<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13269c7e80680e0a990ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="641"/><figcaption>All photos: KUNG FU NUNS</figcaption></figure>“My name is Jigme Konchok Lhamo, and I am a Kung Fu nun.”During summer nights, on grounds illuminated by solar-powered lights, Lhamo and her sisters practice <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/stronger-nuns-in-nepal,3469">kung fu</a> at the Druk Amitabha Nunnery near Kathmandu, wielding swords, sticks and paper fans.The forested hills surrounding the nunnery echo with shouts as they kick, punch and lunge. The kung fu nuns work and live at the nunnery, better known as Seto Gumba, and belong to the centuries-old Drukpa lineage of Himalayan Buddhism.On this morning, Lhamo and Jigme Migyur Palmo sit side by side, clad in maroon robes and red hats, as they speak to Nepali Times over Zoom. The nunnery remains shut off to visitors because of Covid-19 risks to the nuns who live and work at close quarters.On the wall above hangs a portrait of a smiling Jigme Pema Wangchen, the 12th Gyalwang Drukpa and the leader of the Drukpa order. Lhamo smiles as she talks about her family – she was born and raised in Lahaul-Spiti in India’s Himachal Pradesh and attended Catholic school until she saw the Gyalwang Drukpa one day when she was 12.The course of her life changed forever after she heard him speak. “I was so inspired by what he said about the need for equality in society, I decided then that this was the path I wanted to take,” she says.But back at home, Lhamo’s parents were against her decision. It took three days of “shouting and crying” for her parents to finally, and reluctantly, allow their daughter to go become a nun so far away.“My parents would rather I became a doctor or a lawyer,” she explains. That was 15 years ago, and Lhamo has been based in Kathmandu ever since.Video: LIVE TO LOVE INTERNATIONAL/WENDY J.N. LEEFor Palmo, however, becoming a nun was the natural course. She was born and raised in a devout Buddhist family, all of whom were disciples of the Gyalwang Drukpa.“My parents had always wanted one of their children to become either a nun or a monk,” she says. “And it was something I wanted as well.” So Palmo came to Nepal when she was 13, and has been at the nunnery for 17 years.But even though she had been ready and willing to spend her life as a nun, the initial days after coming to Kathmandu were difficult. “The first thing I had to learn was to wake up early in the morning,” Palmo recalls.Indeed, the nuns begin the day at 3AM with a two-hour meditation, after which they convene at the main temple for morning puja and prayers. After a frugal breakfast, they attend various lessons, including English, Tibetan, music, painting, photography, and drama.Those who do not have classes scheduled are scattered around the monastery doing chores. The nuns are adept at gardening, electrical work, construction, and general upkeep around the monastery.“We have electrician nuns, construction nuns, nuns who cook, solar panel nuns, you name it,” says Palmo.On summer evenings, the nuns gather in the open for their daily kung fu practice. And as the days get cooler and shorter, they shift practice to mornings.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13289c7e80680e0a990bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="720"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d132c9c7e80680e0a990cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="720">Gyalwang Drukpa encouraged the nuns to take leadership roles as well as learn skills that allowed them to be self-sufficient in running of the nunnery. But their involvement in such tasks, largely seen as jobs for men, did not go down well in the conservative pockets within the Himalaya. Some nuns even got threats of physical harm for challenging gender norms.That is when the Gyalwang Drukpa realised that the nuns also needed self-defence training. As luck would have it, some nuns from Vietnam were visiting the institution at the time who knew kung fu. The nuns saw them practicing daily, and joined the visitors.“It was fascinating to see our Vietnamese sisters practice kung fu,” recalls Palmo. “They had been here for a while, and we had become friends. So it was not difficult to ask them to show us some moves.”More nuns became interested, and in 2013 the Gyalwang Drukpa hired a professional to teach them the martial art form to the 500 nuns from ages six to sixty from across Nepal, India, Bhutan and Tibet.Among them is Jigme Yangchen Ghamo, who joined the nunnery when she was ten years old. As a child, Ghamo and her family made frequent trips to the nunnery for prayers and celebrations. She was born in Ramechhap and raised with her two siblings in Kathmandu.“I remember coming to the nunnery with my family,” says Ghamo, who has now been there for 12 years. “The nuns were so hard working and dedicated that I immediately thought that this was the path I should take.”Her parents were not too happy, but Ghamo persisted. “Who would want to send their child away? But I refused to go to school, and the possibility of me growing up without an education finally convinced my parents to let me go,” she adds.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d132f9c7e80680e0a990djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The first few days were difficult with just two others who were the same age at the nunnery. But a few weeks later, Ghamo began her kung fu training and she says it has helped her keep physically and mentally fit.“When I was ten years old, kung fu was just a part of my daily routine, it was something I had to do,” notes Ghamo. “But over the years, I have realised how valuable it has been to me.”And as they worked to master the craft, the nuns decided to use their knowledge to help other young girls and women protect themselves.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13329c7e80680e0a990ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“While we learned, we thought about the women and girls out there who are being <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/theytoo/">bullied, harassed or suffering abuse</a> at the hands of family,” explains Palmo. “We thought that we should also share our learning with them.”Their self-defense workshops have taken the nuns across the Himalaya from Ladakh to Kathmandu and Delhi to train not just other nuns, but young students as well. The interactions also allowed the nuns to not just teach, but also learn about the world outside the nunnery.As nuns, they say, they did not face harassment to the same degree, so they had no idea what a girl’s life was like in Mumbai, or Chandigarh, or Kathmandu. Lhamo says she learnt from her kung fu students about how unsafe they felt in public buses and trains. “Those conversations were eye-opening for us,” says Lhamo.Many of the young girls who were trained by the nuns went on to join karate and other self-defense classes, and they often share their progress with the nuns who taught them.“Even if we have made a difference in one person’s life,” adds Migyur, “it makes a big difference in ours.”And while their kung fu and humanitarian work have earned them recognition and acclaim across the world, there are also prejudice, criticisms and people passing judgment.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13359c7e80680e0a990fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="308" height="462"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13399c7e80680e0a9910jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="960" height="640">“There was criticism over our cycling uniforms when we went on our cycle yatra,” Ghamo says. “How could we be expected to ride in our robes? But if we worried about the backlash we wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.”People would question why the nuns, who follow a religion that stands for peace, were practising a martial art form.“We are first and foremost Buddhist practitioners,” says Lhamo firmly. “We have never intended to fight.”Ghamo agrees: “Martial arts is not about maiming, killing and violence, it is a discipline. Maybe people have been watching too many kung fu movies.”Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/karate-travellers-in-kathmandu/">Karate Travellers in Kathmandu</a>, Monika Deupala

Shristi Karki

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Kinship, karma, and kung fu

Their names are so unpronounceable for Nepalis that Gereltungalog Erdenetsogt has the nickname ‘Ge’, and Giovanni Viradi calls himself ‘Gio’. The two world travellers have been stuck in Nepal since March because of the COVID-19 lockdown, but like it so much here that they have <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/many-foreigners-stay-put-in-nepal/" target="_blank">decided not to be repatriated on evacuation flights</a>.
Ge and Gio met last year in Laos, and were immediately drawn to each other by their passion for the martial arts. They came to Nepal on a trek, have been here ever since, teaching children karate and taekwondo.
“We considered going back, but Nepal made us feel at home and there are really good people who have been helpful,” says Ge, who is from Mongolia. Gio is from Italy and says it did not make sense going back to his country at a time when the coronavirus pandemic was at its peak.
<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/many-foreigners-stay-put-in-nepal/" target="_blank">Many foreigners stay put in Nepal</a>, Sonia Awale and Marty Logan
<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/travellers-stuck-in-nepal-help-locals-in-need/" target="_blank">Travellers stuck in Nepal help locals in need</a>, Sonia Awale
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Despite their different cultural backgrounds, the two are united by their zeal for martial arts. Besides giving martial arts tutorials to children in an orphanage in Panauti, the two have also been regularly recording a ‘Quarantine Self-defence Series’ on the terrace of their house in Swayambhu and posting it on the Internet.
“Karate can have a social focus and can be used as a powerful took for the empowerment of women and for anti-bullying campaigns,” says Ge, who adds that the lockdown period in Nepal has given them time to train, meditate and reassess their lives.
Ge, 32, was brought up in a nomadic lifestyle in the Mongolian steppe, got tired of a sedentary career in Shanghai and quit for a backpack life. On the other side of the world, thirty four-year-old Gio also quit his job as a chef in England and also headed out into the world.
<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/girl-gurkhas/" target="_blank">Girl Gurkhas</a>, Monika Deupala
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Their separate trajectories brought them together in Laos last year, and they decided to explore Asia, pursue their interest in the martial arts. and are known by their Instagram handle, Karate Travellers.
“I was hooked to Bruce Lee movies when I was a kid, and did not like cartoons,” recalls Gio. “Dad even took me to a karate dojo and encouraged me to take part in tournaments.” Ge is also sporty, is experienced in taekwondo and nunchaku, and the two are a perfect fit.
The two put on their dobok karate robes every morning, set their tripod on the terrace to &nbsp;record their choreographed karate tutorials with a backdrop of the stupa on the hill, and post them online.
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Every Asian country has its own karate tradition, and the two train with locals to learn the nuances, and add to their repertoire. Gio explains: “We started to use karate as cross-cultural bridge, travelled different countries used martial arts as language to communicate with people from different cultures, and for self-improvement.”
For free-spirited travellers like Ge and Gio, the lockdown could have been like prison, but they have turned it to their advantage. Says Ge: “We decided to make lemonade out of sour lemon by keeping our minds busy and our body fit.”
With Nepal’s international flight ban set to be lifted in three weeks, the two may not have to wait much longer to go out into the world again.
<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/kathmandu-airport-gets-facelift-during-lockdown/" target="_blank">Kathmandu airport gets facelift during lockdown</a>, Raju Banskota

Monika Deupala

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Karate Travellers in Kathmandu

<figure><img width="1500" height="926" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108181148/636a96c89c7e80680e05dc89jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Rinadevi Mahara from Dhanusha, abandoned at Godavari Modern Hospital in Janakpur for lack of money to pay hospital charges</figcaption></figure>Ajaya Anuragi in Himal Khabarpatrika, 24-30 NovemberBrutality against women exists in families across Nepal, but nowhere more so than in Province 2, police figures show. What is not so clear is whether gender-based violence is becoming more common in this plains province, or that better educated women are now taking complaints to the police.The number of complaints of violence against women in the eight districts of Province 2 surged dramatically from 602 three years ago to 10,243 in the past year. Most of the complaints involved dowry-related violence, polygamy, physical domestic violence against women, trafficking, rape and attempted rape. There were 125 murders of women in the past three years, mostly by drunk husbands or in-laws.Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/using-numbers-to-fight-gender-based-violence/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> Using numbers to fight gender-based violence</a>, Lisa HonanProvince 2 police statistics show women are more unsafe outside of homes than inside. In the past five months, 50 women who were driven out of their homes due to domestic violence sought refuge in a shelter run by the Women’s Rehabilitation Centre (WOREC) in Janakpur. “Women are unsafe everywhere, but the statistics for Province 2 look alarming,” says Gyankumar Mahato of the provincial police office. However, DIG Pradyumna Karki, chief of Province 2 police, thinks the number of crimes has increased because more people are reporting them. “Previously, people used to try and hush up crimes like rapes. But now more people are aware of the presence of the police, and we get all sorts of complaints,” Karki says. Advocate Rekha Jha agrees: “Women have tried to hide these incidents in the past but are now coming forward with their testimonies. That is the reason the numbers look higher.”Others, however, say that while there may be an increase in complaints, the number of incidents has also shot up because of new factors like the spread of social media, unregulated sale of alcohol, drugs and entrenched patriarchy in the still largely conservative region.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Here-We-Go/2013-jun-21-here-we-go-gender-violence,122" target="_blank" rel="noopener">#Genderviolence</a>, Trishna Rana “The misuse of social media is contributing to violence against women,” says Rekha Dutt of the National Human Rights Council, Janakpur Office. “Weak implementation of laws further encourages criminal tendencies. When perpetrators go free because of political pressure, it raises the confidence of those who prey on women.”Yagya Prasad Acharya of the district court in Dhanusha district has a different take on the problem: “Now, men also have the right to file for divorce. In the past when only women could file for divorce, men hesitated to commit violence. Now that fear is gone.” Court records show that abuse of social media was a cause in increasing numbers of violence against women in the province. With the rise in female literacy, young women are now also more assertive, refusing to get married early, or if they do, brides are not as submissive towards in-laws as in the past.Another reason for the rise in violence against women is mismatched marriages, activists say. Poor families still try to marry their daughters into rich families by offering dowry, even by incurring large debts. Dowry-related violence against young women is still a major cause of domestic violence -- police records show that the number of incidents rose from 3,609 last year to 4,671 this year. Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/corrosive-conduct/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> Corrosive Conduct</a>, EditorialIn the past three years the highest number of complaints about gender-based violence was from Bara and Parsa districts, and rape cases were most prevalent in Siraha, Saptari and Sarlahi.  Politicians at all three levels of government underline that ending violence against women and establishing gender equality is their priority. Province 2 Chief Minister Lalbabu Raut had even announced the ‘Chief Minister Educate Daughter, Save Daughter’ campaign amidst much fanfare. Padam Prasad Pokharel, information officer in the province’s cabinet office, says the campaign is mainly focused on education. “The campaign aims to end child marriage through education -- it is also working on women's safety,” he says. The province's Ministry of Social Development is imparting self-defence training to girl students of public schools, aiming to protect them from abuse, violence, and rape. “The schools wrote to us saying the program was effective, so we are continuing it this year,” Pokharel says. In the past year the ministry spent Rs11 million on self-defence training at schools, but it has taken no other initiative to reduce violence and crimes against women. At the provincial level, the ministry of internal affairs and law is in charge of these matters. “We are drafting a bill about controlling domestic violence and violence against women,” says Surendra Mahato of the ministry.  Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/four-fold-increase-in-reported-rape-in-10-years/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Four-fold increase in reported rape in 10 years,</a> Sewa Bhattarai		
			<h2>Violence against women in Province 2</h2>		
		<ul><li>Usha Devi Das of Janakpur has been enduring torture and abuse from her in-laws for not delivering enough dowry when she got married. She complained to the police twice, but law enforcement only forced the couple to sign a pledge and sent them home. The abuse did not stop. Das complained again, but her in-laws got a stay order from the district court. </li></ul><ul><li>Rita Devi Yadav of Bhangaha of Mahottari district registered a complaint against her husband and his family at the District Police Office, Dhanusha on 4 September, accusing them of physical and mental torture and of throwing her out of the house. Yadav then started living with her parents. She accuses her father-in-law and brothers-in-law of mistreatment. Yadav's husband has gone into hiding after the complaint was filed. The couple has a 21/2 –year-old son. </li></ul><ul><li>Shyam Mahara of Shahidnagar of Dhanusha beat his pregnant wife Rinadevi until she fainted, and left her alone at the provincial hospital in Janakpur. Mahara filed a complaint against her husband 5 days later on 8 September. Her father-in-law then took her home a week later. Mahara was again admitted to the hospital this month when her baby was due. The baby was delivered with a caesarean section, but was in poor health. Her in-laws disappeared after they admitted her, leaving her with Rs1,700 in hospital charges per day. She begs for food from other patients.</li></ul>Read also: <a style="background-color: #ffffff; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/rape-rulings-in-nepal-follow-letter-not-spirit-of-the-law/">Rape rulings in Nepal follow letter, not spirit of the law</a>, Sewa Bhattarai

Alarming rise in violence against women

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

Nepal’s AI-generated election

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

New vs New in Nepal

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

Mass migration from Muktikot

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