AI is coming for ‘content’ -- everything from advertising and novels to movies and journalism. The result is likely to be simultaneously horrific, wonderful, depressing and exciting. There will be not only creative destruction, but also lots of plain old destruction.
Having spent most of my adult life producing research, journalism and documentaries, as well as consuming escapist novels and movies, I have great sympathy for creators.&nbsp;
But for the past three years, I have been an investor and venture capitalist in AI, and this experience has shaped the message I would offer to everyone in journalism, publishing, music, advertising and Hollywood: you ignore the potential of this technology at your peril.
First, consider the prospects for film and television industry which have been contracting for years, owing to the new forms of media delivery (streaming) enabled by the internet, laptops, tablets and mobile phones.&nbsp;
The decline of cable TV and DVDs reflects a variety of factors, including video streaming, the rise of user-generated content, the democratisation of creation through inexpensive cameras and software, and the resulting competition for eyeballs from YouTube, Facebook and TikTok.
Yet throughout this decade of painful contraction, the fundamental techniques of video production did not change much. You still used real cameras to film real people and things.
Soon, though, all these real-world inputs will be obsolete, replaced by AI. The pioneers of this new world will be, without exception, startups, some of them less than a year old.&nbsp;
The $600 billion digital advertising industry is next. The leading startup in AI commercials, Higgsfield, was founded only in 2023, but its business has exploded, with revenues doubling every month, on track to exceed $1 billion this year.
DAY AFTER TOMORROW
The AI revolution is coming to the arts and the carnage in legacy industries will be awful. What the day after will look like, however, is a far more complicated question.
Personally, as a once and future filmmaker, I am excited about AI filmmaking. I would love to be able to write treatments and screenplays, feed them to my AI ‘studio’, get back a good rough cut and then hone and hone with AI until I have exactly the film I want to make, with every character, setting, movement, line of dialogue and camera angle perfect.&nbsp;
There is, however, an urgent need for new laws, system and institutions to protect intellectual property and its creators. The most discussed issue is the very real need to compensate traditional creators whose prior work is being used to train AI models. But there is also a need to protect AI creators and creations.
Far more frightening is what is happening to nonfiction — news, information sources and reference services. Here, we are already witnessing the blurring of the boundaries to the point of indistinguishability between fact and fabrication.&nbsp;
While the AI era of art excites me more than it worries me, the balance is different in the realm of truth and reality. As much as there is to celebrate, I am terrified by what AI might bring.
Journalism, like Hollywood, has already contracted. The internet forced daily newspapers, weekly magazines, radio and television news all into the same market, it destroyed the classified advertising revenues that newspapers depended on, and it spawned thousands of low-quality new entrants.
To be sure, after multiple near-death experiences, a small number of high-quality English-language news organisations emerged even stronger and with larger global audiences than before: the New York Times, the Financial Times, the Guardian, Bloomberg News, the Economist, Politico and the Reuters and AP wire services. But these outlets reach only a small minority of the population. They are also expensive to produce and their finances are fragile.
The most frequently discussed issue is AI deepfakes. These are indeed a huge problem, considering that YouTube, Facebook, Snap, X and TikTok face few obligations with regard to truth or accuracy. Soon, it will be possible to synthesise nearly undetectable fake versions of almost anyone and almost any event.
Even the most carefully trained AI models can be misused and some open-source AI models have no controls whatsoever. Yet at the same time, AI has greatly improved the quality of news and information available to the public, at least for anyone interested enough to look.&nbsp;
The major models (mainly OpenAI, Anthropic and Google), and many value-added services enabled by them, are now remarkably good. Hallucination is still a problem, but far less so than even a year ago.
Already, AI models provide a miraculous portal to knowledge for more than a billion users. I use Perplexity at least a dozen times a day, and I used it repeatedly in writing this essay — far more often than I referred to legacy publications (or Google Search).
Similarly, there has been an explosion of specialised AI services, including reference resources for lawyers, scientists, doctors, patients and now also AI therapists.&nbsp;
But there is a dark side. AI models do not create knowledge. They harvest and distribute knowledge superbly, but they are totally dependent on information created by others. We (and the models) still need Politico, the New York Times, the Financial Times, AP, Reuters and the whole world of news organisations. They alone have commissioning editors, full-time journalists and fact-checkers while AI models do not hire investigative journalists or war correspondents willing to take risks.
Yet as much as AI models depend on legacy journalism, they also profoundly threaten it in at least two ways. As in the case of Hollywood, these threats are further amplified by the fact that the legacy industry isn’t paying attention.
The first problem is direct competition. If you want to know something specific, or want to stay current with some issue, you don’t need a news publication anymore; you can just ask a model. Moreover, the currently available models can answer many questions that the news organisations cannot. Perhaps worst of all, they are cheaper — much cheaper. For individual users, they typically charge $10 per month, whereas the New York Times typically costs about $25 per month.
The AI models have a cost advantage in part because they can amortize their fixed costs across huge numbers of users. But they also benefit greatly from not paying for most of the information they use.
Currently, there is a strong moral and practical argument being made for forcing model vendors to compensate creators fairly. But this will probably require new court decisions or new laws. In the meantime, there is a very real risk that unless news organisations, journalists, writers and documentary filmmakers are compensated sufficiently, the AI industry will eventually kill the very sources on which it depends to provide accurate results.
This brings us to the second problem posed by AI: the potential destruction of trustworthy news sources as a result of overwhelming pollution from AI junk and fraud. Innumerable AI services will arise and even the major foundation models and the most careful news organisations might be degraded by skillful AI fakery that cannot be distinguished from reality. So far, the models have been trained on reality; but soon, most training ‘content’ will be AI-generated.
One can hope that news organisations will wake up, that courts and legislatures and popular demand will force AI companies to compensate journalists and researchers fairly, and that AI will give rise to a new industry of high-quality journalism. © Project Syndicate, 2026
Charles Ferguson is a technology investor, policy analyst and documentary filmmaker, including the Oscar-winning Inside Job.

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AI takeover of all media

Global press freedom across the world is at a “critical moment,” campaigners have warned, as a major index mapping the state of global press freedom hits an unprecedented low.
In the <a href="https://rsf.org/en/rsf-world-press-freedom-index-2025-economic-fragility-leading-threat-press-freedom?year=2025&amp;data_type=general">latest edition </a>of the annual press freedom index produced by Reporters Without Borders (RSF), which was published on 2 May, the average score of all assessed countries fell below 55 points, falling into the category of a “difficult situation” for the first time in the index’s history.
More than six out of ten countries (112 in total) saw their overall scores decline in the index, while the conditions for <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Between-the-lines/investing-in-journalism-in-nepal,614">practicing journalism</a> are for the first time classified as poor in half of the world’s countries and satisfactory in fewer than one in four.
In 42 countries—harboring over half of the world’s population (56.7%)—the situation is “very serious,” according to the group. In these zones, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepal-has-press-freedom-but-no-freedom-after-press">press freedom</a> is entirely absent and practicing journalism is particularly dangerous.
RSF says that while there has been a downward trend in press freedom globally for some time, the latest index scores are a distressing “new low.”
“Our index has been warning of this for the last ten years—the trajectory for press freedom has been a downward one—but this is a new low. Sixty percent of countries saw their scores [in the index] drop last year and the environment for media freedom globally has worsened. We are now at a critical moment for press freedom globally,” Fiona O’Brien, UK Bureau Director for RSF, told IPS.
Experts and campaigners have in recent years warned of growing <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/media-matters">threats to press freedom </a>amid a rise of authoritarian regimes looking to muzzle dissent, as well as growing economic pressures affecting the ability of independent media outlets to function.
RSF’s index is compiled using measurements of five different indicators—political context, legal framework, economic context, sociocultural context, and safety—to form an overall score. It says that this year the overall global index score was dragged down by the performance of the economic index.
It says that <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/comment/how-nepal-can-avert-an-economic-crunch">economic pressure</a> is an often underestimated but major factor seriously weakening media in many countries. This pressure is being largely driven by ownership concentration, pressure from advertisers and financial backers, and public aid that is restricted, absent, or allocated non-transparently.
The group warns this is leaving many media trapped between preserving their editorial independence and ensuring their economic survival.
“The pressure on media sustainability is as bad as it has ever been,” said O’Brien.
The effects of this economic pressure have been severe. Data collected for the index indicates that in 160 out of the 180 countries assessed (88.9%), media outlets achieve financial stability “with difficulty” or “not at all.” Meanwhile, news outlets are shutting down due to economic hardship in nearly a third of countries globally.
While the struggles of media economies in some countries have been exacerbated by political instability, general lack of resources, and war, media in other rich, ostensibly more stable countries are also facing significant economic pressures.
RSF points out that in the US, a majority of journalists and media experts told the group that “the average media outlet struggles for economic viability.”
Meanwhile, independent media that rely heavily or exclusively on foreign funding have come under increasing pressure.
A freeze on funding for the US Agency for International Development (USAID), which halted US international aid earlier this year plunged hundreds of news outlets in different countries around the world into economic uncertainty or forced others to close.
This was particularly acute in Ukraine, where nine out of ten outlets receive international aid and USAID is the primary donor.
“The US cuts have had a profound effect there,” Jeanne Cavalier, head of RSF’s Eastern Europe and Central Asia desk, told IPS. “Independent media is vital in any country that is at war. It’s a real blow to press freedom in the country,” she said.
She added, though, that the cuts to US funding were “an existential threat to press freedom in all countries with authoritarian governments under Russian influence,” highlighting that exiled media in particular provide a vital service to people living under such regimes.
The Meduza news outlet is one of the most prominent exiled Russian media organizations. While more than half of its financing comes through crowdfunding, until earlier this year a part of its funding came via US grants.
The group said that the combined impact of the cut and previous financial problems presented a significant challenge to its operations. It was forced to cut its workforce by 15% and salaries were reduced.
Speaking to IPS at the time, Katerina Abramova, Head of Communications at Meduza, said the moves would “influence the diversity of our content.” But speaking this week after the release of RSF’s index, she said the group had managed to continue its work but admitted, “it is even more challenging now.”
“Our main goal is to maintain the quality of our reporting and to keep delivering news inside Russia,” she said.
However, she said she was concerned for the future of other organizations like Meduza as press freedom and the economic health of independent media wane globally.
“I hope that there will not be a complete loss of independent reporting on countries where free speech has become illegal. But I know that many independent newsrooms are suffering and are on the edge of closing. When you are in exile, you are in a vulnerable position, so such newsrooms face the most difficult challenges,” she told IPS.
“I am also worried that the USAID cuts may be seen as a ‘good sign’ for many authoritarian regimes around the world. They might say, ‘look, the USA also doesn’t like journalists anymore.’ It would be like a validation of what they are doing to independent media [in their own countries],” she added.
Meanwhile, other organizations have also raised the alarm over growing threats to press freedom, even in countries regarded as among the strongest democracies in the world.
While in the RSF index the European Union (EU)-Balkans zone had the highest overall score globally, and its gap with the rest of the world continued to grow, a<a href="https://www.liberties.eu/en/stories/mfr2025-blog/45389"> report </a>released this week by the Civil Liberties Union for Europe (Liberties) group highlighted how some EU governments were attacking press freedom and undermining independent media.
The report, based on the work of 43 human rights groups from 21 countries, warned that press freedom was being eroded across the bloc. It said EU media markets “feature high media ownership concentration, with these owners remaining obscured behind inadequate ownership transparency obligations, the continued erosion of public service media’s independence, ongoing threats and intimidation against journalists, and restrictions on freedom of expression and access to information.”
“The findings of this report should put EU officials on high alert: media freedom and pluralism are under attack across the EU, and in some cases they are in an existential battle against overtly undemocratic governments,” according to the group.
Liberties also warned that “EU legislation to bolster media freedom is being greeted with hostility, making enforcement efforts in 2025 and beyond decisive in protecting the free and plural media that European democracy depends on.”
However, it is this legislation, including the European Media Freedom Act (EMFA), which is designed to guarantee the protection of journalists and sources, independence of regulatory bodies and full ownership transparency, and the Anti-SLAPP Directive (Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation) to protect journalists and human rights advocates from abusive legal proceedings, that experts see as providing hope that some of the threats to media freedom can be dealt with.
“At the individual country level within the EU, there are some problems. Where there has been a recent change in government away from authoritarianism, there has been some positive progress, e.g., in Poland. But in other countries, like Slovakia, we are seeing the reverse,” Eva Simon, Senior Advocacy Officer at Liberties, told IPS.
“But at the EU level, we see positive prospects for media freedom in new legislation. The EU Media Act is coming into force soon and the anti-SLAPP directive will come into effect next year.
“The EU has the power to intervene in countries where there are persistent problems and we have high hopes that the EU will use its powers to enforce the European Media Freedom Act. The EU has more tools than ever at its disposal to ensure media freedom in member states,” she added.
On April 30, the Committee for the Protection of Journalists (CPJ) issued a damning report on how, since the start of US President Donald Trump’s second term in January, press freedom has come under attack.
<a href="https://cpj.org/special-reports/alarm-bells-trumps-first-100-days-ramp-up-fear-for-the-press-democracy/">The report </a>warned that press freedom is no longer a given in the United States as journalists and newsrooms face mounting pressures that threaten both their ability to report freely and the public’s right to know.
It said the executive branch of the government was taking “unprecedented steps to permanently undermine press freedom” through restricting access for some news organizations, increasingly using government and regulatory bodies against media, and launching targeted attacks on journalists and newsrooms.
In a statement, CPJ CEO Jodie Ginsberg said, “This is a definitive moment for U.S. media and the public’s right to be informed. Whether at the federal or state level, the investigations, hearings, and verbal attacks amount to an environment where the media’s ability to bear witness to government action is already curtailed.”
The current threats to press freedom in the US are among the most worrying anywhere, many media experts say.
“There is a head-on attack on media freedom in the US. If you look at the scores for the US [in the index], the social indicator has dropped hugely, which shows that within the US the press is operating in a hostile environment. The economic situation there has deteriorated too, which makes things difficult for them,” said O’Brien.
“But also, a lot of people look to America as a bastion of press freedom, with its constitution’s First Amendment, and what is happening there to independent media is an absolute gift to authoritarian rulers around the world. If the rest of the world just sits back and watches this and lets press freedom be restricted and attacked and does nothing, other regimes will look and just think, ‘oh, it’s OK to do this.'”
“World leaders have to now stand up for press freedom. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/messaging-is-the-message">Independent journalism is fundamental to democratic societies</a>,” she added.
<a href="https://www.ipsnews.net/2025/05/world-press-freedom-day-2025-global-press-freedom-index-falls-to-critical-low/">Republished</a> under an arrangement with Inter Press Service (IPS).

Global Press Freedom Index falls to critical low

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111120/636cd0ed9c7e80680e08f883jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1500"/><figcaption>Photo: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>The Year of Covid hit economies hard, and none more so than the <a href="http://v" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">media business which depends mainly on advertising</a>. With sales down and many businesses going belly-up, the media’s main source of revenue dried up as well.When the lockdown went into effect on 24 March, most legacy media in Nepal stopped their print editions. Nepali Times and Himal Khabarpatrika were one of the first to stop printing in early March, and went fully digital. National broadsheets like Nagarik, Kantipur, Kathmandu Post and The Himalayan Times also halted hardcopies, and terminated their other magazines.Among the broadsheets, only Naya Patrika and Annapurna Post continued to print much slimmer versions of their papers, mainly surviving on government notices.However, within ten days Nepal’s largest-circulation newspaper Kantipur resumed printing after it found out that it was losing market share. “We panicked prematurely, and pausing print production was a near-fatal decision,” admits Mahesh Swar, Assistant General Manager at Kantipur Media Group. “We did lose some confidence of our readers, but we have won most of it back. Resuming print was the best decision we made.”Although it was a question of visibility in the market and a presence in the corridors of power in Singha Darbar, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/media-muzzle/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">media</a> as a business has struggled to survive in the past ten months as Nepal’s economy flatlined during the March-July lockdown. The prognosis for 2021 is looking only slightly better.A handful of digital-only portals with lower overheads rode out the crisis, but even they had to cut costs as new sites diluted online readership. Print media found it difficult to get existing companies to switch advertising to their online editions. While page views of their digital editions hit the roof, revenue crashed.Back in April, Shiva Gaunle of the Centre for Investigative Journalism (CIJ) told this paper that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/in-locked-down-nepal-print-is-still-king/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the resumption of hardcopy</a> was prompted by competition, and the fear of losing a paper’s footprint.“It is true digital media has even more reach during the lockdown, but the publishers seem to have decided that not having a printed newspaper has reduced their clout,” Gaunle says. “In that respect, print is still king.”A <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/mobile-nepal-is-hooked-on-youtube/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">survey earlier this year</a> by Sharecast Initiative showed that only 7% of a nationwide sample regularly read print media, while the proportion of people who got their information from online media had grown, but only to 16% by October.“It has been a challenging year for publishers, but they should keep in mind that the readership has not decreased. It's just that the news sources have shifted to the digital platform,” says Madhu Acharya of Sharecast. He adds that the real reason there are not more readers of print is because publishers have not invested in efficient nationwide distribution. “Most respondents in our survey said they would read newspapers if they could buy them easily.”<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/journalism-is-not-a-crime/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Journalist Namrata Sharma</a> believes that older people prefer a physical newspaper because they are in the habit of reading them with their morning cup of tea. “Newspapers are just much easier to read, the letters and pictures are bigger and they do not have to squint into phones,” she says.https://www.youtube.com/watch?fbclid=IwAR0YfYL0plBNnqDQvITBvW-S4pcOYeQcS2cHoedcDtVArHADUyro3G8y4Tk&amp;v=r6UdpJ-UC_Y&amp;feature=youtu.beThe Sharecast survey shows that the readership of news portals is not much higher, and most people with smartphones use the internet <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/nepals-new-digital-landscape/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">for entertainment, to connect to family and friends and to watch or share video content</a>. Some 80% of respondents in the survey are on Facebook, with the total number of Nepalis with the app at nearly 9 million. YouTube and TikTok are spreading rapidly as well. Three years ago, only 1% used YouTube, that has grown to 57% in 2019.Acharya says print readership can grow if newspapers and magazines are more readily available to subscribers and in news-stands because of greater literacy levels. Print’s advantage is its shelf-life, and the size of images, which has an edge over a mobile phone screen.“Print newspapers are not going to die because it is something physical that stays with you, there are things you can do with design and use of space on the page that is much more powerful than looking at a small screen,” says Amar Gurung, CEO at Himalmedia, which is resuming the print edition of Nepali Times every Friday from 1 January.Even ad agencies feel that print is a more credible source of information for the public, but they say that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/lockdown-crackdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">legacy media</a> has to re-invent itself to be more appealing to advertisers and readers."Print publications have a more loyal readership, and they perceive them as more credible than online," says Ujaya Shakya of Outreach Nepal, and author of Brandsutra.He adds that print readers do not usually multitask when they read a magazine or newspaper, making them more receptive to ads in those publications.However, Shakya says the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepalis-are-drifting-to-digital-media/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">penetration of digital media is growing</a> faster, and it will gain momentum when it is integrated with print, tv or radio."The biggest challenge for marketers now is the attention span of the digital audience," Shakya adds. "How many times will they click on the banner ad while browsing social media or a site? That is the key question."The print media as it existed 10 years ago is dead. But the content and role of newspapers have changed. Ironically, what appears to have saved print is the proliferation of digital portals, where both news and advertisement tend to be drowned out by the cacophony. To stand out from the crowd, advertisers now prefer a printed paper page.“Print media still helps to create certain level of credibility in communications. With excess noise in digital, and its unregulated content, many people are not sure how much they can trust it. Print provides trust,” says Punam Singh of the Golchha Group which is the distributor of Bajaj motorcycles.It may be a question of time before print is trending again, just as people get tired of digital sound and vinyl record shops are becoming fashionable. Physical newspapers are tactile, their influence is less ephemeral than digital, much like e-books never really took off as people preferred to turn physical pages. The sale of printed books worldwide doubled last year.“A newspaper in your hand is much more real than digital words on a monitor. There is more trust and credibility in a physical paper in this age of fake news,” says Amar Gurung. “Readers of print also tend to read longer articles and are less distracted, whereas online readers prefer shorter items or videos.”This may be the reason why despite the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/the-message-is-the-medium/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">growth of digital readers</a>, many advertisers in Nepal still prefer ads in print. Indeed, across the world there is a return to print advertising by companies who are turned off by the over-saturation of online, and people disabling ads because they feel pursued by algorithms.“Traditional media's major source of revenue has been ads. But now, we have to think out of the box to generate revenues from other sources as well,” says Gurung.To be sure, there are caveats to print. The content and production values have to be of extremely high quality, there has to be visibility and efficient distribution that makes the media brand stand out. In the end it will be the advertisers who have the last word.Says Prasun Timilsina of Karyala Advertising Inc., “For advertisers, it mostly depends on the audience. While products for youth are usually on digital media, it still makes sense to advertise in newspapers because they are tactile and there is greater retention of content that people see in print. A newspaper is also shared by the entire family, as opposed to digital media which is individual.”

The death of print is exaggerated

Home Minister Sudan Gurung resigned on Wednesday following increasing coverage of and criticism over his investment in companies linked to controversial Nepali business figures Sulav Agrawal and Deepak Bhatta, who are currently under investigation for money laundering.
‘I am resigning from the position of Home Minister effective today to ensure impartial investigation into matters associated with me, and to make sure that there is no conflict of interest,’ Gurung wrote, saying that morality and public trust mattered more to him than office.
Gurung ended his message to the nation in English as he invoked the security forces, writing: &nbsp;‘For my country and For the respect of our security forces and For the youths of Nepal.’
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Gurung has become the second member to depart the Cabinet, serving for less than a month, despite the Nepali electorate’s hopes that Nepal would finally get a stable government after the RSP’s sweeping victory in the March elections.&nbsp;
Prime Minister Balendra Shah had sought clarification from Gurung on Wednesday after new details emerged about his shares in two micro-insurance companies, Star Micro Insurance and Liberty Micro Life, which are said to have been issued their licence by the Nepal Insurance Authority at the behest of Bhatta and Agrawal.
Gurung denied financial misconduct, saying that his investment in the two companies was included in his asset disclosure and insisting the misunderstanding is because of how the shares have been categorised.&nbsp;
Leaders within the RSP had called for an internal investigation into Gurung as they sought to maintain the party’s platform of clean governance and transparency. As such, Gurung’s position had become increasingly untenable, especially since former Labour Minister was sacked without being given an opportunity for clarification over a disciplinary breach involving his wife’s appointment to the Health Insurance Board.&nbsp;
On social media, Sah on Tuesday seemed to express dissatisfaction over the PM’s request for Gurung’s clarification.&nbsp;
Judging by the comments under Gurung’s resignation post, a significant part of the Nepali public seems to be firmly on Gurung’s side, blaming the mass media and what they call mouthpieces of old parties for driving him out of the Cabinet.&nbsp;
This is a reflection of his meteoric rise and the continued support he has maintained since he stepped into the spotlight as the leader of Nepal’s youth movement in the aftermath of the September protest.&nbsp;
Gurung has made headlines constantly ever since he burst onto the national stage, which includes questions over the degree of his and his organisation Hami Nepal’s involvement in the September 9 unrest, calls to divulge details behind Hami Nepal’s finances, and not paying five years of rent for an illegal lakefront property in Pokhara.&nbsp;
There have also been unsubstantiated claims, despite Gurung’s denial, about his ‘ties’ to the Free Tibet movement, which has made the Chinese— as well as Nepalis— wary.&nbsp;
As Home Minister, Gurung cultivated an image of a tough but approachabe leader, overseeing a series of high-profile arrests of previous political leadership and business figures even as he posted photos of sleeping in a sofa in his office, and engaged with the public on the streets and on social media.&nbsp;
As it stands, the Home Ministry was a bone of contention between Shah and RSP Chair Rabi Lamichhane before it was awarded to Gurung, who is a close ally of PM Shah. Analysts had noted that with Gurung in charge, the Home Ministry would be a hook for Shah if Lamichhane, with his share of controversies, stepped out of line.&nbsp;
Following Gurung’s resignation, the Prime Minister’s secretariat has said that the PM would take charge of the portfolio for the time being. But it will be interesting to see if and how fresh negotiations for the Ministry unfold within RSP.&nbsp;
And with his supporter base largely intact, it remains to be seen how much of an impact this setback will have on Sudan Gurung’s political aspirations.&nbsp;

Home Minister Sudan Gurung resigns

Sudan Gurung is dancing. It is 2009. He has an emo fringe falling over one eye and is spinning on a polished floor. His dance shows dedication — moves that take years of bruised elbows to land. The clip is 16 years old, and had been sitting in the dead archives of YouTube and old Facebook pages, watched by almost nobody. This month <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@4gr4j/video/7621892206902725909">it has 1.9 million views</a>. Gurung became Home Minister on 27 March and resigned on Wednesday, barely a month into office. His<a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@aayvik/video/7626069452177542408"> pre-political life had been put back into circulation</a> at industrial speed -- the b-boying, the DJ sets, and the YouTube video of him dancing in a music clip.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026042202040_71df4d531423e7c941abde95fb8106346c70ab0afb71bbeb520cc570f14ba178.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026042202040_71df4d531423e7c941abde95fb8106346c70ab0afb71bbeb520cc570f14ba178" data-rendition-name="original" width="2300" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="When aura meets audit"> </figure>  The youth of Nepal, well-versed in snappy TikTok edits and aura compilations, turned the archive into a meme economy almost overnight. TikTok remixed the footage to trap beats. The comments settled on a nickname that crossed into everyday speech within days: 'Homie Minister'. <div class="embed-block"><blockquote class="tiktok-embed" cite="https://www.tiktok.com/@yalexthwreal/video/7622325255792512276" data-video-id="7622325255792512276" style="max-width: 605px;min-width: 325px;" > <section> <a target="_blank" title="@yalexthwreal" href="https://www.tiktok.com/@yalexthwreal?refer=embed">@yalexthwreal</a> <a title="sudangurung" target="_blank" href="https://www.tiktok.com/tag/sudangurung?refer=embed">#sudangurung</a> new home minister of Nepal😎 <a title="fyppppppppppppppppppppppp" target="_blank" href="https://www.tiktok.com/tag/fyppppppppppppppppppppppp?refer=embed">#fyppppppppppppppppppppppp</a> <a title="sudangrg" target="_blank" href="https://www.tiktok.com/tag/sudangrg?refer=embed">#sudangrg</a> <a title="home" target="_blank" href="https://www.tiktok.com/tag/home?refer=embed">#home</a> <a title="minister" target="_blank" href="https://www.tiktok.com/tag/minister?refer=embed">#minister</a> <a target="_blank" title="♬ original sound - •⪨н є α я т ❤н α ¢ к є я ⪩• - Music Universe 🎧" href="https://www.tiktok.com/music/original-sound-•⪨н-є-α-я-т-❤н-α-¢-к-є-я-⪩•-7308733170064231170?refer=embed">♬ original sound - •⪨н є α я т ❤н α ¢ к є я ⪩• - Music Universe 🎧</a> </section> </blockquote> <script async src="https://www.tiktok.com/embed.js"></script></div> As Home Minister, Gurung was in charge of the Nepal Police, Armed Police Force, Department of Immigration, and the country's internal security apparatus. Calling him 'homie' collapsed the distance between that office and the Discord server where the movement that brought him into power had organised itself. What is harder to explain is why the nostalgic clips did the narrative work for Gurung's political standing right up until the moment the paperwork did not. A teenager on a dance floor in a Thamel club, filmed before smartphones had decent cameras, was functioning as political currency for a powerful home minister, while a share registry was quietly filling the other column. The footage was not an argument. Gurung was not doing anything in it that related to home affairs. He was just dancing. The comments compared him to <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@4gr4j/video/7621892206902725909">Korean film heroes</a>. A separate <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@tandavyt7/video/7622151050128018708">48,000-like edit</a> was captioned 'Our New Home Minister Aura'. The replies were full of people saying they got chills listening to him speak. Even after his resignation, most comments on his Facebook page were supportive, saying he had been punished for pursuing truth and justice.&nbsp; Political legitimacy in Nepal has been built out of many things over the last 70 years, but it has never been built out of this. The question was always: what happens when the job starts demanding things his style, boldness, and swag cannot provide. Political aura in Nepal used to be a slow harvest, now it isn't. B P Koirala spent eight years in prison under the Panchayat. He wrote fiction at Sundari Jal. The writing survived, the prison sentences survived, and that experience became the template for what a serious Nepali politician looked like: someone the state had tried to break and failed. Legitimacy was accumulated by having their lives taken away, and refusing to bend the knee. The old mechanics of legitimacy produced politicians who could be audited. The record was made of words, dates, votes, and years behind bars. A voter who wanted to know what a leader stood for read his writings. A journalist digging for inconsistency could find it. The system was slow, often corrupt, and frequently boring. But boring was part of the job description. A minister was supposed to be slightly dull — evidence that the person was doing the unglamorous work of reading files and sitting through committee meetings. Today, boring is a disqualification. The attention economy rewards velocity and visual charge, and a politician who cannot generate either does not exist in the feed, and that means does not exist at all. The legacy parties are still issuing press statements criticising the new guard in the grammar of paper trails and procedural failure. But the audience has stopped reading, users scroll for their next viral bite. Sudan Gurung, unlike the old parties, understood exactly which grammar the feed rewarded. On his first evening as Home Minister, he posted a photo of himself sleeping on a sofa inside the ministry. Caption: creation cannot be greater than the creator, government is not above the people. The image travelled further in 12 hours than any ministerial press release has ever done.&nbsp; A minister napping on a sofa, phone-shot, zero production, read by the public as evidence of a minister who had skipped the motorcade and got straight to work. Gurung used Facebook to announce the names of former ministers and businessmen he intended to arrest. The feed was used to pre-announce state security action.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260422010456_2fa1918e1dd031d01f38b4001ee306d9414073cec0b795fa43a75cb5a8deb8c7.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260422010456_2fa1918e1dd031d01f38b4001ee306d9414073cec0b795fa43a75cb5a8deb8c7" data-rendition-name="original" width="926" height="868" loading="lazy" alt="When aura meets audit"> </figure>  INFLUENTIAL INFLUENCER This is not how the Ministry of Home Affairs has ever operated. It is how a YouTuber releases a series. Sudan Gurung was a political content creator. As home minister, he was an influential influencer kinetically doing something in the visual medium. Much like Prime Minister Balendra Shah's sunglasses, Gurung's aura, authenticity and swag were a brand asset, instantly recognisable at thumbnail size. Balen's rap career supplies a pre-political archive that authenticates him the same way Gurung's DJ sets and b-boying clips authenticated him. The aesthetic is doing the work a manifesto used to do. The work is authenticity, and the strategy is auramaxxing. The emo fringe predates the ministry. The DJ sets predate Hami Nepal. The b-boying predates the earthquake, the NGO, the September uprising, the interim cabinet, all of it. Whatever Gurung is now, he was already that person before the office existed. This was the real spectacle of the Homie Minister: authenticity. Nepal's youth have grown up watching heavily-polished, talking-point ministers speak in a language aimed at nobody in particular. But that grainy archival clip of the Home Minister from 2009 was honest.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260422010456_5d6dff3a09e8b7e77dc60c3aa567c9e02b6bd5f90f94e20737ec05cc9a09023b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20260422010456_5d6dff3a09e8b7e77dc60c3aa567c9e02b6bd5f90f94e20737ec05cc9a09023b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1800" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="When aura meets audit NT"> </figure>  The effect transcended GenZ. <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@ektapokharel/video/7623242573481561365">A TikTok trend</a> captioned NOT ONLY OUR HOME MINISTER, WE ARE ALSO FROM THAT ERA <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@sonykhadka/video/7624106790266948872">has millennials posting their own</a> archive photos from the same period, aligning themselves with Gurung's pre-political aesthetic. The aura did <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@_thakuri/video/7623397397556645141">cross-generational work</a>. It was a shared legibility, spanning at least 15 years of Nepali youth culture, with the Home Minister standing at its centre.&nbsp; The traditional politician's entire adult life is a performance of identity. Every photograph is lit for the media, every statement is vetted. The persona is the product, and the product has been in development for 30 years. This makes the old guard legible but suspect in the attention economy. A generation raised on authenticity-as-currency reads the decades of careful performance as evidence of something to hide. The polish is the problem. The nostalgic Sudan Gurung party clips inverted this. The polish was absent. The footage could not be performance aimed at the viewer, because the viewer did not exist in 2009 and neither did the political stakes. The clip was therefore read as real, in a way a press conference can never be. It was just a kid dancing, and he happened to grow up to be the Home Minister. But Sudan Gurung's job was never to go viral. The Ministry of Home Affairs requires the person running it to file a complete asset declaration and to avoid holding financial interests in crony entities.&nbsp; None of that work is content. A correctly filed asset declaration does not get remixed into a trap beat. A functioning immigration database is not a TikTok. The paperwork that constitutes actual governance is structurally boring in exactly the way the old parties are structurally boring, and for the same reason. It is the slow, procedural, checkable apparatus that the old system was built to produce and that the new system has not yet learned to replace. And it is painstaking follow-the-money paper trail investigative journalists in the legacy media who uncovered the evidence. You cannot auramaxx your way out of a share registry. You cannot post your way past a conflict-of-interest statute. No amount of fire outfits and wild DJ transitions does anything for you when a journalist pulls the initial shareholder list of Star Micro Insurance and finds your name at number 49, with Rs2.5 million in shares alongside investors linked to Deepak Bhatta and Sulav Agrawal — two men currently at the centre of a Rs 3.7 billion money laundering investigation. <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@blox.drop/video/7622173520981658900">Auramaxxing was engineered</a> for the mechanics of reaching office. It is the reason Sudan Gurung became Home Minister and Gagan Thapa did not. The question that had not yet been tested, until this week, was whether the same weapon works when the terrain changes. The terrain does change when you assume power. This week, the answer arrived. TWO CLOCKS Two clocks had been running, and they did not sync. The first clock was built for auramaxxing. A clip posted at eight in the morning peaked by noon. A sofa photo was remixed before the minister had left the building. The feedback loop is fast and legible, and a politician playing this clock gets real-time data on what to post next. The old guard never learned to read it, which is a large part of why they lost the election. The second clock was the one the ministry actually runs on. It measures in quarters, court calendars, and the slow grind of investigation files moving between offices. A share registry takes weeks to pull. A money-laundering case moves at the speed of the prosecutor's office, which is to say, it often does not appear to move at all, until one morning it does. The legacy mass media is fed leaks, and the second clock does not care whether the minister is currently trending. The two clocks collided this week, and the second clock got there first. Faster than anyone expected. The first clock put Gurung in the Home Ministry in weeks. The second clock put him out of it in less than a month. On Sunday evening, Diyopost and Janaastha published documents showing Gurung as a founding shareholder in Star Micro Insurance and Liberty Micro Life — companies licensed by the Nepal Insurance Authority in 2022 following what reporting identified as political lobbying by Bhatta and Agrawal. A photograph also surfaced of Hami Nepal, the NGO Gurung chairs, honouring Bhatta as a donor on 21 December 2021. Gurung's first response was auramaxxed. A Monday Facebook post distinguishing ‘rumours’ from ‘facts’, insisting the shares were disclosed within his broader Rs20 million securities portfolio, promising to cooperate with any investigation. "Allegations and truth are not the same thing," he wrote. "Decisions should be based on evidence, not sentiment." It was a coherent clip, but it did not stop the clock. By Wednesday, Prime Minister Balendra Shah had sought written clarification. Leaders within the RSP itself were calling for his resignation. The opposition Nepali Congress had framed the question as one of democratic transparency.&nbsp; Gurung resigned, posting his decision to Facebook as he did everything else. Ethics, he wrote, hold more weight than any position. There is no power greater than public trust. He ended in English, invoking ‘my country … the respect of our security forces … the youths of Nepal’. Even the exit was content. And this is the asymmetry the office exposed. A politician whose legitimacy is built on fast 30 second videos is structurally exposed to a process that runs slower than the news cycle, because the archive of aesthetic proof was not engineered to answer documentary evidence.&nbsp; It was engineered to displace the demand for documentary evidence in the first place. When that demand returns, as it always does once a politician takes office, the digital archive keeps performing, but the documents keep getting uncovered. And the two tracks do not communicate. The old guard knew this clock because they had no other clock to know. What they lost in charisma they gained in durability: a politician built over 20 years of parliamentary record is harder to dislodge with a single document because they have already survived thousands of documents. The new guard has not been stress-tested against its own paper trail. Sudan Gurung has now been tested, and the test is over, and the template has been written in his exit rather than his survival.&nbsp; A politician can enter office on the strength of a dance clip, and the same class of evidence — share registries, company filings, founding-shareholder lists at number 49 — that would have ended the career of a politician in a previous era of Nepali politics has ended his. The second clock got there. The feed did not save him. Or not entirely. Because the resignation itself is now in the feed. The Facebook post. The 46 brothers and sisters. The epic sign-off. Within hours of stepping down, Gurung had already re-enrolled his exit into the same register that put him in office. The clip of the Home Minister dancing in 2009 is still in circulation. The sofa photo still reads as sincerity. The investigation into the micro-insurance shares will move at the speed of Nepal's prosecutor's office, which is to say, at a speed the feed has long since outrun. The movement that installed Gurung in the name of ending elite capture has had its answer about whether its own hero is subject to the same audit it demanded of everyone else. He walked — or was walked — before the audit ran its course. The resignation was framed as moral choice rather than forced exit, and the framing is already winning. Whether that framing holds is the next test. Auramaxxing, it turns out, is a weapon that works in one direction only: it got him the job, and when the documents arrived, it did not save him. But it may yet save the person. These are not the same thing. If the technique is wounded, it is not yet dead. The next Nepali politician with a pre-political archive and a phone is watching how Gurung exits, not just how he entered. And the answer is: you exit the same way you entered: on Facebook. In your own voice. Before anyone else writes the caption. Whether he comes back is the thing to watch. Whether the technique does is already decided. &nbsp; &nbsp;

When Aura meets Audit

At 6 feet and one inch, Hira Bahadur Ghalan was exceptionally tall for a Nepali. In 1936, when people came to his Tamang village near Tistung looking for porters, they recruited him on the spot. This was no ordinary job, Hira Bahadur would lead gangs of 30 or more porters to carry cars bought by Rana rulers from Bhimphedi to Kathmandu.&nbsp; Those were the days when the only motorable roads in Nepal were in Kathmandu, but the capital was not connected to anywhere else by road. So, before cars could carry people, people had to carry cars. More Nepalis had carried cars than ridden in one. The porters were paid Rs5 for the job, and sometimes the Rana owners gave Hira Bahadur a Rs25 baksheesh. One of the cars his community helped carry was a 1939 Daimler Benz gifted by Adolf Hitler to King Tribhuvan to woo Nepal away from the British. The rusted dusty vehicle is now in the Narayanhiti Palace Museum.&nbsp; Hira Bahadur hauled cars for 25 years until his knees gave way, he died at age 90 eight years ago — the last surviving car porters of Nepal from Chitlang Valley.&nbsp; Hira Bahadur Ghalan had three sons and three daughters, one of them is Maila Kaji Lama, who at age 68, is a chauffeur in Kathmandu. His son, Manjil Lama is a pilot with Summit Air, flying to remote Himalayan airstrips. Three generations of one family worked in professions that followed a century of transportation history in Nepal. &nbsp; After the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/the-long-and-winding-road-to-india">Tribhuvan Rajpath was finished in 1957</a> and the ropeway upgraded, Hira Bahadur was out of a job. He tilled the family farm, watching trucks and buses headed to and from Kathmandu on the hairpins.&nbsp; As a child, Maila Kaji was fascinated by cars and wished one day to be able to drive one. After he failed Grade 8, he came to Kathmandu in 1975 and got a Rs20/month job at a petrol station in Maiti Devi. “I watched King Birendra’s coronation and was impressed by the glamour of Kathmandu, and decided to stay here,” Maila Kaji says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041816040_a1a41e47dec8500727702f700e43af625f059043cbcd283f13b247344b3a20aa.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026041816040_a1a41e47dec8500727702f700e43af625f059043cbcd283f13b247344b3a20aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="1974" height="1608" loading="lazy" alt="car carriers"> <figcaption>Maila Kaji</figcaption> </figure>  Former minister Ramesh Nath Pandey used to bring his Volkswagen Beetle to the station, and Maila Kaji started taking care of his car. Later, he drove a Russian Jeep for former minister and geographer Harka Gurung. Along the way, he fell in love with the daughter of a Brahmin colleague, and married her. “My father back in Tistung did not approve of our inter-ethnic marriage, and not speak to me for five years,” Maila Kaji recalls. Manjil Lama grew up in Kathmandu, and did well in science in school. He had wanted to go the US to become a pilot like his friends, but was denied a visa.&nbsp; “The visa officer told him I did not earn enough,” says Maila Kaji, “so I sold some property and sent Manjil to flying school in the Philippines.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041816040_e9091162840baa6d182de2d7cc6f09e43ec9cfd9a9b6e71e7e7b14bc72da3537.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026041816040_e9091162840baa6d182de2d7cc6f09e43ec9cfd9a9b6e71e7e7b14bc72da3537" data-rendition-name="original" width="1434" height="1754" loading="lazy" alt="car carriers"> <figcaption>Manjil Lama</figcaption> </figure>  After returning to Nepal, Manjil Lama now flies Let 410s of Summit Air to difficult air strips like Lukla and Simkot, and has logged over 2,000 hours. He has to go to the Czech Republic regularly for simulator training. Says Maila Kaji Lama: “My father worked hard carrying cars to raise us, I started from scratch to become a driver to support my family, and my son is now a pilot with experience in flying in the world’s toughest terrain.” &nbsp; Watch <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvT3iTi8yw4" target="_blank">video clip from S Dillon Ripley here</a>.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260419020448_40f8b1bdaace08106ca5c24819b6e7a34fb2109a9a3ec5c6ac179b3309e686ed.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260419020448_40f8b1bdaace08106ca5c24819b6e7a34fb2109a9a3ec5c6ac179b3309e686ed" data-rendition-name="original" width="900" height="1582" loading="lazy" alt="car carriers"> </figure>

Grandfather carried cars, son drives cars, grandson flies planes

Only 70 years ago, Kathmandu was the isolated capital of a country that had no modern surface transport link with the rest of the world.&nbsp; The idea of building a road to connect Nepal with India actually first came up during the last years of the Rana regime, after the British had left India. Construction actually began in 1952, and the serpentine route took five years to complete.&nbsp; Named Tribhuvan Rajpath, after the reigning king who initiated it, the alignment was from Thankot (1,301 m) at the western edge of the Kathmandu Valley to Nagdunga, Naubise, Tistung, Palung, Daman, Sim Bhanjyang (2,504m), Lamidanda, and Bhainse.&nbsp; At Bhainse, the highway joined the existing road to Bhimphedi and it was another 31km to Hetauda and Amlekhganj. There was a railway line between Amlekhganj and Birganj.&nbsp; After regular bus and truck service from Raxaul to Kathmandu began in 1961, the entire road popularly became known as the Tribhuvan Rajpath.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_a11b48a75c7877a0f68634f8be07d26a3f354e78ebd9adddc7d17252fddf1d1b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026041610044_a11b48a75c7877a0f68634f8be07d26a3f354e78ebd9adddc7d17252fddf1d1b" data-rendition-name="original" width="4608" height="3072" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>The village of Chitlang on the main route to Kathmandu before the Rajpath was built. In the distance is the Chandragiri ridge above Thankot. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  <h2>Chronology&nbsp;</h2> (Based on US State Department cables and media reports) November 1945: Gen Bahadur SJB Rana asked an American official if a road could be constructed from the Indian border to Kathmandu. Nepal wanted such a road built across the mountains after first constructing an East-West artery road in the Tarai, and the government was interested in purchasing US surplus war equipment. Gen Rana inquired if there were US firms who could conduct a survey. April 1947: The Nepal government told a US official it was important to upgrade the 20-mile trail from Bhimphedi over the mountains to the Kathmandu Valley into an all-weather road and sought an estimate from the US for doing so. May 1948: Bijaya SJB Rana informed a US official that a survey for a one-lane motor road between Kathmandu and the Tarai had been completed. The road was to follow the Bagmati River to Makwanpur, then connect at Bhimphedi with the road to Amlekhgunj. The road from Tripureswor to Bhainse along the Bagmati River and via Bhimphedi would have been about 60km. (The distance from Kathmandu on the Tribhuvan Rajpath is 122 km.)  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_bb531baf5d73e00d2032814ac8abb86979a87d781abc066fcb984997aad930e6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026041610044_bb531baf5d73e00d2032814ac8abb86979a87d781abc066fcb984997aad930e6" data-rendition-name="original" width="4608" height="3072" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>The road climbing the hills toward its destination of Kathmandu. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  July 1948: The government decided to go ahead and build a motorable road from Amlekhganj to Thankot and complete it in two years. December 1948: Construction of the motor road from Kathmandu to Amlekhgunj via the Bagmati River corridor was started. April 1949: Gen Singha SJB Rana told a US official that the motor road from Kathmandu to the Tarai and the Indo-Nepal border would be completed by the spring of 1950. February 1950: Nepal sanctioned Rs300,000 to make the 6-foot-wide road from Kathmandu along the Bagmati River to Hetauda. Of this, Rs100,000 was allocated for road-building material and machinery. Subsequently, the road would be developed into a broader motorable road at a cost of Rs7.5 million. February 1952: Nepal’s budget speech noted that a plan was underway for a road between Bhainse and Kathmandu. PM Matrika Prasad Koirala laid a foundation stone near Teku for construction of the ‘Kathmandu Hetauda Roadway’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_e66d3b81848ec19da48be8b41cacfa8b8e2bad093719b39eda27755c9616ea9a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026041610044_e66d3b81848ec19da48be8b41cacfa8b8e2bad093719b39eda27755c9616ea9a" data-rendition-name="original" width="4608" height="3072" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>Rajpath winding its way north of Bhainse. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  February 1952: A party of Indian engineers came to Nepal to determine the best route for a road from Raxaul to Kathmandu. March 1952: Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru told Parliament: “So far as India’s security is concerned, we consider the Himalayan mountains as our border.” Ministry of External Affairs official (S.N. Hakar) told a US official that the Indian government was willing to proceed with constructing the Raxaul-Kathmandu road and had sent a survey party to determine the most suitable mountain route. May 1952: Swiss experts had made surveys for a proposed new road between Bhimphedi and Thankot. Nepal government requested financial help to build the road, and India was considering the project.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_35e390c1a4812f45af7892d681230e04c63727d9006b6614ed79aaa7c22c1ece.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2026041610044_35e390c1a4812f45af7892d681230e04c63727d9006b6614ed79aaa7c22c1ece" data-rendition-name="original" width="4608" height="3072" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>With a constant stream of trucks, buses and jeeps, the narrow Rajpath once was Nepal's busiest highway. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  Summer 1952: Work on a new road was at a standstill, so Nepal asked India for assistance. Indian engineers surveyed two routes: one following the Bagmati River, the other road through Daman that was later adopted. July 1952: Nepal’s Ministry of Planning decided to construct a road between Kathmandu and Raxaul, awaiting Cabinet approval soon. Prime Minister Matrika Koirala said the proposed road was longer than necessary, but it was a better route ‘for strategic reasons’, because it did not require many bridges. August 1952: King Tribhuvan said road construction from Kathmandu to Bhimphedi would “begin soon”. September 1952: An Indian Military Team began construction of the Kathmandu-Bhainse road without a formal agreement being signed with the Nepal government.&nbsp; February 1953: The Indian Ambassador said the road would be hard surfaced within a year. September 1953: Prime Minister Matrika Koirala inspected the completion of a ‘jeepable track’. December 1953: The road was named ‘Tribhuvan Rajpath’. April 1954: Reports circulated that Swiss engineers criticised the alignment, arguing it would have been easier, faster, and cheaper to build over the existing foot trail between Bhimphedi and Thankot through Kulekhani. July 1954: Heavy monsoon rain damaged much of the roadway that had been built.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_b5b2a1833f1366e532f1629f47c124d877df7b6f8a34b6c83f6c21ec3e4415dd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2026041610044_b5b2a1833f1366e532f1629f47c124d877df7b6f8a34b6c83f6c21ec3e4415dd" data-rendition-name="original" width="855" height="1123" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>Crown Prince Mahendra inspecting construction progress on the Tribhuvan Rajpath in October 1954. Photo: ROYAL PALACE</figcaption> </figure>  November 1954: The Indian ambassador said flood damage was so great that the road would be delayed by two years. May 1955: Twenty military trucks brought rice from Amlekhganj to Kathmandu on the Tribhuvan Rajpath. King Tribhuvan died in Zurich. December 1956: A gravel road was completed, with trucks and buses plying between Amlekhganj and Kathmandu. December 1956: Nepal government abolished regulations that required Nepali nationals to carry permits for travel within Nepal, except for women below the age of 45. 1957: Reduction in price of goods carried to Kathmandu by truck: Sugar, Rs0.13 per kg. Wheat flour Rs0.13 per kg. Kerosene Rs0.25 per litre. February 1957: An article in The Motherland newspaper in Kathmandu noted urgent action was needed to avoid Kathmandu being cut off from the Tarai during the monsoon. The correspondent wrote, ‘In a recent journey from Amlekhganj I found that almost all the bridges are in a very bad state…Now, because of the dry rivers the scores of vehicles that ply the road cross the rivers on the water level. But during monsoons… these rivers will be impossible to cross without bridges. On the road itself, landslides and big holes have made the journey a great undertaking.” April 1957: The first regular passenger bus left Amlekhganj at 12:30PM and arrived in Kathmandu completing a journey of 14 hours.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_60807e067f2d0b80bdc5e59860e9bc240b495ef606efc9301ef54ea5731d42df.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2026041610044_60807e067f2d0b80bdc5e59860e9bc240b495ef606efc9301ef54ea5731d42df" data-rendition-name="original" width="5211" height="4000" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>Daman, one of the highest points on the Rajpath, often saw snow in winter. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_baac4747267c751ab7b0e5ef24697fb5001c4c55e04a82d92c89282bd01a325c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2026041610044_baac4747267c751ab7b0e5ef24697fb5001c4c55e04a82d92c89282bd01a325c" data-rendition-name="original" width="648" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>Travelers could view the Himalayas from a view tower at Daman. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  June 1957: Eight thousand Nepali workers and about 500 Indian Army personnel were at work on the road.&nbsp; 30 June 1957: India officially handed the road over to Nepal. India had spent INR32.5 million on the project.&nbsp; January 1958: The road from Amlekhganj to Bhainse was upgraded. July 1961: The gravel road from Raxaul to Birganj was blacktopped. Trucks began transporting goods from Raxaul directly to Kathmandu, avoiding the need for transshipment from train to truck in Amlekhganj, or use the ropeway from Bhimphedi. 1961: Passengers could travel from Raxaul to Kathmandu in a day, whereas it took a week by train to Amlekhganj, bus to Bhimphedi and then on foot. September 1962: Nepal’s 3-Year Plan aimed at broadening and black-topping the road between Bhainse and Raxaul, bypassing the Chure tunnel, and constructing several bridges along the route. 1963: Travelers going to Kathmandu by land: Road, 158,000, Nepal Government Railway, 66,500. Railway passenger service ended in June 1965.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_2a95eb144dad74271a0fa3a27fab6b45bbab0a1c4be59d21120ad14c08e258fd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="2026041610044_2a95eb144dad74271a0fa3a27fab6b45bbab0a1c4be59d21120ad14c08e258fd" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1344" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>A bus providing ‘deluxe service’ in 1963 is ready to leave Amlekhganj for Kathmandu. Note the railway tracks of the Nepal Government Railway. Photo: RON ELLIOTT</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_d02013692e84d6add7a6e0ce66c2b552cd53bb084db2aa8df0593bbcf84c2c04.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="2026041610044_d02013692e84d6add7a6e0ce66c2b552cd53bb084db2aa8df0593bbcf84c2c04" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1352" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>Vehicles found it difficult to pass on many parts of the Rajpath in 1963. Photo: RON ELLIOTT</figcaption> </figure>  1965: Tribhuvan Highway was considered a useful addition to Nepal’s economic infrastructure, but it could not act as a prime mover in the nation’s economic development. It did play a major role in the 1960s in transporting material and equipment needed to implement development projects in the Kathmandu Valley. September 1966: Nepal took over maintenance of the Tribhuvan Rajpath from the Indian Aid Mission.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_5488ba1e92f6395ff882392ccbaef2270622632682eccb412d8de7b128f6f397.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="2026041610044_5488ba1e92f6395ff882392ccbaef2270622632682eccb412d8de7b128f6f397" data-rendition-name="original" width="1764" height="1184" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>Trees still lined the Rajpath near Thankot in 1967. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>  1971: A UN-Nepal study said the best alignment for an alternative road was from Kathmandu, Pharping, Kulekhani, Bhimphedi to Bhainse. 1975: Nepal's Department of Roads’ engineer concluded: ‘The Tribhuvan Rajpath has been built without design speed consideration… The pavement was not constructed to any designed standard… irrespective of quality of material, and later the road was black topped without consideration of traffic intensity and load-bearing capacity of sub-base… utilisation of low-quality material in the Bhainse-Thankot section… Quality control was neither maintained in Bhainse-Thankot nor the Bhainse-Raxaul section. Local materials were used irrespective of their quality to complete the work in the earliest possible time and in the cheapest possible manner. Brick work was done in negligible quantity. Cement used was ordinary portland cement…’ &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026041610044_26c74f45991efb3dc29d616e8acafb3163661ae6573c5314538e59c54d5ca0a5.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2026041610044_26c74f45991efb3dc29d616e8acafb3163661ae6573c5314538e59c54d5ca0a5" data-rendition-name="original" width="2368" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Highways NT"> <figcaption>Bhainse in 2017. The road divided here, one going to Bhimphedi on the right, the main road proceeding to Kathmandu on the left. Photo: DAN EDWARDS</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260416100416_4d9321abf4d912796842fe963a493501e1aceff462300ecdd9bd5e0b8ba7f294.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20260416100416_4d9321abf4d912796842fe963a493501e1aceff462300ecdd9bd5e0b8ba7f294" data-rendition-name="original" width="649" height="1667" loading="lazy" alt="Highway info NT"> </figure>  Even 70 years after it was built, there is still speculation about India's security concerns vis-a-vis China, and how Indian Army engineers purposely made the road longer than it needed to be over the 2,500 Sim Bhanjyang pass instead of following the river route.&nbsp; There is also some evidence that although the Rana regime had first requested the US for help with the highway, Nehru did not want the Americans involved in Nepal. Which is why the Tribhuvan Highway became an Indian military project.&nbsp; There was similar concern from India about the Kodari Highway linking Kathmandu to China, and King Mahednra is famously supposed to have said: "Communism will not come here in a taxi."&nbsp; Geopolitics still affects Nepal's strategic highways. After decades, links to China are still rough and often blocked. Kathmandu-Tarai Fast Track is delayed by years, and not expected to be completed during this decade. Trucks and buses still bypass the Tribuvan Highway with a 200km detour via Mugling because the other alternative routes like the Tika Bhairav or Chhaimale routes are not suitable for heavy vehicles.&nbsp; The shortcut through Chitlang that the Swiss proposed in the 1950s is still too difficult. And a 25km section of the Japanese-built BP Highway to the eastern Tarai has been knocked out by the 202 flood. Dan Edwards was a Peace Corps volunteer in 1966 and is the author of several books on Nepal. This is the fourth instalment in a new limited series in Nepali Times on the historic transportation infrastructures of Nepal.