteria, which are not harmful to them, but when humans get exposed the microbes can mutate and become pathogens with high transmissibility,” explains Karmacharya, who found that many Chepang had been imprisoned for poaching.&nbsp; “Indigenous communities are often disenfranchised and at the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder, and need some kind of income,” says Karmacharya. “They are hunter-gatherers and have knowledge of the land as well as wildlife, so they get recruited by wildlife traffickers often getting caught, and not those who hire them.” CLIMATE FACTOR Global warming has meant that vectors that carry pathogens, as well as animals, are also moving to higher altitudes. As temperature rises, glaciers melt, and previously barren slopes have vegetation. Many mammals, such as common leopards, which are found in the foothills are moving up the mountains to share the habitat of snow leopards. Tigers have also been known to move out of Tarai national parks to seek cooler climes in the Mahabharata Range. Besides the risk of being caught, indigenous communities also are exposed to disease when they handle wildlife and harvest organs. In the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic, there was speculation that the virus had jumped from pangolins to humans, which has since been disproven. Even so, pangolins are the world’s most trafficked mammal. The scales of the anteater are thought to have medical properties and are used in traditional Chinese medicine in China, as well as eaten as a delicacy in parts of Asia. Tulshi Laxmi Suwal of the Small Mammals Conservation and Research Foundation (SMCRF), who did her PhD on pangolins from Taiwan, says there is a link between climate, increased human-wildlife contact, and emerging diseases. “Climate change is directly affecting their food and habitat,” explains Suwal. “Pangolins need a lot of water and if they don’t get it ectoparasites under their scales might be easily released to their surroundings. But water is becoming scarcer with climate breakdown.”&nbsp; Researcher Kumar Paudel says law enforcement must be driven not so much by the total number of traffickers arrested, but by the goal of discouraging people from participating in the trade. This means fair and accountable implementation of the law so that indigenous people are not disproportionately impacted.&nbsp; Some ring leaders involved in tiger and rhino poaching have been arrested, but a handful of them staged jailbreaks during the September GenZ protests and are again at large — raising the risk that poaching may increase.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260114100128_e7a6891c2980aa132dd3e4644b752008bd367dd6e868790d4dbae5aa626a2764.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260114100128_e7a6891c2980aa132dd3e4644b752008bd367dd6e868790d4dbae5aa626a2764" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="rhino"> <figcaption>Two greater one-horned rhinoceroses at Chitwan National Park in Nepal. Photo: WIKIMEDIA COMMONS</figcaption> </figure>  “Investigation must move to the upper echelons of the trade,” says Paudel. “And indigenous people need alternative livelihoods and education so they are not easily recruited to hunt down wildlife.”&nbsp; The solution may lie in small, local incentives that can help communities realise the importance of conservation while also empowering them, socially and economically. One such example is the Pangolin Trail in Bagh Bhairav Community Forest in Kirtipur near Kathmandu. After their study found the community forest to be a habitat for pangolins and endangered bird species, SMCRF built a trekking trail which has since been handed over to the local community which can get income from visitor fees. The local government has expanded the trail, added an information center, and runs clean-up campaigns. This gave the local Tamang community of 100 households a sense of ownership and agency. Local villagers have been trained to become citizen scientists, and help in recording pangolin behaviour. One of them is Sun Laxmi Pakhrin, who is not formally educated, but works in pangolin protection using GPS tracking systems and camera traps.&nbsp; A community previously notorious for theft, drug trafficking and wildlife poaching is now reformed. Families are also involved in small businesses such as poultry. Suwal says: “Women in indigenous communities are now in decision-making roles and the guardians of nature and wildlife.” With contribution from Qian Sun, Global Voices.

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Indigenous people pay price for poaching

Every once in a while comes an art exhibition that is not just aesthetically pleasing and tasteful, but raises piercing questions about human rights, equity, and justice. And there is one such unique, yet unsettling, exhibit on the upper section of the Nepal Art Council in Baber Mahal that will go in till March 2024.&nbsp; The &nbsp;Sovereign Forest is certainly not art for art’s sake. It is a &nbsp;multimedia installation of film, large books, as well as artefacts from the mineral-rich but dirt-poor Indian state of Odisha where indigenous people have been driven out to make way for natural resource extraction. Visitors step into sudden darkness, and it takes time for the pupils to adjust to the dim interior. Unlike conventional exhibitions, this one is purposely designed to evoke outrage at the blatant injustice and oppression that underlies the plunder. The show invites a new kind of engagement that challenges perceptions and expectations in which various art forms are curated to shock observers out of apathy and recalibrate their moral compass.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231221061228_f1d2cc741f15f07422f8cadf095fd2b527d48693b9b275d38e0c4661567b50cb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20231221061228_f1d2cc741f15f07422f8cadf095fd2b527d48693b9b275d38e0c4661567b50cb" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="sovereign forest"> </figure>  The &nbsp;Sovereign Forest is put together by the Indian filmmaker Amar Kanwar and offers a compelling and immersive narrative through a blend of visuals, artistry, archival materials, and the screening of a &nbsp;documentary.&nbsp; Kanwar has been documenting through art the activities of the mining-industrial complex and how it has impacted the farmers and indigenous communities in Odisha. Some Nepali visitors may not immediately find a connection to one of the less known and underserved states in India, but the greed and abuse that drives the extraction machinery there has parallels to what is going on here. Kanwar’s exploration of exploitation is projected powerfully through a unique narrative style devoid of a concrete subject. Some in the audience might be lost, and engaging with Kanwar's message demands patience as he intricately unravels the story of an activist killed during a farmers' &nbsp;protest, and goes into the profound grief of a woman mourning his loss.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231221061228_ee8a9829571f76ea0f2e364ddb0c112003c0e021b58292c63646d3eefdd7d4be.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20231221061228_ee8a9829571f76ea0f2e364ddb0c112003c0e021b58292c63646d3eefdd7d4be" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="sovereign forest 4"> </figure>  The film's captivating visuals immerse the audience in the farmers' plight, offering us a window into the destruction of nature and the people who have traditionally lived in harmony with it. &nbsp; The &nbsp;Sovereign Forest is divided into four distinct spaces, inviting audiences to interpret the essence of the Constitution and what it means in reality on the ground. Kanwar’s visual depiction of the funeral of Shankar Guha Niyogi in Chattisgarh in 1991, and flashbacks to the activist’s premonitions of demise through the text of the cassette records and diaries add a haunting dimension to his story. There are revelations of injustices perpetrated by India’s and the world’s richest conglomerates: the Jindals, Tata, and the Korean company, POSCO. &nbsp;It is an age-old story of the struggle of those who live off the land against those who want to own it.&nbsp; The show also exhibits 272 seeds meticulously preserved by a farmer in Odisha, and forces us to think about native seeds that are being driven into extinction by hybrids. This has resonance in Nepal, where seeds adapted to Himalayan microclimates and soils are similarly being replaced by high-yield monocultures that need expensive inputs.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231221061228_efe9148d95f7780c3570337e4f5d02aa7a5868b3dec14e786d60df9cca75eac1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20231221061228_efe9148d95f7780c3570337e4f5d02aa7a5868b3dec14e786d60df9cca75eac1" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="soverign forest3"> </figure>  “There is an urgent need to explore similar untold stories also in Nepal, &nbsp;shedding light on communities marginalised in the name of progress, &nbsp;modernisation, and industrialisation,” says Nayantara Gurung Kakshapati of <a href="http://photo.circle/" target="_blank">photo.circle</a> that brought Kanwar’s exhibition to Kathmandu. “It forces us to reflect upon and connect with the struggles faced by indigenous groups also in Nepal, and offers a deeper understanding through art of the socio-economic challenges of development,” she adds.&nbsp; Replace Chhattisgarh with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/why-is-it-vital-to-protect-the-chure" target="_blank">Chure</a>, and Shankar Guha Niyogi with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/sisters-carry-on-slain-brother-s-fight" target="_blank">Dilip Mahato</a> and suddenly it becomes clear that the Sovereign Forest is also about us. &nbsp;It is a clarion call for citizens to struggle for justice and morality against the acquisitiveness of the big, rich, powerful entities. &nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231221061228_95120fc6ff49105abe2d8831884539bf82086f0f037b7983b964165d705ab1b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20231221061228_95120fc6ff49105abe2d8831884539bf82086f0f037b7983b964165d705ab1b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="sovereign forest 5"> </figure>  Ultimately, &nbsp;The Sovereign Forest can spur solidarity and action against structural inequity and abuse of power not just in Odisha, but also in Nepal, 500km away to the north. &nbsp; The Sovereign Forest&nbsp; by Amar Kanwar in collaboration with Sudhir Pattnaik, Samadrusti and Sherna Dastur&nbsp; Nepal Art Council&nbsp; Till 31 March, 2024

Alisha Sijapati

Seeing the forest and the trees

Much of our species’ 300,000 years of existence has been spent foraging, hunting, and gathering in the forests. And <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-salt-of-the-earth">nomadism</a> is in our blood, as it were. Our ancestors were still nomadic when they left their African homeland 100,000 years ago and ultimately colonised all six continents. But even after leaving Africa, they continued practicing nomadism for tens of thousands of years. Although nomadism has been the primary way of life for most of human evolution, 10,000 years ago some of our ancestors gave it up, settled down, and began farming– a practice that continues today.&nbsp; The success of early agriculturalists inspired most cultures across the globe to transition to farming settlements. Slowly, nomadism became the norm of the past.&nbsp; Yet, some human populations resisted the new ways of life and continued their foraging, hunting, and gathering lifestyles. Only a handful of them have survived to this day. The Raute of Nepal are the last of the <a href="https://nt.exposure.co/last-but-not-least">nomadic hunter-gatherers</a> in the Himalaya. In 2006, while I was researching about the indigenous peoples of Nepal for a study in human genetics, I was surprised to find a chapter in Dor Bahadur Bista’s book, &nbsp;सबै जातको फुलबारी in which he described the Raute as one of the ancient peoples of Nepal.&nbsp; Bista highlighted that there was not enough study on the Raute but postulated that they potentially descended from an Australoid population. The origins and history of the Raute remains unknown to this day. In 2016, I finally got the opportunity to meet with the Raute people. From Kathmandu, my fellow researcher Yoshina Gautam and I flew to Nepalganj, where we met Prof Guru Prasad Gautam, who has established a long working relationship with the Raute.&nbsp; Read also:<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/imagine-no-possessions"> Imagine no possessions</a>, Kunda Dixit  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111040_dded3a3a20e2701ee88db1bf18b2341ecaab8615ca52cf5304031ea022fe2205.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20231019111040_dded3a3a20e2701ee88db1bf18b2341ecaab8615ca52cf5304031ea022fe2205" data-rendition-name="original" width="1493" height="848" loading="lazy" alt="Raute map"> </figure>  We drove up the winding accident-prone Karnali Highway for several hours and reached Tunibagar of Dailekh district, a small town serving as a rest stop for trucks. We hiked several hours the next day to reach the Raute camp located on the banks of a small river in Achham district. At first the Raute were apprehensive of us, but they gradually opened up.&nbsp; The <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=434">Raute</a> are elusive and mystical, divine yet destitute, enlightened albeit unschooled, appreciated and disliked by mainstream society. Because of their nomadic lifestyle, duodecennial nature, and preference for obscurity the Raute are portrayed as fearsome and savage in folklore.&nbsp; Yet the Raute consider themselves divine: direct descendants of Lord Ram, and therefore entitled to rule the forest as kings. They also hunt monkeys, a sacred Hindu symbol that local farmers would not dare to harm despite the nuisance and toll the monkeys take by destroying crops.&nbsp; They navigate high hills of far western Nepal with precision and are remarkably knowledgeable about the nutritional and medicinal value of hundreds of local plants. The Raute do not seem to disturb the settlers’ lives and livelihoods at all, yet their existence seems to irritate them. While later settlers sometimes regard the Raute with curiosity, most of them flatly reject the Raute way of life. Their claims of divinity despite their destitution are incomprehensible to the settlers. The only desire the Raute have is the right to their isolation, and the settlers promise them everything except that.&nbsp; This dichotomous relationship appears to have existed for a long time because the Raute have incorporated aspects of Hindu culture to establish themselves as equals and not inferior to the higher caste settlers. Whether such elements are superficial and used by the Raute only to deal with the settlers, or it has influenced the Raute identity and self-perception remains unknown.&nbsp; Even though the Raute have endured immense pressure to give up their nomadism and settle down, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11239">dwindling forests and increasing urbanisation</a> has added to the pressure to assimilate. Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-last-of-the-kusunda">The last of the Kusunda</a>, Sewa Bhattarai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20231019111048_ce8d6dd4c509ea645ed4d3f5c6628a32148d4a76df3ac7778ebb5329bae17e8d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20231019111048_ce8d6dd4c509ea645ed4d3f5c6628a32148d4a76df3ac7778ebb5329bae17e8d" data-rendition-name="original" width="533" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="exploring genetic roots of the raute"> <figcaption>A temporary Raute settlement in Salyan district of Nepal.(Photo: Kishor Sharma)</figcaption> </figure>  The Himalayan foothills were once home to several other nomadic groups including the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15950">Kusunda</a>, the Ban Rawat (Dadeldhura Raute), the Raji, and the Chepang. All of them have succumbed to the pressure to settle and this transition has left them fragmented.&nbsp; They have suffered massive loss of culture, many of their deities have been forgotten, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/lost-in-translation">their languages are dying</a>, and these ancient cultures are rapidly becoming extinct. Such loss of cultural heritage makes Nepal’s much-vaunted ethnic diversity poorer.&nbsp; Importantly, the nomads and their ways of life provide us a means to gaze into our past. Understanding their lifestyle, culture, and diet allows us to peek into how our own ancestors lived.&nbsp; The Raute are the last nomadic group of Nepal, and therefore are the only means through which we can peek into the past to understand the ways of life of our ancestors.&nbsp; However, the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12649">Raute way of life</a> is understudied. From the little ethnographic and linguistic data that exists, the Raute appear to be descendants of an ancient population. Their aboriginal lifestyle is ancient, and their Khamchi language also appears to be among the ancient Himalayan dialects.&nbsp; Since historical, anthropological, and archeological data on the Raute is limited, my laboratory at the New York University Abu Dhabi (The Genetic Heritage Group) is relying on genetic analyses to address some of the outstanding questions regarding Raute population history.&nbsp; We are analysing genetic variation within the Raute to understand how members of the group are related to one another, which may benefit the Raute to avoid consanguineous marriages. This data can also be useful to estimate Raute population sizes over time, which can provide key pieces of information to understand their history.&nbsp; Furthermore, we are comparing genetic data of Raute with many other Asian populations to demonstrate how they could be related to neighbouring Nepali populations and their distant cousins elsewhere in the region.&nbsp; Finally, we seek to compare Raute DNA with publicly available genetic data from ancient populations obtained from thousands of years old bones excavated from archeological sites across Asia. They could tell us more about the origins of the Raute. The research is ongoing, but we believe the results will provide solid scientific evidence to establish the Raute as the living national treasures of Nepal. &nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/chepang-and-their-chiuri">Chepang and their Chiuri</a>, Bhadra Sharma Aashish Jha, PhD, is Assistant Professor at the Department of Biology at the New York University campus in Abu Dhabi. &nbsp;&nbsp;

Exploring the genetic roots of the Raute

The Tharu made up 6.2% of Nepal’s population in the 2021 census in 2021, outnumbering other indigenous communities: the Tamang, Newa, Limbu and Gurung peoples.&nbsp; The rest of the country has just begun to learn about the unique history and heritage of the Tharu people, the important role they play in Nepal’s conservation as well as increasing engagement in national politics. But the rich tradition of Tharu songs and music are less well known. There are songs for every occasion: Maagar songs for auspicious occasions, Barkimar and Sakhiya dances for Dasain, Dhamar and Maghauta for Maghi.&nbsp; The Tharu people traditionally live along the malarial jungles along Nepal’s southern plains bordering India. But from east to west there is great diversity among the Tharu people and language, and this is reflected in their songs. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/bridging-the-andes-and-himalaya-with-music">Bridging the Andes and Himalaya with music</a>, Sewa Bhattarai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023073109070_17ec0ecf90ae76f4a7d1eba7bf1f6e5de4b13b6813314121d0adcb1ee669da64.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2023073109070_17ec0ecf90ae76f4a7d1eba7bf1f6e5de4b13b6813314121d0adcb1ee669da64" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1066" loading="lazy" alt="Songlines of the rivers and forests NT"> </figure>  With YouTube and social media, some genres of Tharu music are going commercial and gaining popularity. But others languish in obscurity. For instance, Jhumra is a genre of songs sung during Dasain and other fun moments have become popular on the Internet. It used to be only men who sang and danced the Jhumra. Although the Tharu community does have occasions for women to dance, those are celebrations rather than performances.&nbsp; For example, all girls of the village are allowed to sway to group dances like Sakhiya and Barkimar. But, Jhumra is more of a performance where only two people dance for the entertainment of the rest. “Parents have no problems if girls dance to Sakhiya and Barkimar, because everyone is dancing. But they hesitate to let girls perform the Jhumra,” explains Basanti Chaudhary of Dang, a commercial singer from the community. “Men even used to dress up as women to perform that dance.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-last-of-the-kusunda">The last of the Kusunda</a>, Sewa Bhattarai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023073109070_88e5eaba9297b3a19e2b9cadd3434e5cac1d0e9d4fc53cd69b3b042334038fef.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2023073109070_88e5eaba9297b3a19e2b9cadd3434e5cac1d0e9d4fc53cd69b3b042334038fef" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1066" loading="lazy" alt="Songlines of the rivers and forests NT"> </figure>  Chaudhary has recorded many Jhumra songs, and also performs them on stage. It was her maternal grandmother who inspired her to take up music.&nbsp; “She was quite advanced for her generation. She used to play the madal and harmonium and make everyone dance. All the other dancers used to be male,” she recalls. Jhumra is easy to dance to and fits any festive occasion. It is popular on YouTube, in Tharu films, and in music festivals, and many women dance to it. “Jhumra is a colourful world, we sing it when we want to sing and dance and have fun,” says Chaudhary. An example of the lyrics of a duet by Basanti Chaudhary:&nbsp; Man: If a sackful of money is required, so be it But I will not give up this pretty girl Woman: I will dance in the yard But I will only exchange my beauty for money Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/on-a-high-note/" target="_blank">Tibetan music in Nepal’s sacred valley</a>, Sewa Bhattarai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023073109070_63c8b95652bf85316e52bf556aa501054c0990d34e1d406f5a3a46ec8e7afd78.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2023073109070_63c8b95652bf85316e52bf556aa501054c0990d34e1d406f5a3a46ec8e7afd78" data-rendition-name="original" width="1333" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Songlines of the rivers and forests NT"> <figcaption>Photo: Sewa Bhattarai</figcaption> </figure>  Chaudhary is not just a commercial singer, but is also interested in the cultural roots of her community, and tries to preserve songs that reflect Tharu culture.&nbsp; Recently, with the help of the music festival 'Echoes in the Valley', she worked with musicians Simma Rai and Hishi Dolma Sherpa to revive Sajana, a popular melody in Tharu culture. Sajana is sung from Saraswati Puja in December to Hareri Puja in August to invite rains if they are late. Or, women in distress also sing it to communicate with their husband and family. Chaudhary, Rai and Sherpa learned these songs from a Tharu elder, Nirmala, and then recreated the song with modern music. The song is now on YouTube, and they also performed it at the Echoes in the Valley Festival in March. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/eastern-melodies-in-kathmandu/" target="_blank">Eastern melodies in Kathmandu</a>, Sewa Bhattarai <div class="embed-block"><div><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 152px; position: relative;"><iframe src="//cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Fepisode%2F1QWb6DhiPUTT7UAXWfb74G&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen allow="clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; fullscreen *; picture-in-picture *;"></iframe></div></div>Singer Basanti Chaudhary brings us a bhajhan--sung to console people after the death of a beloved one--and a few other Tharu songs from Dang.</div> We went fishing In the Rapti river The angar katuwa insect Bit my toe I sat on the shore and cried The Bhauji takes the Tapiya basket The Nandi takes the Helaka basket The Bhauji kills Raini fish The Nandi nets in tiny shrimp fish The song depicts the Tharu livelihood of fishing in rivers, and the role of different kinds of equipment and fish in their lives. The songs entertain as well as educate about Tharu culture and are gaining new audiences through the Internet. Songs considered ‘serious’, however, are still confined within the community. One such solemn song is sung to console relatives after a death in the family, and incorporates belief in rebirth.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/fire-in-the-belly-2/" target="_blank">Still dancing and singing for Nepal revolution,</a> Sewa Bhattarai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023073109070_5c6efb916a40e363e02a874de44946faad07e2e5ce99e79c60d4cdfd1d857588.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2023073109070_5c6efb916a40e363e02a874de44946faad07e2e5ce99e79c60d4cdfd1d857588" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1066" loading="lazy" alt="Songlines of the rivers and forests NT"> </figure>  O soul, let's go to that country Where the dear, true Lord lives O soul, O soul Where will you make a home now? You have forgotten the stress of attachments Half the sinners are gone And the mortal body is still on the way “Death is inevitable after birth. If your loved one is dead, how do you console such a person? The body is here, but the soul is gone. Our mortal body is a sinful one. It is here today, and gone tomorrow,” Chaudhary explains. “Tharu bhajan are very touching. We can use them to revive lives devastated by the loss of a loved one.” The song portrays the mortal body as transient, and the soul as permanent. In essence, this song contains the spirit of the Nirgun philosophy, which holds that death is not the end, but the beginning of a journey to the divine. The song expresses the immortality of the soul, the transitory nature of the material world, the longing for liberation from the cycle of birth and death, and the desire to be one with the divine. The fact that the song has captured such a vast philosophy in very succinct words is proof that music is not just entertainment, that music can portray the full spectrum of human experiences and plumb the depths of human emotions. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-gift-of-music-to-nepali-children">A gift of music to Nepal's children</a>, Marty Logan  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023073109070_084a0c9fcbba42f7163e9f3c4d7e51e01418be6cdd0433edc073e29031e685cb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2023073109070_084a0c9fcbba42f7163e9f3c4d7e51e01418be6cdd0433edc073e29031e685cb" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1066" loading="lazy" alt="Songlines of the rivers and forests NT"> </figure>  The Nirgun tradition has deep roots in South Asia, it believes that attachment and sensory experiences lead to sorrow, the world is illusory, the body is impermanent and only the soul is permanent. Concepts like these can be found in ancient scriptures like Mahabharata, Bhagawad Gita, in the teachings of the Buddha, and in modern times in Nepal in the Ramayana of Bhanubhakta. Even though Tharu songs are now going commercial and widely disseminated, spiritual songs still have only limited reach. Other communities in Nepal also have songs to provide solace in difficult times, and open doors to knowledge and philosophy. But many languish in obscurity awaiting younger generations to take notice. Tharu songs are an example of the increasing market for entertainment and dance numbers in indigenous languages of Nepal, but we may have to wait for the time for more serious lyrics and melodies to gain wider listenership.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/ghatu-dance-of-lamjung/">Ghatu dance of Lamjung</a>, Sewa Bhattarai Sewa Bhattarai is a freelance journalist. Her series, On The Margins, will focus on folk music, folklore, and mythology of Nepal's marginalised communities.

Sewa Bhattarai

Songlines of the rivers and forests

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110714114/636903279c7e80680e037ca6jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="810"/><figcaption>Photo: Kunda Dixit</figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110714114/6369032a9c7e80680e037ca7jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="819"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>SIGNS OF THE TIMES: A gate in Phidim of Panchthar put up by Limbuwan activists (left) and a traffic sign in Quebec.After many years of working in Nepal, in 2014 I moved to Vancouver for a university job where many of the objectives outlined by Nepal’s adivasi janajati movements are being implemented by the First Nations, Inuit and Métis communities that have lived for thousands of years in what is now Canada.Indigenous nations comprise just over 4% of Canada’s population, whereas <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10776#.W2vvdVUzbIU">adivasi janajati make up more than one third of Nepalis</a><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10776#.W2vvdVUzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">.</a> Yet, Canada is far ahead of Nepal in creating a just society in which indigenous voices are uplifted, indigenous knowledge woven into the public education system and the uninterrupted indigenous connection to traditional territory is recognised and respected.Canada has been no haven for indigenous peoples. Canada’s federal and provincial governments institutionalised racist legislation that dispossessed indigenous peoples from their lands, tearing children away from their parents, lodging them with white foster parents or shipping them off to assimilationist Indian residential schools where many students died and all were prohibited from speaking their ancestral languages.Until 1952, Canadian legislation prevented indigenous people from turning to the courts for help with government injustices. Only in 1960 did the government grant indigenous people the right to vote in federal elections without losing their treaty rights and ‘Indian’ status. Settler colonialism which sought to replace the original and indigenous population with a new and invasive society of uninvited settlers remains Canada’s original sin.The insatiable European appetite for new land and natural resources necessitated the marginalisation, relocation and ultimately the eradication of the original inhabitants of kanata—an Iroquoian word meaning ‘village’ or ‘settlement’ from which the nation of Canada derives its name.Also read: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=434#.W2vvOlUzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's last hunter-gatherers</a>, Sagun S LawotiT<a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.15px;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16971#.W2vvfFUzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">he Mongols are coming</a>, Rabi ThapaGiven this painful and recent history, the 150th anniversary of Confederation in 2017, promoted by the government as Canada 150, felt more like Colonisation 150 for many of my indigenous students and colleagues. The story of the resilience of indigenous communities across Canada over the last 150 years is one of local endurance and immense perseverance against the very objectives of the nation itself.Yet, over the last few years, Canada has been experiencing an ‘indigenous moment’. Many are asking how long it will last and whether the pivot is a temporary and expedient response to an emerging political necessity or whether it will lead to lasting change.Since becoming prime minister in 2015, Justin Trudeau and his Liberal federal government have pledged to develop nation-to-nation relationships with the elected governments of First Nations, Inuit and Métis communities (formerly referred to by the unwelcome collective term ‘Aboriginal’) and to implement each of the 94 Calls to Action released by the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/truth-about-truth-commission,3565" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Truth and Reconciliation</a> Commission of Canada.Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4140#.W2vvf1UzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Some reservations about reservations</a>, Naresh Newar<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/As-It-Happens/lessons-for-nepal-from-Indias-patel-movement,559" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Lessons from India's Patel movement</a>, Om Astha RaiCanada is receiving international media attention for newly proposed national legislation officialising <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Mind-your-languages,133" target="_blank" rel="noopener">indigenous languages</a>, and renaming public buildings that carry problematic colonial names with more inclusive designations. Across the country, programs that honour indigenous history and understandings are being rolled out at elementary, secondary and university levels.Overall, Canada’s indigenous communities are in the limelight, albeit in sometimes uncomfortably instrumentalised ways. The bitter irony of the current context is inescapable: colonial governments have for centuries marshalled their economic, military and administrative might to extinguish indigenous peoples. Now, in the eleventh hour, they are looking to strengthen and celebrate the very diversity that they set out to destroy.Why is this happening? The simple answer is that much land and many resources are still legally owned and controlled by indigenous peoples in Canada -- land and resources that the Canadian state is eagerly eyeing to exploit, expropriate and monetise. A series of ground-breaking rulings by the Supreme Court over the last few decades have confirmed that indigenous title involves a real and tangible interest in the land, and provides the owner with the right to choose what the land can be used for.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Mind-your-languages,133" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The place of Nepali</a>, Kanak Mani Dixit<a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.15px;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15734#.W2vuj1UzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mother tongue</a>, Mukta Singh TamangWhile Nepal has not had the misfortune of being colonised by European settlers, some have suggested that the historical oppression of indigenous and other marginalised communities has operated like colonisation. If Nepal has never been colonised, can it ever be, or does it need to be, de-colonised? This discussion is gathering momentum in the scholarly community. A well-attended panel entitled ‘Decolonising Research in the Himalayas’ at the Association of Nepal and Himalayan Studies Conference hosted by the University of Colorado, Boulder, in September 2017 generated heated, if necessary debate.For most of my indigenous colleagues in Canada, decolonisation is not a metaphor. Rather, it involves implementing tangible, measurable and structural changes in who controls, creates and administers knowledge. Decolonising education and research are about substance not symbol, and necessarily involving a sincere commitment to promoting indigenous voices in the academy and in society.Nepal’s federal restructuring provides a unique opportunity for the state to engage deeply with th<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/hail-to-the-chiefs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">e needs, goals and dreams of the hundreds of indigenous communities </a>who contribute to this richly diverse nation. Celebrating and promoting inspiring indigenous voices (whether in Canada, Nepal or in other multi-cultural federal democracies) helps make a country stronger, more representative and more just. It is a chance not to be squandered. Mark Turin is a linguist and anthropologist who teaches at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver@markturinRead also:<a style="letter-spacing: 0.15px; background-color: #ffffff;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17961#.W2vv51UzbIV" target="_blank" rel="noopener">ILO 169, Nepal as a model </a><a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15775#.W2v2I1UzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal's multi-ethnic future</a>, Shyam Shrestha

Do Nepali attitudes need to be decolonised?

This is the 81st episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. I went to Australia in 2008 because everyone was headed there. It was my first time leaving the country and my first job. My college helped me find work as a kitchen helper at a Brisbane restaurant.&nbsp; I did not know that being a kitchen helper meant washing dishes. I was young and did not know how to wash dishes or how to handle the steam, the hot water, and the busy kitchen. The utensils were thrown at the dishwashing station continuously, and water splashed on my face. My shoes and clothes were always wet. It was an on-call job. A couple of days into the job, I was asked to come in when I was at the movies. I refused. They fired me. That was that. I then worked on a farm, picking lemons and oranges. The lemon work was particularly hard because I would get cuts all over my hands. This hustle was not for me.&nbsp; Within a year in Australia, I decided to return to Nepal because the foreign life did not suit me. After spending eight months in Nepal, reality sank in. Nepal was not all that great either. I went back to Australia. On the plane, I befriended a Nepali woman who was homesick and a first time traveler. At the immigration in Australia, the officer noticed my long absence and started interrogating me. He noticed the Nepali woman waiting for me and asked who she was. Without thinking I lied that she was my girlfriend. That seemed to do the trick because he did not want us to be separated. He stamped my passport. She went her way. I went mine.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260127130112_5e7bfa6acc5f94d5f1905537e387c2d4169469679ace2b71de368912f3bd514f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260127130112_5e7bfa6acc5f94d5f1905537e387c2d4169469679ace2b71de368912f3bd514f" data-rendition-name="original" width="987" height="1004" loading="lazy" alt="DD 81 NT"> </figure>  In Sydney, I again found a dishwashing job at a fine dining restaurant. A Sri Lankan colleague helped me learn the job. The pace at which I had to do the dishes was insane but I got the hang of it in two weeks. I always dreamt of one day wearing the chef’s white coat. It commanded respect, I could tell. In addition to becoming good at my job washing dishes, I also had good language and networking skills so I built good relationships with colleagues. There was a need for a pizza chef at the restaurant. It was expensive to hire someone new, and they asked me if I was up for the job. I said yes even though I knew nothing about making pizzas. My Italian colleagues coached me and before I knew it, I became better than others at the job. Soon, I realised that I did not just want to make pizzas. Whatever I wanted to learn, I just asked seniors to take me under their wings and I would help without pay. They would agree but still pay me. It wasn’t a strategy per se, I genuinely wanted to learn. At some point, a Japanese sous chef in my restaurant and I had coincidentally applied to the same restaurant, and there, under him, I got to learn even more. Working with a Japanese chef is really difficult, but you learn a lot. He would sometimes even hold my hand with tongs dipped in hot water when I screwed something up. I worked in a few restaurants after this and was earning well. When one of my colleagues, a dishwasher, was let go unfairly, I decided to leave because I did not want to be a quiet bystander to this act. I returned to Nepal immediately after this.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012719010_f33ba38bb5f86f1d33262fd0d7ccd09ed01f6cc52148ca3d4cd66c434b695730.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026012719010_f33ba38bb5f86f1d33262fd0d7ccd09ed01f6cc52148ca3d4cd66c434b695730" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="DD 82"> </figure>  I started a restaurant called Ghumti, but it was struggling. The location of the restaurants was not good and it failed. I bought another restaurant in Darbar Marg. I was managing two restaurants when Covid hit. The rent kept piling up, and there was no revenue. I took a huge loss. I gave them up and returned to Chitwan and started making migration plans. I came across a job vacancy for Alba in Qatar by the famous Enrico Crippa. I still remember the heat when I got out of the airport in Doha, it was like entering an oven. Thankfully, I had a Nepali roommate who showed me around and helped me adjust.&nbsp; The hotel was still under construction, but training had started. We worked really hard for the opening and things went well. In 2023, we even won the Best MENA Restaurant award. But at some point in 2024, the international Crippa chain decided to leave.&nbsp; Some colleagues including the head chef left and I suddenly was put in charge. I had some head chef experience from Australia and had previous experience working in high pressure environments, so I stepped up. We had to start from scratch again, this time as Alba in Raffles, Doha.&nbsp; The name of our restaurant comes from the Alba white truffle, which is the best available and is expensive, selling at around 40,000 QAR per kg. We had heard the official announcement that the Michelin was coming to Qatar, and we worked even harder.&nbsp; Michelin inspections are strict, highly secretive and you have no idea you are being investigated. Even then, we were up for the game. We were ‘selected’ which meant we had potential.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012719010_bab3a904af69603e9e79f333aeea89b035401c0c8d1750930107f3594ff1f565.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026012719010_bab3a904af69603e9e79f333aeea89b035401c0c8d1750930107f3594ff1f565" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="697" loading="lazy" alt="DD 81"> </figure>  I went to the award ceremony with low expectations. But because they announce the name alphabetically, Alba came first. I was very happy and felt validated. Being recognised as a Michelin one star restaurant is a huge achievement for us. My MD reminded me of a promise I had made of getting a Michelin tattoo if we got the award. I guess I will get it done when I come to Nepal next. My plan is to get a tattoo that captures my journey right from the dishwashing days.&nbsp; I have cooked for Obama, Beckham, Kaka, Trump, 50 Cent, Lindsay Lohan, you name it, because our restaurant is visited by high profile guests. At first, I used to feel the pressure. Now I view all guests as the same. The food you make is the same no matter who is eating it. I love the work. In fact, it does not feel like work. The rush in the kitchen, the atmosphere, the heat, the scent, I live for it. When I am not working, I get bored. It is like an addiction without which I get withdrawals. I want to contribute in introducing Nepali cuisine and ingredients in the worldstage. Nepalis overseas have a lot of potential in the hospitality sector. But my advice to youth is to focus on building a strong base and invest in learning. It is increasingly common for Nepalis to job hop for a salary jump. While other skills like language are also important, it is the hard skills that we really need to focus on. In our field of work, it is the plate that needs to speak.

Sky is the limit

During the 2022 election, populist candidates campaigned with algorithms and were elected mayors. In 2026, they are campaigning with AI-generated memes and videos. Four years ago, the idea that the most potent weapon in the next election in Nepal would be artificially generated clips of politicians beating each other up would have been science fiction. Yet, here we are: at a fever pitch of AI-based political content. Some are generated by the IT cells of political parties, while most are just produced and posted by young tech-savvy supporters of the new candidates. Most of them ridicule older leaders, and the predominant target is former prime minister K P Oli who was forced to resign after the September protests. On 20 January the TikTok account ‘iamfunnyman88’ posted a slapstick video in which former Kathmandu Mayor Balendra Shah is seen accosting ex-prime minister K P Oli with a giant bell (pictured), swinging it in Kung Fu Hustle style in what looks like Patan Darbar Square. Oli is sent splattered on the ground. K P Oli has become a symbol of the legacy parties and their aged leaders, and everything that is wrong with them. Balendra Shah represents the new protest candidate. The two are contesting from Jhapa-5, and it is turning out to be a prime ministerial race for 5 March. In another video, the RSP vs UML clash played out as a high-stakes war from the Mahabharat. Oli is a young warrior with a chiselled jaw and wearing a heavy golden armour ready to lead his followers to battle (pictured). A stylised Nepal flag flutters above him to the accompaniment of filmy dialogue.&nbsp; The videos are everywhere on TikTok, YouTube and Facebook. Many of the posts are hitting over 200,000 likes and 5 million views. Such content seems to be engaging more voters than speeches and door-to-door campaigning at the hustings. The videos are fake, but the numbers, and the attention they command, are very real.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013014010_ed52fe3248b54eb4f9f391ee718e874a86c1b98297dde203800ad7b114bdacda.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026013014010_ed52fe3248b54eb4f9f391ee718e874a86c1b98297dde203800ad7b114bdacda" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal election memes"> </figure>  At first, it looked like the RSP’s digital media presence was a joke aimed at getting easy-to-access publicity via the far-reaching arms of the algorithm. But it is looking like a carefully designed strategy promoting Balen Shah as the RSP’s star player in this election.&nbsp; In 2022, it was just for the mayor of Kathmandu. This time, Balen Shah is already being promoted in these videos as a winner who has defeated the legacy politicians.&nbsp; In previous elections in Nepal, political parties used to spend lavishly on the ‘masu bhat’ strategy — feeding heavy plates of mutton curry and rice to constituents in return for votes. Ideology was swapped for immediate caloric gratification often accompanied by free-flowing alcohol.&nbsp; But surely, the new voter is too sophisticated for this. Politicians insist they have rebooted their operating systems to serve this enlightened demographic. We are talking, after all, about the generation that brought down a government over 36 hours in September.&nbsp; The assumption is that young voters today are too aware and far too proud to trade democratic agency for something as crude as a plate of steaming mutton curry and rice.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013014014_983476ba334f895b64cd8ea34bd0ad79c1632c428feb119c84477d8e929eb057.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026013014014_983476ba334f895b64cd8ea34bd0ad79c1632c428feb119c84477d8e929eb057" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal elections meme"> </figure>  But the question is: are voters today any different? Aren’t these social media memes digital versions of the masu bhat that delivers a dopamine rush to voters? Watching the videos is entertainment that delivers a state of bliss, a protest against what is old but no enlightenment about how to get to the new. &nbsp; The I-cannot-go-a-single-minute-without-checking-my-phone demographic has leaned firmly towards politicians whose main focus is to be a social media star first, and an accountable politician second. More than 70% of Nepalis have smartphones now and most are hooked on data plans. The public has acquired a taste for a different kind of masu bhat - the digital kind. Instead of being made to slurp up the free spicy, fatty goat curry with deep guttural satisfaction, voters are being made to swallow easy-to-digest online clips to make serious voting decisions.&nbsp; After all, it is more fun than paying attention to a candidate’s policy proposals and actually thinking critically about the candidates.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026013014014_eb3a9e0c50f4a47706a6695e78ae41556c3d9754c15d564d42fb0de3f4199999.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026013014014_eb3a9e0c50f4a47706a6695e78ae41556c3d9754c15d564d42fb0de3f4199999" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal elections meme"> </figure>  TURNING POINT An important moment for the evolution of this digital masu bhat is the 2020 pandemic. It was just six years ago that the entire population was cut off from physical interaction. The phone screen became the sole mediator of social existence.&nbsp; Technology changes what we see as important, and this prolonged immersion fundamentally alters our perception of reality, training us to accept the flattened, binary logic of the algorithm as a substitute for the complex, multisensory texture of political reality. What is on the phone has started to dictate the questions we ask and the answers we accept. If it is not on the phone, it is starting to look irrelevant. The memes manufacture consent. Gerontocratic politicians habituated to legacy media have not fathomed the implications of this new virtual world. Everyone has been swayed by a good story since the beginning of time. Now, the phone has allowed millions of Nepalis to tell, retell, consume, and remix stories that would traditionally have huge barriers to entry. Consider the vegetable vendor killing time between customers, Gen-Z youth with no memory of the Maoist conflict, or the grandad who cannot distinguish an AI video from real footage.&nbsp; When they finally step into the voting booth, what is guiding their hand? Is it a careful calculus of policy proposals, demonstrated competence, and leadership integrity? Or is it the cumulative impact of those AI-generated dopamine hits they have been fed on a loop? This digital fog of war cuts both ways. In a twist of supreme irony, actual footage of candidates behaving badly is now routinely dismissed as ‘AI-generated’ by their PR teams. This was a convenient get-out-of-jail-free card that Balen’s camp used when a video of him shoving cadres went viral.&nbsp; Meanwhile, completely fabricated tear-jerkers of old leaders like Prachanda weeping are consumed by the public as gospel truth. We have arrived at a point where the inconvenient real is dismissed as a glitch, and the emotional fake is embraced as history.&nbsp; In Society of the Spectacle, Guy Debord argued that images eventually replace real life. Today’s voters in Nepal and elsewhere are not even consuming the actual meat-and-bones of mutton curry; they are swallowing the 15 second digital imitations of it.&nbsp; Welcome to the age of digital मासु भात.

Nepal’s AI-generated election

We walk past familiar neighbourhoods and wonder how much it has changed. An ongoing exhibition at The Kalā Salon titled Changing Times by The Pagoda Group aims to do just that -- capture ever-changing society within a captivating display of colourful canvases. Brick-lined houses, local tea shops, ancient temples, quiet devotion are themes in Pradhumna Shrestha’s series Shangri-La, much of which is an imagined past filled with nostalgia of the place he grew up in. By keeping people out of the frame, he allows space for what he calls a divine aura to surface.&nbsp; “I was born and brought up here and my canvases echo the nostalgia of cities like Kathmandu, Bhaktapur, and Lalitpur which are dense with myth, folklore, religion, and an ever-present divinity. All of this is truly what is ours, and we must treasure it,” says Shrestha. “Whatever I truly felt in my heart, I translated it into my work.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_32a8f9e9816595f12ec0da357528feffbb249fd19adbb658c18e72e2b721f9df.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260128100132_32a8f9e9816595f12ec0da357528feffbb249fd19adbb658c18e72e2b721f9df" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="1036" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  The swirling clouds that drift across Shrestha’s canvases borrow from thangka and paubha traditions, lending the scenes a sense of mysticism and otherworldliness. Within this dreamscape are red circular forms which represent wheels of chariots. &nbsp;The presence of divinity dominates from above, its presence asserted in soft blue brushstrokes below, as if the deity’s gaze itself has seeped into the land. Gods linger as guardians and temples hum with enigma in his paintings. In his much earlier work, Cultural Bond, a lakhe masked dancer bursts forward in vibrant red, dancing against a backdrop of molten gold clouds. The lakhe’s trance signifies protection and where it steps, the evil cannot follow. Hence, the skulls that surround but never fall beneath its feet but, one leg hangs suspended in midair, suggesting uncertainty, raising questions.&nbsp; Is this a symbol of culture and tradition, secure, or is it endangered by modernity? The work captures a society at a crossroads, honouring tradition while grappling with the risk of drifting away from it.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_c78307920acc7b14fb9f469a011043661accec66c230b5e7587bcba0199bcbf1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260128100132_c78307920acc7b14fb9f469a011043661accec66c230b5e7587bcba0199bcbf1" data-rendition-name="original" width="979" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  In Panchatatva Mandala, Pasang Bikram Lama fuses two mandalas into a single visual meditation, suggesting unity where each colour carries symbolic weight: yellow evokes the soil of the earth, blue flows as water, red burns with fire, and black opens into the vastness of the spatial sky. Together, these elements form a quiet cosmology that speaks of creation and dissolution, of life folding endlessly into death and returning again. Says Lama, “Everyone has a mandala of their own being, and the elements represent their cycle of life.” Mala Shrestha’s works Water of the Divine Mother and The Spirit of Serenity unfold in a dreamy and delicate fusion of nature and religion, suggesting that divine forms are not separate from the natural world. Trees and branch-like motifs appear as origins of sacred sculptures and spiritual presences.&nbsp; Her goddesses, adorned in alluring ornaments, emerge from trunks and streams, painted in aqua green, pink pastels, and rustic browns, as if grown rather than created, affirming that the divine is inseparable from nature and present everywhere.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_1f8cce84b4515a0d6d8b8fc169367bf5d39a7479c2c30038dafe90ec2bb3c4c9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260128100132_1f8cce84b4515a0d6d8b8fc169367bf5d39a7479c2c30038dafe90ec2bb3c4c9" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  Kishor Nakarmi’s Essence of Nepal, where Gautam Buddha appears embedded within leaves, brick walls, birds, and wilderness, dissolving boundaries between the sacred and the earthly. These canvases radiate calm and their subtlety is enriched by finely observed details. Similarly, Rudra Bahadur Pun captures the vitality of mask dances and ritual movements found in the monasteries of Mustang, weaving together tradition, landscape, and daily life. The essence of the exhibition comes together in Roshan Pradhan’s works. His paintings reflect a contemporary tension where technology collides with ancestral myth and the power of tradition. A fierce Garud rises within a landscape saturated by technological apparatuses, while at its feet a human form representing AI clings tightly, attempting to assert control.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_dc2c1ad4a4cefea6c6c7d02e9ed500309b7c862535247fe6451038e1d053d6b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260128100132_dc2c1ad4a4cefea6c6c7d02e9ed500309b7c862535247fe6451038e1d053d6b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  In another work, Bhairab confronts a human embodiment of AI in a theatrical standoff, with the deity ultimately prevailing, reaffirming endurance over technological dominance. The human figures in Pradhan’s paintings are drawn from life with his friends volunteering as models, photographed and later translated onto canvas.&nbsp; “Technology has taken over our lives. Many can probably not even imagine life without it now. But, culture, too, is integral to human existence. Our life would be much different without our culture; it is a part of us,” notes the artist. Rather than framing technology as purely antagonistic, Pradhan explores coexistence, and while acknowledging its destructive potential, he affirms his belief in the power of our myths and traditions.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260128100132_bc831a663ca8977c39979a363a95bcae5e41cfe624d78152c546579caa3e680f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260128100132_bc831a663ca8977c39979a363a95bcae5e41cfe624d78152c546579caa3e680f" data-rendition-name="original" width="4032" height="3024" loading="lazy" alt="The Kala Salon exhibition NT"> </figure>  Pradhan adds, “These paintings are also an archive of its time. Viewers centuries from now may read these paintings as records of the age we inhabit. While technology is important, cultural continuity must walk alongside it. Festivals must still be celebrated, oral traditions must be sustained, and our roots must be remembered, especially by future generations.” Curator Sophia L Pande says the exhibition took more than a year to put together:&nbsp; “It responds to a shifting world, seeking to capture both transformation and the quiet fear of loss. Its themes move fluidly across environment, technology, artificial intelligence, and climate change, reflecting the diverse yet interconnected practices of the artists, providing a glimpse into the evolving landscape of contemporary Nepali art.” Changing Times The Kalā Salon Chhaya Centre, Thamel 11AM-8PM

Time, transience, transition

The slow, arduous labour of democracy rarely announces itself with the fanfare of constitutional moments. &nbsp;It proceeds instead through committee rooms, ward meetings, half-attended assemblies, the awkward choreography of speech and silence, and the everyday compromises between aspiration and constraint.&nbsp; The book Nepal’s Federalism and the Pursuit of Deliberative Democracy attends precisely to this unglamorous terrain. In it, Vishnu Kumari Tandon does not ask whether democracy is desirable — an already settled question — but whether it can be made to think, to listen, and to endure under conditions of inequality, historical fracture, and institutional novelty.&nbsp; Her wager is modest yet demanding: that federalism, when tethered to participatory planning and deliberative fors, might recalibrate the relationship between state and citizen without promising redemption. Tandon’s Nepal is neither a site of democratic salvation nor a study in failure. It is a space of trial, where ideas migrate from constitutional text to municipal practice, altered by context, power, and expectation. Democracy here appears not as an ideal form but as a situated practice -- procedural, contested, and unfinished.&nbsp; The book’s quiet achievement lies in redirecting debates on deliberative democracy away from abstract normativity and toward the ethical friction of lived institutions. Federalism arrives in Nepal not as a technocratic reform but as a historical concession, wrested from conflict, exclusion, and prolonged political unrest. Tandon, who is a governance consultant at the World Bank, situates the 2015 Constitution within this unsettled genealogy, treating federalism less as an administrative innovation than as a moral response to longstanding claims of marginalisation.&nbsp; The constitutional recognition of local autonomy is thus freighted with ethical expectation. Yet the book refuses to equate decentralisation with empowerment. Federalism, Tandon insists, redistributes power without dissolving hierarchy. Domination may simply reappear closer to home. The central question, therefore, is not whether local governments exist, but how they govern: whether institutionalised participation genuinely alters the terms on which citizens speak, decide, and contest public priorities. Federalism emerges not as a stable structure but as a field of tension—between autonomy and dependence, inclusion and capture, aspiration and capacity. It is within this unstable terrain that the democratic experiment unfolds.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260127090120_62bd86d5cbb0dc9d199b797b2c90a5be37213b6c9236f79220706469cd3689a0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260127090120_62bd86d5cbb0dc9d199b797b2c90a5be37213b6c9236f79220706469cd3689a0" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="800" loading="lazy" alt="Vishnu Kumari Tandon"> <figcaption>Vishnu Kumari Tandon</figcaption> </figure>  UNEQUAL SKIES&nbsp; Participation, one of democracy’s most invoked terms, often risks conceptual exhaustion. Tandon restores its weight by treating participation as labour rather than ritual. Drawing on fieldwork in Buddhabhumi and Dhanushadham municipalities, she reconstructs the choreography of local planning: assemblies, committees, and councils through which proposals circulate, stall, or vanish. Participation here is unevenly distributed. It is shaped by gendered expectations, caste hierarchies, economic precarity, and anticipations of return. Attendance becomes a calculation rather than a civic reflex. This analytical attention to motivation marks one of the book’s strengths.&nbsp; Citizens participate not out of abstract virtue but through pragmatic reasoning, moral obligation, and strategic interest. Participation thus appears neither ennobling nor cynical, but politically intelligible. If participation concerns presence, deliberation concerns voice — and, crucially, whose voice matters. Tandon’s engagement with deliberative democratic theory is respectful yet revisionist. Habermasian ideals of reasoned consensus are treated as aspirational rather than portable, strained by structural inequality. In municipal assemblies, deliberation is patterned by authority: who speaks first, who commands attention, whose claims are legitimised. Marginalised citizens may be present without influence, audible without consequence. Deliberation risks becoming procedural affirmation rather than substantive redistribution of voice. Yet Tandon does not abandon deliberation as a democratic practice. Instead, she broadens its normative horizon. Drawing on second-generation deliberative theory, she legitimises emotion, self-interest, and strategic speech as components of democratic reasoning. Deliberation becomes a contested exchange rather than a purified rationality. The common good, if it appears, emerges provisionally: negotiated rather than presumed. One of the book’s most original contributions lies in its treatment of fiscal decentralisation. Money is not merely a resource but a language through which priorities are articulated and participation structured. The devolution of budgetary authority transforms deliberation into distributive politics. Citizens attend assemblies not simply to speak but to secure roads, water systems, clinics, schools. Voice is tethered to material expectation. This proximity intensifies engagement while sharpening conflict. Fiscal autonomy thus amplifies the stakes of deliberation without guaranteeing its equity. Local representatives emerge as paradoxical figures: empowered yet constrained, accountable yet insulated. Tandon resists binary judgments, showing instead how fiscal decentralisation deepens democratic possibility while exposing institutional fragility. Threaded through the book is a sustained interrogation of the ‘common good’. Revered in theory and suspect in practice, the concept is neither discarded nor sanctified. In unequal societies, appeals to the common good can obscure asymmetries of sacrifice. Empirically, deliberation proceeds through articulated self-interests: neighbourhood demands, caste claims, gendered priorities. Far from undermining democracy, these claims animate it. Self-interest becomes deliberation’s motor rather than its negation. The book thus advances a quiet ethical argument: democracy does not require the transcendence of interest, but its articulation under conditions of mutual visibility. The common good, if it exists, is emergent, fragile, and revisable. Institutions, for Tandon, are moral technologies. Laws mandate participation, but they cannot generate trust, courage, or equality. Procedural compliance may coexist with substantive exclusion. Yet repetition matters. Even imperfect fora can cultivate habits of speaking and being heard. Deliberative democracy, the book suggests, is not an event but a discipline, learned slowly, unevenly, and reversibly. Federalism is less a solution than a condition: one that opens space for democratic learning without securing its outcome. Firmly grounded in Nepal’s political history, the book resists parochialism. Nepal functions as a mirror, reflecting broader dilemmas of democratic deepening across unequal societies. Comparative resonances with Brazil, India, and donor-driven governance reforms are handled without formula or prescription. Nepal is neither an exemplar nor an exception. It is a site where democracy reveals its ordinary difficulties. The prose mirrors the argument: careful, analytic, resistant to grand claims. What lingers is not a verdict but a sensibility: an attentiveness to democracy’s tempo. Deliberative democracy appears less as consensus achieved than as disagreement sustained without rupture. In an age of democratic impatience, Tandon offers a quieter ethic. Democracy must be allowed to think slowly, to falter, and to learn. This book stands as a thoughtful companion to that discipline, reminding us that democratic transformation often occurs far from the centre, in places where speaking itself remains an achievement.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260127090112_4bd0fdb8c4ef4e44c21e9cba4ae63a8481ca1d61bb20f716b29f649bcdf1a4bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260127090112_4bd0fdb8c4ef4e44c21e9cba4ae63a8481ca1d61bb20f716b29f649bcdf1a4bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Federalism book details NT"> </figure>  Aftab Husain is a Pakistan-born poet and literary and cultural critic. He teaches South Asian literature and culture at the University of Vienna.

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