It is that time of the year again. The last-minute construction spree is underway to make up for chronic underspending of capital expenditure, right ahead of the new budget to be presented in Parliament on 29 May. The paradox is that while the government faces a severe cash crunch due to falling revenue, it spent only one-third of the development budget in the last 10 months of the fiscal year.&nbsp; The new parties in Parliament like the RSP have been trying to shake things up and urge multi-partisan consultations before the budget, but given the obsolete structure and leadership of the parties, not much is expected to change. But there is a strong argument for tax reform since the government faces a major challenge in balancing revenue with expenditure. The previous government’s ban on luxury items to augment depleting foreign reserves post-pandemic and increased bank interest led to the decline of real estate transactions resulting directly in a drop in revenue. But what makes matters worse is that the government has been profligate in spending beyond its means. Salaries, allowances, administrative expenses, grants and loans have all gone up. The government collected Rs756 billion in revenue in the last 10 months against the target of Rs1.4 trillion whereas its expenditure has exceeded Rs1.04 trillion.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/institutionalised-inequality">Institutionalised inequality</a>, Editorial Taxation is the primary source of income for any government. Contrary to what the wealthiest Nepalis think, the government is not run with their tax money but by what ordinary citizens pay in taxes. &nbsp;While tax evasion concentrates the wealth within the already privileged, the tax the poor pay is not proportional to their earnings. &nbsp; Nepal’s liberal economic policy since 1990 was expected to alleviate the income gap with trickle down effect, but the economic disparity in society is more stark than ever. A 2020 report Equality for Prosperity showed that while the wealthiest 20% of Nepalis own 56.2% of wealth, the poor 20% have only 4.1%. This economic gap is likely to have widened with the current crisis.&nbsp; This income gap is not just in Nepal. Worldwide, a skewed tax system is blamed for rising inequality. A new Oxfam report points out that two-thirds of the wealth that has increased globally after the Covid-19 pandemic is in the hands of the richest 1%. It recommends tax reforms based on wealth accumulation. “Because the tax system is not progressive in Nepal, wealth is piling up in the hands of the rich, while the income of the poor is not increasing,” explains economist Dilliraj Khanal. “We don't have a system of taxing the rich because of policy weakness and dominance of middlemen.”&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepals-care-economy">Nepal's care economy</a>, Bina Pradhan  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230526050528_6fe0c49de563e6fb210c25501e835186d93ecd57b2f63f8ff8154dca49daeee7.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230526050528_6fe0c49de563e6fb210c25501e835186d93ecd57b2f63f8ff8154dca49daeee7" data-rendition-name="original" width="741" height="541" loading="lazy" alt="Rich-poor gap graph"> </figure>  Who pays taxes? Two-thirds of the government's annual revenue is collected not from corporations and industry, but from various taxes and revenue paid by the general public. The share of tax on corporate profit is in fact very small.&nbsp; In fiscal year 2021/22, the government collected a total of Rs989.62 billion in revenue. Of this, the income tax paid by businesses from the profits earned through private companies is only 5%. So while income tax did bring in Rs229 billion which is 24% of total revenue collected, this amount is largely from the income tax paid by ordinary citizens on their personal income. The tax paid from the profits of private companies is only Rs47.5 billion. When adding public limited companies (issued shares to the general public) and other types of companies, corporate income tax comes to only about Rs114 billion,which is just 11% of the government’s annual revenue.&nbsp; The government collected Rs314 billion from VAT last year, and this made up about one-third of total government revenue. Similarly, Rs241 billion was collected as customs duty and Rs155 billion as excise. “Society with unequal income and wealth, but equal taxes, burdens the poor and favours the rich, it is a regressive tax system that makes it difficult for the poor to survive,” says Khanal. For example, VAT is the same 13% for all Nepalis – rich and poor. &nbsp; “In essence, five-star hotels in Kathmandu and the poor are both taxed equally for LPG fuel,” he adds. “From a social justice standpoint, taxes must be based on income.” Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/ground-reality-of-landlessness-in-nepal/" target="_blank">Ground reality of landlessness in Nepal</a>, Rabi Giri Taxation expert Roop Khadka disagrees, saying it is impractical to have a different VAT rate for rich and poor, and even if it was introduced it would be impossible to enforce. Instead, Khadka favours revoking VAT exemption on goods and services consumed by the upper classes, which are worth nearly Rs100 billion per year. Tax evasion by the rich is another problem that needs to be tightened, and collusion between business and politicians means that the government itself abets tax evasion. Real estate speculation has helped select groups in Nepal to become immensely rich immediately, but the government collects a bare minimum in tax from profits made in land transactions. &nbsp; A real estate sale within five years is required to pay 7% of its profit. If the transition happens within 10 years, only 5% of the profit is taxed. This means most of the astronomical profits made in real estate sales in the past years have gone into the pockets of brokers and large landowners. On the other hand, the 60th report of the Auditor General's Office says many evade tax by showing less than the actual value of the property. The VAT bill scandal 10 years ago also revealed the widespread tax evasion by the commercial sector. The politics of patronage means that businesses are now colluding with politicians and bureaucrats to loot the treasury. The Tax Settlement Commission decided to collect Rs9.54 billion from businesses that have not paid tax for a long time, but the Auditor General's Office later revealed that the decision was made in cahoots with the businesses themselves who actually needed to pay Rs30.52 billion. The most egregious and blatant wrongdoing was by former Finance Minister Janardhan Sharma who was making backroom deals with select business groups importing steel rods and electric vehicles so their products got customised tax breaks in the budget last year. The deal cost Sharma his ministership but the unholy nexus between politicians and business continues with impunity.&nbsp; Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/state-sponsored-economic-crisis-ikcxxmnp">State-sponsored economic crisis</a>, Ramesh Kumar  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230526050528_60a9385914649170d0496b8864bcb751477820b43554c68bec524f6e2412d39b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20230526050528_60a9385914649170d0496b8864bcb751477820b43554c68bec524f6e2412d39b" data-rendition-name="original" width="6124" height="4082" loading="lazy" alt="Kathmandu labourer NT"> <figcaption>Photo: SUMAN NEPALI</figcaption> </figure>  Alternative to the wealth tax In this state, the only sector keeping Nepal’s economy afloat is the estimated $9 billion Nepalis abroad send home every year. Still, Nepal’s debt has reached 43% of GDP, a sharp rise from 28% a decade ago. This will have a direct impact on the tax system. Sooner or later, the government will raise taxes. But for whom?&nbsp; If the status quo continues, and the poor are subjected to more taxes the income gap will widen further, inviting social unrest. Taxation relative to the size of the economy is about 22% in Nepal, one of the highest in South Asia. But for every Rs100 the government receives as revenue, only Rs23 is collected through income tax. The rest is made up of common citizens paying for the consumption of goods and services.&nbsp; All over the world, different levels of income are distinguished and income tax exemption is given to the lowest which is known as a basic exemption. Welfare states also have a weighted system of taxes of the richest that ensures socio-economic equality. But even though there is a flat tax on salary and allowances, windfall profits including from real estate transactions are not taxed properly, leading to a consolidation of wealth among certain groups. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-great-income-divide">Nepal's great income divide</a> Experts have proposed wealth-based taxation to reduce the disparity between rich and poor. Economist Keshab Acharya says that the government should levy an inheritance tax on ancestral property to children as is done in the US, Japan and Europe. This encourages entrepreneurship and inspires the new generation to find creative ways to earn money. But the historical distribution of land in Nepal was largely unfair where families close to the ruling class were granted ownership exempt from tax. These assets have been handed down through generations and ownership of a large part of it is still limited to certain families.&nbsp; Historian Mahesh Chandra Regmi in his book Land Ownership in Nepal states that before 1951, more than one-third of the total arable land had been handed down intergenerationally in that manner. An inheritance tax will also reduce corruption because the mentality that wealth should be passed on to children will be weakened if such a tax is implemented. Meanwhile, land prices in Kathmandu skyrocketed thanks to the government. Since the state has spent on infrastructure that led to the rise in value of property, it should get a share of the profits “The government should get the benefit of increased property valuation in the form of taxes which will increase the spending purse for the welfare of the poor,” explains Khanal. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=21822&amp;preview=true" target="_blank">Some are more equal than others</a>, Anil Chitrakar

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Nepal’s tax system widens rich-poor gap

<img width="1050" height="696" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108101144/636a25c89c7e80680e0439dfjpeg.jpg" alt=""/>The Supreme Court’s verdict on Wednesday requiring the Malaysian company Axiata and Ncell Nepal to pay billions capital gains tax on their purchase of Nepal’s largest private telecom provider Ncell will end a <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2016/06/03/taxing-time-for-ncell/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">controversy</a> that has dragged on for three years, but is expected to further chill <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Comment/making-nepal-fdi-friendly,853" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal’s foreign investment climate</a>.A full bench of the apex court headed by Chief Justice Cholendra Shumsher Rana decided after two days of hearings that Reynolds Holdings Ltd was a shell company and the real owner of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2016/05/16/the-tax-in-question/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Ncell</a> was <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/12/21/axiata-buys-80-stake-in-ncell/comment-page-1/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Axiata</a>, and it was liable to pay the tax along with Ncell Nepal.Justices Rana, Mira Khadka, Bishwambhar Prasad Shrestha, Ananda Mohan Bhattarai and Tanka Bahadur Moktan were deliberating on a public interest litigation writ filed by former secretary and advocate Dwarika Nath Dhungel and six others that Ncell Nepal and Axiata were responsible to pay capital gains tax when they bought the company from the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/interview/Nepal-very,1104" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Swedish-Finnish telecom company TeliaSonera</a> in 2016.When TeliaSonera sold Reynolds Holdings shares in Ncell to Axiata for over $1 billion, Nepal’s Large Tax-payers’ Office had said Reynolds owed the government Rs35 billion in taxes and demanded it pay the amount and fines to a total of Rs61 billion.Ncell Nepal refused to pay that full amount, and transferred only Rs21 billion capital gains tax. After this, the writ was filed, and the Supreme Court on Wednesday also rejected a case filed by Ncell.The case became controversial after two foreign investors traded ownership of a Nepal-based telecom company. Since TeliaSonera has already left Nepal, the Court found that the buyer is liable to pay capital gains tax if the seller did not.Senior advocate Surendra Bhandari says that it is international practice that the seller has to pay capital gains tax on any sale of assets, but says the Supreme Court is right in assessing that the seller was allowed to leave the country without paying tax and to put the onus on the buyer.Wednesday decision now sets a precedent for the buyer to also be responsible for paying capital gains tax. Officials at the Internal Revenue Service say that although the country’s treasury will benefit from the tax payment, there has been no investigation into why the seller was allowed to get away without paying taxes, and fears that the case will have negative repercussions on future investment.Eighty percent of Ncell’s ownership is with Reylonds Holding registered in the British Virgin Islands and 20% with Niraj Govinda Shrestha. Ncell’s main promoter was Reynolds Holding through TeliaSonera’s office in Norway.According to Nepal’s tax laws, TeliaSonera’s sale of Ncell to Axiata had a capital gains tax liability of Rs35 billion. Axiata had written to the Internal Revenue Office before the sale if it was liable to pay capital gains tax in Nepal, but there was no reply from its director at the time, Chudamani Sharma.After that the tax controversy got mired in politics, with various party leaders and former CIAA chief <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Legalese/parliament-and-court-plays,822" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Lokman Singh Karki</a> vying for underhand deals that would let the guilty go free. Says advocate Bhandari: “The Supreme Court decision seems to be driven by the logic that any buyer should first inquire about the liabilities of the seller before any purchase.”However, other retired revenue officials say it is unfair to blame Axiata, and ask it to pay capital gains tax that should have been paid by TeliaSonera. He says the really guilty party here are the politicians who allowed TeliaSonera to leave without paying taxes, and this will dim Nepal’s investment climate just before an Investment Summit planned for next month, and after <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/to-davos-with-hammer-and-sickle/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Prime Minister KP Oli’s visit to Davos</a> with the message that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/crony-communism/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal was open for business</a>.The Surpeme Court verdict has also exposed a loophole in Nepal’s tax laws that allows shell companies to get away without paying taxes. TeliaSonera had its dividends frozen in Nepal by the Large Tax-payers’ Office, but the Supreme Court allowed the company to repatriate its profits.   According to the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepalis-in-tax-havens-swiss-banks-money-laundering/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal Leaks exposes</a> by the Centre for Investigative Journalism and the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists, Ncell owners had used the company to launder money as foreign direct investment. Ajeya Raj Sumargi, a businessman close to the former Maoist party and Birendra Mahato of the Federal Socialist Forum Nepal and brother of billionaire overseas Nepali Upendra Mahato were implicated in documents leaked through the Panama Papers about tax havens.The verdict this week opens the door for Nepal to tax FDI that is coming in from offshore tax havens.   Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Comment/making-nepal-fdi-friendly,853" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Making Nepal FDI friendly,</a> Shyamal K Shrestha<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=962#.XFwMylUzaUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Fight for FDI</a>, Ashutosh Tiwari<a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Ncell-has-complied-to-all-obligations,3047" target="_blank" rel="noopener">"Ncell has obliged to all obligations"</a>

Supreme Court weighs in on Ncell tax dispute

Shantanu Dhakal wakes up to a cold misty dawn, dons his college uniform and fastens his tie, tightening it carefully so as not to dislodge the tracheostomy tube protruding from his throat.
Gingerly, he brushes his teeth, mindful not to hurt the wound on his left cheek, where a bullet tore through during the GenZ protests on 8 September in the highway town of Itahari in eastern Nepal.&nbsp;
Dhakal, 18, came home from college that day three months ago and then took the bus to Itahari to join some friends who were protesting in front of the sub-metropolitan city office. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowd was chanting anti-corruption slogans and holding up placards.
Like most young Nepalis, Dhakal and his friends had been angered by videos on social media of the offspring of Nepal’s rich and powerful flaunting their lavish lifestyles.&nbsp;
"That was the trigger for me to join the protest, it opened my eyes to just how widespread nepotism and corruption was," Dhakal told Nepali Times.&nbsp;
The police arrested a few students, angering the crowd even more. They massed at the gate of a nearby police station to demand their friends be released. &nbsp;
Dhakal was standing across the street from the police station when the first shots rang out. The crowd scattered. As he ran for cover, there was a searing pain in his left jaw. Blood was streaming and it took some time for him to realise he had been shot.&nbsp;
“I was bleeding profusely and couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, there was a ringing in my ears,” Dhakal recalls. “I collected myself and continued to run, fearing that I would be shot a second time.”
Dhakal collapsed some distance away, and a fellow protestor took him to a nearby hospital, where doctors bandaged his jaw. He was referred to Birat Medical Teaching Hospital, where surgeons immediately performed an emergency operation. &nbsp;
The bullet had torn through his left jaw, shattering the bone, teeth, and soft tissue. Blood had rushed into his throat, obstructing the airway so doctors first performed a tracheostomy, installing a tube in his throat to help him keep breathing. A week later, the doctors reconstructed his jaw with metallic plates, grafting skin from his chest and transplanting it to the lower left side of his face.&nbsp;
Dhakal spent three weeks in hospital before being discharged. But the relief of being home was marred by disturbing thoughts. He says, “Just sitting there doing nothing began to take a toll on my mental health.” &nbsp;
Since he was always interested in content creation and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@docsbyshantanu">producing short documentaries</a>, he decided to document online his near-death experience and post-protest life.&nbsp;
Shantanu Dhakal’s Instagram and TikTok <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shantanu__dhakal/">posts are simple, short videos</a> every other day about his treatment process, dressing his wound and cleaning his tracheostomy tube, attending events with others injured during the protests, and scenes from everyday life in his family farm.&nbsp;
The comment section has Nepalis and people from around the world reaching out to ask how he is doing and keeping his spirits up. Dhakal now has a caring social media community, and he uses the platforms to keep in touch with other injured protestors across the country.&nbsp;
Life is returning to a new normal. This week, he returned to college to resume classes after more than two months and is making up for lost time. He has adjusted to speaking and eating with the tube, although the pain never quite goes away.&nbsp;
“I can eat mostly fine, but it is still difficult to speak,” he says. Soon, he will go to hospital for his fortnightly follow-up, and doctors will determine when his tracheostomy tube can be removed.
Like other young Nepalis, Dhakal is now even more politically engaged and actively reads the news of the interim government installed after the GenZ protests.&nbsp;
With the 5 March elections only three months away, young Nepalis like Dhakal hope that the elections will throw out the old and bring in the new. He is among the more than 800,000 new voters who have registered.&nbsp;
“The most important thing is that we have stable government,” he says. “As far as candidates go, an ideal one for me would be a person who prioritises health and education. But if the candidates in my constituency are not up to mark, I may not vote.”
Dhakal along with other injured protesters and relatives of those killed met &nbsp;Energy Minister Kulman Ghising, who has launched his own Ujyalo Nepal Party, and he is cautiously optimistic about the work of the current leadership. &nbsp;
It is a different story in Kathmandu, where Prime Minister Sushila Karki is struggling to manage the expectations of various youth collectives while trying to convince the old parties to participate in elections.&nbsp;
While the UML and NC are actively trying to delegitimise Karki’s government as they prepare to hold their respective general conventions, they are also preparing to give out tickets for elections.&nbsp;
Self-proclaimed GenZ leaders who used Discord to elect Karki prime minister are putting up their own conditions for the polls, even demanding her resignation for failing to meet their demands. This is in sharp contrast to the feelings of many of those injured during the protests who want elections so the nation can heal, and move on.

A new normal

This is the 75th 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. My father was a country boy from Sarlahi, and my mother a city girl from Kathmandu. They had an inter-ethnic marriage, which was difficult until the two families gradually began to accept it. My parents, who worked in development, viewed the world through a social lens. They often traveled overseas for their INGO work, leaving me and my sister behind. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, or in rented apartments with guardians. Between Grades 1 and 10, I must have switched schools seven times. Our parents prioritised our education, and enrolled me in the most expensive schools. I was shocked by my school fees, and often wondered how they managed with their salaries.&nbsp; I wanted to become a businessman, so I could have the kind of life some of my well-to-do friend had. My family was not from a business background, and social services didn’t lend themselves to that kind of lifestyle. Now I realise what my parents gave me was already over the top, a truth that becomes clearer as I get older. Our family was getting along fine until our father died while working on a project in Dhading in September 2021. The official reason was ‘heart attack’. We do not talk about this much, perhaps as a way of dealing with the loss.&nbsp; He was our rock, and everything got harder. At least we had good people around us who reminded us to take care of our mother and to work hard. And we did. My sister and I made TikToks during the lockdown, initially in a joint account which reached its peak in 2022-2023. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I knew the film industry does not pay well. My parents also urged me to keep my interest in acting as a passion project. TikTok enabled us to showcase our talent for comedy. We figured out how to crack TikTok’s algorithm and stayed on top of trends. People liked our duo and the raw and authentic content. It required a strategy, luck, planning, and understanding the game.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251204121236_1afc10a8107e0aef5b94977860bc2cb138ddd1a100cadc7324da675b7ca0810c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1778" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  We use a hashtag #NakarmiKhanalAF in all our content drawing from my parents’ last names although they did not need to know what ‘AF’ stood for.&nbsp; My first viral content involving a humorous take on a Marvel character hit over 500k. That fusion combining international trends with Nepali humor worked really well, and I started making it my niche, adapting content.&nbsp; My father was always thick-skinned and did not have to try to be cool or tough. He was unapologetically himself, sometimes to the point where my sister and I felt embarrassed. When he was invited as a chief guest at a cricket game, for example, I remember feeling proud to be the child of an ‘important person’, but he grabbed the mic and told everyone to start cleaning the ground.&nbsp; Many of our friends came from wealthy families because of the schools we attended, and he proudly lectured them about our humble background and the importance of social service. Growing up, we tried hard to get his validity. My proudest moment was gifting him a shirt bought with my first salary. My father did not get to see our rise on social media, but I know he is watching over us just as he always did. The first brand deal I got was memorable but awkward. It was for a grooming package for private parts. I used to think about how movie actors start their journeys with advertisements for underwear, and this was going to be my story, my ‘humble beginning’ as a content creator.&nbsp; They did not even pay me money but just gave me the items. Other brands started coming in and with them, money. I earned as much as Rs40,000 per content and tried to make one every day. This was a big contrast to my monthly salary of Rs35,000 in a clothing store. All along, I was acutely aware that fame would not last forever. Just like one of my singer friends Wangden had said in a podcast: he was going to have fun while fame lasted.&nbsp; After TikTok was banned in India, there was even more uncertainty about social media. The alternates were also not assuring: people running businesses had to close up or were stuck, and the political uncertainty was scary. This pushed me to think about migrating, and Australia was a safe backup. I uploaded content right upto two hours before my flight from Kathmandu. I wanted to have enough savings so I did not have to start working right away in Australia. I was buying freedom. Since I had to change schools frequently, Rodin was one of few enduring friends I had. He was in Australia and assured me that he would take care of everything, and he did. He was my family there, and I did not have to go through the initial struggle that other international students had to endure.&nbsp; In Australia, I have done multiple jobs over the last two years and completed my MBA. My interviewer challenged me to make him laugh with one of my content videos. He did and I started work the very next day though I know I got the job because a hardworking friend had recommended me. To the boss, I was just another Nepali who could work swiftly. I mopped floors, washed dishes, and served customers. This was Australia, and I hustled. But I knew there had to be more to life. The long hours and little sleep eventually caught up with me. One day I slept 14–15 hours straight, and when I woke up, it hit me that I should try networking.&nbsp; I reached out to admins of Australia-based Facebook groups. Some replied, some did not, some offered jobs that were not for me. Then came an email from 8848 Momo House, and I travelled to Brisbane to meet the owner Hom Pyashi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251204121232_ef61cf49eaa208293eecc7e2c5c075644ca6dd4bb844881249889586ae91025e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="1548" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  “Do you want momos?” was the first thing he asked warmly. He told me to stop by one of his new outlets and make a video. I did, and I was hired the next day.&nbsp; It was that easy, and I have been working there ever since. My boss would later share in a conversation that he did not hire me because of the video but because I was young and he saw hunger in my eyes. To him, I was clay that he could help shape. I am now the marketing head, and the chain is doing well. Content creation is still a side job that brings in money. But just as my parents said, it remains a side passion.&nbsp; Then came the GenZ protests. On social media I compared Nepal’s youth to relaxed backbenchers who finally act when provoked enough to get things done. I could relate to the rage and suffocation. A song I was featured in was supposed to be released just when social media was banned in Nepal, and that fuelled my anger. But from the onset, I was wary of the headless nature of this movement, there was no ठुलो मान्छे leading and no one would be accountable if something went wrong. There was so much uncertainty, and I am not comfortable with uncertainty. We were glued to social media as the protests happened, at work and in the gym. When we learnt of the deaths of young Nepalis back home, a part of me died. The grief of unexpectedly losing my father came back.&nbsp; I left the gym early because I just could not take it. My friend and I just drove quietly to a nearby waterside. We did not even sit together because neither of us wanted to notice that we were in tears.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251204121236_99d662d9b4239e22410217146f87d7bed694d6543fa62d3b145401a5cf1cc7aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="2000" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  One of the messages I received was a GoFundMe link to support the victims. I shared it, but someone asked if it was genuine. That is when it hit me that I had a large social media following and could not just share things without verifying them. I removed the link. The only person I felt I could trust was myself, so I decided to start my own fundraiser. I felt emotional and helpless, and had to do something.&nbsp; I assumed we could raise around AUD5,000. I was wrong. Within hours, we had raised nearly AUD60,000. Fellow content creators Avash and Manzil from Minority Report had also started a GoFundMe, and we decided to join forces.&nbsp; Partnering with them was going to be a lifesaver because I was not at all prepared for what was ahead. Over 11,000 people contributed across our two campaigns, raising AUD514,386. But we had not thought through the logistical challenge, the online hate and the delays. We needed to release the money to the right organisations in Nepal, get complete information about the families of the martyrs and injured — our primary target groups.&nbsp; We faced a huge amount of backlash after a hate narrative instigated by a few people spread online. We just could not get our message across that it was not as simple as raising the money and handing it over. People believed what they wanted to believe. Internet hate can take you to very dark places, even when you believe in your cause and know it can bring some comfort to grieving families. You try to focus on the positive message, because many people did support us, but the hate and accusations do bring you down.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98.png" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251204121232_3045b4b91371fa210362f49a8d9ff279e1bb1cbee9fb8cc0641dbcbd6594aa98" data-rendition-name="original" width="1320" height="2868" loading="lazy" alt="Things eventually work out NT"> </figure>  When I was paralysed by the internet hate to carry out even the most mundane activities like cooking and cleaning, my roommate Bibek took over. He even made me watch an episode from the Mahabharat capturing Krishna’s teachings on karma without worrying about the fruits, a lesson that did not just help me get out of that depressive episode but has become a guiding principle for life. How would I have emerged out of that darkness when I was battling with suicidal thoughts if people had not showed up for me? We worked day and night to find the right partners, and because of the large amount of money and the level of transparency we asked for, many influencers or organisations turned us down.&nbsp; This was not easy because we had our own jobs to take care of, our own bills to worry about that were not linked to the fundraiser. It helped that my team at 8848 let me deal with this during work hours, and assured me that they will stand by me no matter what. Thankfully, we finally partnered with Nepal Rising (Daayitwa US), a professional and transparent organisation that stepped in and saved the day. GoFundme finally released the funds to their account and it has begun reaching the right people. My sister helped ensure the money is delivered properly. As a final check, I speak with the families in Nepal and offer my condolences. I honour their loved one’s contribution to our country and we will make sure it is never forgotten. But no matter what we say or how much we try to help, the heartbreaking truth is that their young son or sibling is not coming back. The narrative is slowly changing. Slaps are now claps. But the trauma of the public hate is so great that it still gnaws at me, I have anxiety about attending Nepali gatherings like concerts here. I remember when a dance I had created for Bola Maya went viral on TikTok, with tens of thousands of people picking it up. A chef friend told me it was time to use that influence for a social cause. Those words stayed with me. As I navigated the backlash, I was also reminded of my parents who worked on social causes and asked my mother if they had faced similar cases. She had, and she reminded me that all we can do is stay focused on the cause and drown out the noise. Things will eventually work out.

Things eventually work out

It is quite a feat for just two actors on a darkened stage to hold an audience spellbound for more than one hour. Yet, ‘के? Us.’ at Kausi Theatre does just that. It is a thought-provoking but baffling work that leaves the audience questioning reality, the recurring metaphors in this intriguing and powerful dark comedy haunting us for days afterwards.&nbsp; The unsettling sound of deep breathing mingles with percussive drumming and a driving guitar that pulsates amidst a red glow, dimly illuminating shadowy structures charred by fire. A door leads to what is later revealed to be the ancestral home of two brothers which is ‘under renovation’. One of the brothers Ashim (Bijaya Tamrakar) lives in Nepal caring for a supposedly comatose mother who is only depicted by a tree draped with red LED lights that circulate arterial blood corpuscles. Visiting him is a long-lost brother Aaryan (Eelum Dixit) who has returned (deported?) from America.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20251202071248_d3050fcd38e1ba471ea48e18fde6a8393a086a5b3afeef71eda190f3e01366e2" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The stage is littered with scattered paper trash, a run-down motorcycle chassis, a tattered sofa, and beat-up table and chairs. The stage is set for a sinister plot. Are the characters to be punished in perdition?&nbsp; It does not take long for the audience to grasp that this is an apocalyptic Nepal that, following absurdist traditions, could exist at any time in the future or the present day <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/election-vs-escalation">post-GenZ protest state</a>. Ashim and Aaryan Adhikari have reunited after 15 years. Ashim, the younger brother, has been burdened with the responsibility of taking care of their brain-dead mother. Aaryan, returns after having migrated to the US, where he married, had children, divorced, and lost everything. He has been at “minus 20 and is now back to zero”.&nbsp; The brothers have intense back-and-forths that expose their cynicism, the conversation tangentially alluding to Nepal’s unstable political landscape, migration, an economy in shambles, aging population, alcoholism and other mental health issues. Even the sibling argument about the relative merits of momos and burgers seems metaphorical. The stagecraft uses lighting and sound effects brilliantly, transporting the audience to a surreal world in which Tamrakar and Dixit improvise their lines — no two shows are exactly the same, although the overall plotline has continuity.&nbsp; In the first scene, Aaryan approaches the house tentatively, creeping rodent-like, and carrying a briefcase and an old-fashioned lantern. And at the end, Ashim screams, “I am chaos.” Is this the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251202071252_a49af0960d3f6f61cd8e9d5ea9c5af64655b89865711f5566f3054b701840da1" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Choas play review"> </figure>  At one point Aaryan seems perturbed by the sound of protest outside (the Gen Z movement?) and the taut atmosphere grips the audience with fear, shock, and apprehension of the recent death and destruction.&nbsp; Throughout the play there is the sound of breathing, as if through a ventilator, a thumping heartbeat, the morbid buzzing of flies and the glowing red LED veins -- signifying the presence of the comatose Aama. She is featured in a prologue-esque home video at the start of the play in which she reminisces about her two sons and rues her failing memory.&nbsp; The sound of breathing gets accentuated each time a brother gets closer to the tree, and it seems to fuel Ashim’s belief that Aama may be brain-dead but she is still among them. This play can go as deep as each individual in the audience wants it to go.&nbsp; The silenced, comatose mother could be Nepali Aama muted by an entrenched patriarchy. Or, she could be the symbol of a helpless country while her children fight over the ruins of what is left. The cake cutting is a delightfully Shakespearean subplot where we wonder if one of the brothers is going to poison, or knife, the other. The message is clear: how can we move forward if it is brother against brother? The stairs signify political transition (elections, constitutional change, new coalitions) promising upward movement, but eventually lead to falls, leaving the nation exactly where it started, or worse. The mother’s terminal illness evokes an ailing state apparatus, hollowed out by corruption and deep-seated social decay. Yet the brothers cling to an irrational hope — instead of confronting the harsh truth and pursuing radical solutions, suggesting a blind faith in the mother.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20251202071252_e30df0ea03c2db1759a09e2e3e3111d9d238d5cd5595a68b8052bbbc8e9ec6b3" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  The brothers are lost. Aaryan climbs up stairs that lead nowhere, Ashim holds on to unrealistic hope that somehow Aama will get better. Tamrakar and Dixit deliver powerful performances, even more remarkable for the fact that they are improvising their lines as they go along. When Aaryan breaks a wall and directly addresses the audience, spectators turn from being passive observers to active participants (‘the society’). The audience then become oglers in this drama, suddenly made self-aware of our role as the scrutinising, cavilling voyeurs that society represents. There is some discomfort of being watched and judged.&nbsp; By asking his brother what he is afraid of while pointing at the audience, Aaryan suggests that the brother's (and perhaps the character's core) fear is not just of the house, or the mother's illness, but of external judgment and societal censure. After the stage goes dark, the applause takes some time. Audience members shuffle out in silence, minds reeling from the collective soul-searching they have just participated in.&nbsp; After ‘के? Us.’ the din at Teku intersection outside sounds different as we wait for our Pathao ride below the खरी tree where <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Shukra+Raj+Shastri&amp;client=safari&amp;sca_esv=75e8315709cd5118&amp;rls=en&amp;sxsrf=AE3TifMJhwukjdBBT0n4QcQWe8IYSaEVsw%3A1764648053799&amp;ei=dWQuaYbIMOy94-EPn4ygyAE&amp;ved=2ahUKEwiU1ciogp6RAxXq3TQHHeo9LBIQgK4QegQIARAB&amp;uact=5&amp;oq=nepal+tree+where+martyrs+were+hanged&amp;gs_lp=Egxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAiJG5lcGFsIHRyZWUgd2hlcmUgbWFydHlycyB3ZXJlIGhhbmdlZDIIECEYoAEYwwRIug5QAFiNC3AAeAGQAQCYAc4BoAHrCKoBBTAuNS4xuAEDyAEA-AEBmAIDoALlBMICBRAAGO8FmAMA4gMFEgExIECSBwUwLjEuMqAHzw-yBwUwLjEuMrgH5QTCBwcwLjIuMC4xyAcM&amp;sclient=gws-wiz-serp&amp;mstk=AUtExfCLIneLVW3SFBzxBc964wFcTJ936tcAPSDcvNKljck0PIqDJddMZ_t8Pg610M98MCx14aNdnyLHs9QM0jWLhI7JYmkPhugX1ZHfSQvdCHZE9E5m2_ZQY5Jr893UcGjQfpabtA_C48NfB9Pg56uYMOmTtEBEcGuvz3d96Qaifyb86sI8mAkrRNo_367cv_xmFjLZ55iQkfHtORuOvZSUkIdMvAdpweuf4jPjjI4anbv9lc-uCImdP0JSvtvEGL8ePxwsWWOzYpIbjNP1zofjcWXK&amp;csui=3" target="_blank">Shukra Raj Shastri</a> was hanged in 1941 by the Rana regime. Language and Literature Students, 2026.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20251202071252_f2dc03a35cba33b382a66bbd43905206d9d3eb5ec3ebdcf973aeefbb4a50b6b2" data-rendition-name="original" width="1080" height="1350" loading="lazy" alt="Chaos play review"> </figure>  ‘के? Us.’ Kausi Theatre, Teku Till 7 December (except 2 December) Bookings: +977 9842156109, 9842574607

Staged chaos evokes state of Nepal

The <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/DQtSOT6ilFC/?img_index=1">post on Instagram </a>has an image of Sudan Gurung. Over the top is the message: ‘We wont let this year’s election happen if Gen Z’s demands are Ignored’. The account’s bio is ‘Uniting Nepalese Through Independent Investigative Research.’ Post like these have become a template for the information ecosystem in the aftermath of the GenZ revolt in September. Social media feeds are saturated with content that uses multimodality of captions, video, audio, to convey alarm and warnings about how GenZ aspirations are being subverted. Research by MIT showed that on X false news reaches 1,500 people six times faster than the truth. Fake news goes ‘farther, faster, deeper, and more broadly than the truth’, researchers concluded. Narratives compete on platforms, and users gravitate to the shock-value of the news and not to factual precision or nuance.&nbsp; “On social media misinformation easily mutates into disinformation,” says media literacy trainer Deepak Adhikari. “The news we see on social media are often out of context, with little information that misinforms more than inform.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251203121236_6daaeaf8ed255fda4a431d0419d9ae1a0908259af14529835034ce48653064a9.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20251203121236_6daaeaf8ed255fda4a431d0419d9ae1a0908259af14529835034ce48653064a9" data-rendition-name="original" width="1501" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Doomscrolling democracy NT"> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20251203121232_8a7a41b8bd1892137d1dd97fd1c1408d2879ff96fa69a4d6d5acff7239869d4b.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20251203121232_8a7a41b8bd1892137d1dd97fd1c1408d2879ff96fa69a4d6d5acff7239869d4b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1601" height="340" loading="lazy" alt="GenZ instagram"> </figure>  Indeed, today’s ‘Post-Truth Society’ is characterised by a media environment where users give more credibility to their pre-existing beliefs and emotion rather than objective facts or subjective nuance. Post-Truth does not refer to what comes after the truth, but rather a cultural or information environment where pre-held personal beliefs shape public opinion, not facts.&nbsp; Rumour, bias and propaganda have always been a part of the informationsphere, but what makes it different today is the velocity at which falsehood spreads. The news cycle is short, and before content can be verified the damage is already done.&nbsp; Adhikari says that pre- and post-publication fact checking can be a potential antidote. However, when a video with misleading content goes viral, and even after fact-checkers catch up to correct it, the fear-mongering, anger or hate has already spread.&nbsp; In Nepal’s social media, apparently everyone is tarred as guilty, or funded by a foreign government. Calls to dismantle federalism, restore the monarchy, or teach political leaders a lesson by supporting authoritarian alternatives are no longer fringe ideas discussed in private. They circulate routinely in the algorithmic streams legitimised not by evidence but sentiment. When misinformation becomes the default, nostalgia for a mythical prosperous past begins to look like a rational response. While these positions are not new, their algorithmic amplification gives them perceived legitimacy that makes it hard to estimate, or far exceed, their actual political support. “We have not highlighted the achievements of our multiparty democratic system, and the new generation has not experienced authoritarianism,” Adhikari explains. “Therefore statements like federalism is expensive and the monarchy was better have taken up space, because the evidence of the counter narrative is underreported.” There is a positive side to social media. The GenZ movement took on momentum, and the protestors organised and supported each other through the very platforms that are now full of content that can potentially derail the democracy they wanted to strengthen. Just like it was trendy to be revolutionary during the protests, it is now trendy to be skeptical and to distrust the very people who were installed in the interim government through online voting. Such is the architecture of social media: it rewards immediate reaction over reflection, and due to its interface design, it not only shows what could be relevant ‘for you’ but also tells you what others are thinking about that. The role of the mainstream press as the traditional gatekeeper of information has been superseded by the digital sphere — both in access and sharing. This poses new challenges because social media content may not be news, and just because a page claims to be a news site that does not mean it is journalism. Social media feeds are not chronological newspapers but an algorithmic marketplace. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, YouTube all rely on recommender systems, now powered by AI to keep users on their platforms for as long as possible. The feeds then collapse the distinction between credible news, speculation, parody, and deliberate disinformation, especially in a politically volatile environment.&nbsp; Everything appears in the same vertical stream, formatted with similar fonts, voiceovers, and music, making a platter of content that they know you are most likely to consume. For Nepali users, this has created personalised and parallel political realities. Two people living in the same household may open TikTok and encounter completely different idea of the problems and solutions of Nepal. One is fed content in favour of elections in March, while another pushes conspiracy theories about anti-GenZ activities aided and abetted by foreign powers. None of these feeds reflect the whole picture. Each reflects what the algorithm has learnt will capture user attention. Academics have long found that social media sites do thousands of A B testing to silently optimise which colors, captions, or video formats users respond to most intensely.&nbsp; Tests help design the most addictive feeds. Interface interference allows platforms to limit discoverability of certain features such as the ‘Logout’ and ‘Privacy’ settings so the system remembers users preference for the next time they are scrolling the platform. When faced with such infocalypse, we have the option to withdraw and not engage with our feeds or our phones. But billions of dollars have been spent by Big Tech to keep us hooked. We need more structural revisions that integrate the need of a safer online environment. Media and digital literacy must be woven into both formal education and public institutions. It cannot be an optional topic or a workshop for a select few.&nbsp; Students must learn how algorithms work, how misinformation spreads, and how to verify information before sharing it. Adults need community-level programs that help them navigate the online world that now shapes politics.&nbsp; Content creators also must be held accountable. Profiles posing as news sites must also be brought under the same scrutiny as the mainstream press. Directives for social media journalism, a section in the Press Council’s Journalism Code of Conduct can be introduced as provisions that foster transparency and ethical journalism practices on social media. Creators should pledge to verify facts, cite sources, and clearly label opinion or commentary. While this will not entirely curb disinformation, it can be the first step towards a digital public sphere that can host democratic dialogue with nuance and facts.&nbsp; Says Adhikari: “Journalism doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and our knowledge space, academia, think tanks, research centres, archives, are scaffolding to support journalism, and we must make them stronger. The role of journalism can be to humanise the news and journalists can be storytellers, but the responsibility of the information ecosystem does not rely on journalists alone.” Ayusha Chalise is a communication and development scholar specialising in how politics is experienced in the digital space.

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