Bhaktapur is all about ritual, resistance, and remembrance. Now a <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-new-generation-of-alternative-artists">new generation of artists</a> is exploring the city of devotees through art. Balkrishna Banmala was a child <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/deity-devotion-and-divine-dance">deity dancer</a> who performed sacred tantric rituals. But what many saw as divine honour for Banmala was a time stolen from his childhood. “On the surface, it looked beautiful to be honoured with offerings and prayers,” Banmala tells us. “But behind the masks and the barefoot dances, we were children denied a normal life. No school, no shoes, no time to play.” Banmala is now an artist and his canvases are part of the Chitra Katha exhibition at <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/amalgamation-of-nepali-art">Siddhartha Art Gallery</a>. His artwork blur the line between the sacred and the everyday: a masked deity riding a bicycle, a divine child licking an ice cream cone. Some of these images have sparked outrage in his own community. “When I first exhibited these works, community leaders saw them as betrayal,” adds Banmala. “Some even tore up my paintings. A police complaint was filed. But I believe art must speak the truth even when it is uncomfortable.” His <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/painting-a-painter">paintings</a> at Chitra Katha incorporate circular motifs inspired by the Navadurga Jatra where Banmala weaves cosmological cycles into his paintings, saying, “In the cycle of life: Brahma creates, Vishnu sustains, and Shiva destroys. My work reflects this cycle--today, tomorrow, and beyond.” Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/old-art-meets-new">Old art meets new</a>, Sikuma Rai  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20250424110456_8f9008ff390c9e49dbd60d4c0a887e04f249686a8d1db3329cc0d66dc3a0737f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20250424110456_8f9008ff390c9e49dbd60d4c0a887e04f249686a8d1db3329cc0d66dc3a0737f" data-rendition-name="original" width="848" height="809" loading="lazy" alt="Between the sacred and everyday"> <figcaption>Brahma by Balkrishna Banmala Photo: SIDDHARTHA ART GALLERY</figcaption> </figure>  For Banmala, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/the-art-of-healing">art has become a form of therapy</a>, a step to healing the inherited burdens of tradition. “Children in my community continue to be worshipped at the cost of their dreams. I want them to have what I didn’t. My <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/art-as-a-call-to-action">art is my protest</a>, my hope, and my prayer.” Altogether, 28 artists from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/clash-of-cultures-in-bhaktapur">Bhaktapur</a> are exhibiting their works at Siddhartha Art Gallery with everyday stories of the city in the form of paintings, drawings, ceramics, printmaking, light installations. Many works use local materials like terracotta, wood and cement, grounding their expressions both literally and metaphorically in Bhaktapur’s soil. Narayan Bohaju’s diptych Floating Hopes II offers a dreamlike view of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=15106">urban chaos</a>. Public vehicles float alongside lotus leaves. The visual texture almost resembles Studio Ghibli, and invites onlookers to romanticise even the most distressing reality, thereby offering some hope even in unexpected places. In Echoes of Childhood Community, Bohaju returns to Bhaktapur’s spiritual core. A towering temple-like chariot teems with figures in communion: local vendors, families, fruit baskets, religious icons--anchoring a city where sacred and mundane coexist.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025042412044_81a2b9042948ed7edc871671b486bb14fa1a137e09119b0a0bb945236a72619c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="2025042412044_81a2b9042948ed7edc871671b486bb14fa1a137e09119b0a0bb945236a72619c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1999" height="1721" loading="lazy" alt="Between the sacred and everyday"> <figcaption>Echoes of Childhood Community by Narayan Bohaju</figcaption> </figure>  Meanwhile, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/reimagined-roots">Pooja Duwal</a>’s series Custodians of the Ephemeral celebrates the beauty in the ordinary. Rendered in oil, her scenes capture fleeting moments of men in dhaka topi, elders sipping tea, neighbours chatting at street corners. Her remarkable works showcase unremarkable everyday scenes. Reminiscing Memories by Srijan Ulak uses pen and ink to trace the fading outlines of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19496">Bhaktapur’s architecture</a> and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/building-homes-on-a-deadline">ancestral homes</a>. His detailed work speaks to nostalgia, and the slow erosion that came with <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/rice-fields-to-concrete-terraces">urbanisation and concrete</a>. For artist Anjila Manandhar, power comes from turning personal struggles into sacred strength. Her artwork often features skulls and divine figures but they represent her, she tells us. “The heads and skulls I draw are like those of Chamunda or Kali. But I gave that power to myself. I made myself the <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16471">goddess</a> strong, playful, and defiant. It’s how I motivate myself and heal.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025042412040_a2c54afebe5e244cd5fed0ed30f27956c3aa317c0d8435dcc01d69352e98cbb6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="2025042412040_a2c54afebe5e244cd5fed0ed30f27956c3aa317c0d8435dcc01d69352e98cbb6" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Between the sacred and everyday"> <figcaption>Nothing by Anjila Manandhar Photo: SIDDHARTHA ART GALLERY</figcaption> </figure>  Manandhar’s works explore identity through <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/when-art-unites-what-divides-us">surreal metaphors</a>. One recurring image is of an ant with a human face. “Ants are everywhere. Tiny, sensitive, stepped on without notice. In many ways, humans are the same. We keep moving, but we rarely look down. Maybe if we did, we’d be more grounded.” Sunflowers are another constant theme, and Manandhar explains that the blossoms always turn to the sun and feel like guardians that are always rising, watching, and protecting. Anjila’s art moves fluidly between strength and fragility, empowering viewers. The exhibition also features Suraj Shilpakar, a master <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/in-with-the-old-in-with-the-new">woodcarver </a>deeply rooted in his family’s artisanal legacy. Woodcarving is his identity, and he strives to preserve the craft while constantly aiming to reinterpret it. Shilpakar explores modern themes through painting, printmaking, and ceramics. His Baja Gaja series is a standout at the exhibition, a sculptural tribute to the role of music in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/progress-and-or-preservation">cultural preservation</a>.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2025042412040_936a3c559c3de6f3177c5d2a01f15e765208727e54949324395668e19bbda11e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_20" data-image-id="2025042412040_936a3c559c3de6f3177c5d2a01f15e765208727e54949324395668e19bbda11e" data-rendition-name="original" width="3222" height="2177" loading="lazy" alt="Between the sacred and everyday"> <figcaption>Baja Gaja series by Suraj Shilpakar</figcaption> </figure>  The piece is built in the tudal style. The struts represent support. He says, “It honours how youth and <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-sacred-female-energy-of-shakti">women uphold traditions </a>through music. Today, <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-musical-bridge-between-past-and-present">music isn’t just a celebration, it holds culture together.</a>” The work is a reminder that tradition can evolve, adapt, and inspire, while keeping its essence. Each piece at the Chitra Katha exhibition is a meditation on heritage, belief, and identity. The lotus reappears as a quiet metaphor for resilience amidst chaos. The skulls, deities, and age-old rituals find their place beside evocations of temples, myths, and ancestral echoes. Themes of religion, tradition, mortality and divinity recur. Bhaktapur’s artists offer their intimate stories, inviting onlookers to find personal resonance within the folds of collective memory. They are building new ways for future generations to remember their lives. Chitra Katha Siddhartha Art Gallery, Baber Mahal Revisited Until 11 May Sunday to Friday 11AM-5PM Saturdays 12-5PM

original

674x448

610x380

500x500

400x266

400x240

400x203

301x200

1250x600

1084x550

thumbnail

viewImage

Between the sacred and everyday

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111128/6372185f9c7e80680e0baa3bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2000" height="1334"/><figcaption>"The old man with young hands iii", 2019, Pen and ink on paper. Photos: MONIKA DEUPALA.</figcaption></figure>Sitting cross-legged in the dappled light under a tree outside the Siddhartha Art Gallery, his hand resting on a knee and wearing a black baseball cap, Samridh Mukhiya says, “I am a conceptual artist.”Inside the gallery the walls are lined with canvases in which Mukhiya has sketched pieces plucked delicately from his consciousness. Black ink on white fields give the impression of freshness, the spaces between the lines are mysterious and inviting with leitmotifs: bubbles, wells, trees, machines spewing smoke in the air, geometric shapes, strings.Born to artist Tek Bir Mukhiya who is renowned for his cover designs for many books by Sajha Publications – such as Parijat’s Shiris ko Phool and Devkota’s Muna Madan – Mukhiya, 35, admits, “I tend to use metaphors a lot.”Indeed, the artworks in the exhibition range from representations of quantum physics to political allegory, from mental health to the zodiac. And the result is as diverse as it is concise, without a hint of self-indulgence – even in the surreal Things I am grateful for, which was completed in 2018 as part of the series Mantra.A giant oval face with closed eyes is supported on both sides by two hands. The face is sliced like a clean loaf of bread, but the face is unflinching and content. More hands, bonier, hold it up from below: one clutching withered flowers while another appears to be pulling at a loose fabric of skin.But the drawing is not violent, representing instead people who have had presence in Mukhiya’s life.“I wanted to show how, even with their own problems, people hold on to us and support us,” explains Mukhiya.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111128/637218629c7e80680e0baa3cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="2000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Elsewhere, a humanoid machine, complete with a dizzying assortment of cogs and wheels and four legs, looks at itself in a mirror, while its other hand carries a sleeping child.Mukhiya explains that this is simple thought exploration of collective consciousness: “I wonder if in future humanity, instead of evolving, transfers its consciousness onto machines.”The new pilgrim (2012) is more than a sci-fi study: it is also a commentary on present society where humans are encouraged to emulate machines and be mechanical and efficient.Apparatus (2019), a charcoal on paper explores the deficiencies of systemic rote in education. In what looks like an old, black-and-white class photograph, students and teachers sit in rows, dressed in blazers. A spool of thread twists around them, like prison bars.But here’s a twist: the students have nails and screws instead of heads. The heads of the teachers are hammers. This is a haunting piece that speaks for itself.At once spiritual and scientifically curious, Sapana (2015) is reminiscent of the films by Terry Gilliam where the lines between fantasy and reality are blurred to the extent that one seamlessly blends into another. A sleeping figure’s mind wanders in fragments to a dreamscape as a gust of wind blows a flurry of leaves that loop around the canvas before finally settling on another tree at the centre.So much is happening. In the right-top corner, a recently dispossessed bird takes flight with its eyes set on a floating well. A door opens as a cloud of smoke – or are they waves? – billow in the background. Bubbles fly about in silence, like atoms or little pockets of the universe.Mukhiya explains, “The physical universe outside us is infinite, we can see only a small part. And if we pause and look within, we can see that the universe in us, which is our consciousness, is just as vast and endless.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111128/637218669c7e80680e0baa3djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1131" height="1750"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Mukhiya’s cerebral work is a testament to his lifelong fascination with life and the interaction between our consciousness and the socio-cultural stage. SAPANA is his 15th show overall and he is not trying to show life the way it is, giving shape to a creative process influenced by discourses on mental health, multiverses, memories. He was most recently part of the 'Crème de le Crème 2020' juried exhibition by Visual Arts Guild of Frisco in Texas.“I think a lot, no matter where I am or what I am doing,” the artist confesses. “And I do not draw or paint to simply draw or paint. I look for a story, an idea, I create narratives, some of which take years to incubate until the right form appears.”SAPANA is the result of this meditation, an explosive mix of strangeness and calm, like the notion of cosmological singularity or the Big Bang.SAPANAby Samridh MukhiyaSiddhartha Art Gallery, Baber Mahal RevisitedMonday - Friday: 11am -5pmSunday: 12pm - 5pmTill 24th May 2022

Ashish Dhakal

The imaginarium of Samridh Mukhiya

Next to my home in Bhainsepati stood a dead Uttis tree next to a public tap. A nearby water tank built a year earlier had killed its roots.
If the tree collapsed, people living nearby and those queuing up to fetch water at the tap would be hurt. With the storm season approaching, the risk was obvious. The tree could also fall on my own house, so I volunteered to find a way to remove this threat.
Little did I know how difficult it would be. A forest officer acquaintance told me there is a special procedure for cutting risky trees. I contacted the Lalitpur District Forest Office (DFO).&nbsp;
He said a technical report from a field officer was needed, and passed on her number. When I called, she asked for the location, photos, and a video. I send them all.
The ward office also suggested I use Lalitpur Metropolitan City’s mobile app, Lalitpur Alert, to report the problem. I uploaded photos, and submitted the complaint. This seemed to be very easy and efficient.
Indeed, the next day the municipality called me back and I explained the situation. They said they could not act without permission from the DFO. I asked why the app existed if the city could not act on such complaints. The officer said he did not know. My happiness was short-lived.
A couple of days later, the app notified me that my problem had been solved, and the complaint was removed. But the dead tree still stood there defiantly.&nbsp;
A week later, two forest technicians arrived on a scooter to inspect the tree. They looked up at the tree and asked if I had a measuring tape so they could measure its diameter.
“You are the technicians,” I told them. “You came to inspect the tree, and you came without a measuring tape?”
I rummaged at home and found a tape measure. They got the diameter and said they would prepare a technical report, but I would have to obtain a recommendation letter from the ward office and submit it to the DFO.
“This tree is dead,” I told them. “It is on public land. You have seen it with your own eyes. You know it's dangerous, so write a report and arrange for it to be cut. Why do I have to run from office to office to apply for recommendation letters?”
Their answer was simple, yet expected: “Those are the rules.”
They left, and I gave up. Two technicians spent half a day visiting the site. The metropolis runs a complaint system with a mobile app funded with public money. The ward office has staff to solve problems. Yet none of these institutions took the responsibility to remove a dangerous tree.
Everyone is busy citing rules and regulations and passing the buck. Weeks passed. Everyone reacted to the problem, but no one took any responsibility to resolving it.
Then, one bright December morning under a deep blue sky, a few neighbourhood boys were swinging their axes on the trunk. They had no proper equipment, no safety gear, and no professional experience.
I gave the boys some money and so did a neighbour. It took an hour or so for the tree to come crashing down safely. We had paid to have the tree cut illegally, and the matter ended there.
Multiple government offices, technicians, procedures, and mobile apps could not remove a dangerous tree, and we had to break the law to cut it. The tree is gone now, but the real problem remains: an inefficient bureaucracy.&nbsp;
It is perhaps symbolic that the tree is the election sign of the Nepali Congress, which was part of Nepal's governance and bureaucracy for decades and did not perform well in this month's election.&nbsp;
That is the bureaucracy that the new RSP government now has to get to work. But it will not be easy.
I posted on Facebook: ‘When people feel leaders have grown arrogant or corrupt with power, they change their minds and their votes. If those who replace them follow the same path, voters will again change their minds and votes.’
I continued: ‘The strength of democracy lies in this simple principle: the more citizens act as independent voters, the stronger democracy becomes. The more they behave as party loyalists, the weaker it grows. If we want a better system, we must demand deep reform of the state bureaucracy and hold institutions accountable.’&nbsp;
The first responses came from two senior government officials. They told me privately that they agreed by 200% but could not say so publicly.
It is quite normal for a Nepali to get the run around in government offices, it is almost a given to be asked for a bribe. As an environmental reporter and citizen, I have numerous such examples.
It is not just one sector that has been suffering. It is everywhere, and this is just an example of how complicated our bureaucracy is. As a 40 something person, I am old enough to remember the 1990 pro-democracy movement, &nbsp;the Maoist insurgency. Many promises made then by the politicians were broken.
We fought for rights, we fought for regime change. The country has changed political systems several times, from monarchy to multiparty democracy and finally a republic.
Yet one thing that remains largely untouched or reformed is our inefficient and corrupt bureaucracy. The new government, to be led by the youngest prime minister in our history must start this reform if it wants to deliver.&nbsp;
Otherwise, we may have to keep changing governments every few years, and still find ourselves unable to legally cut down even one dead tree.

A dead tree tests Nepal's bureaucracy

The RSP and its prime minister are being sworn in this week after gaining an unprecedented election victory. This is a welcome change for many Nepalis who see it as a remedy to decades of coalition instability.&nbsp; Yet Nepal’s political history suggests otherwise. No majority government has ever completed its full term. This reveals a deeper structural problem: weakly institutionalised parties dominated by personalities rather than ideas. 1951: Dissatisfaction with the oppressive Rana regime among the educated elite led to the creation of political parties like the Nepali Congress (NC), Praja Parishad (later merged into the Nepali Congress), Gorkha Parishad, and the Nepal Communist Party.&nbsp; They emerged secretly, mainly in India during the height of that country’s independence. They organised a successful armed uprising against the Rana rule.&nbsp; 1959: The NC won a two-thirds supermajority in the first general election. Within a year, King Mahendra staged a coup and established the partyless absolute monarchy called the Panchayat system.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260322130332_a416ab5703287898f0566dc6d2a6b95d797ce2f4ed55bffcfae2e8edc7737c5e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260322130332_a416ab5703287898f0566dc6d2a6b95d797ce2f4ed55bffcfae2e8edc7737c5e" data-rendition-name="original" width="675" height="849" loading="lazy" alt="Mahendra and BP"> </figure>  1991: After the People’s Movement, the ban on parties was lifted and Nepal became a constitutional monarchy. Elections were held under a new Constitution and the NC won 110 out of 205 seats, joining the United Leftist Front which functioned as a loose coalition.&nbsp; Prime Minister Girija Prasad Koirala’s first term ended with his resignation due to infighting, particularly with Ganesh Man Singh, who accused him of <a href="https://doi.org/10.2307/2645025" target="_blank">“emerging as a dictator, downgrading democratic norms and values, and even selling out national interests.”</a> Parliament was dissolved and the NC ended up losing the ensuing elections. 1994: Following the NC’s defeat, a <a href="https://doi.org/10.2307/2645025" target="_blank">hung parliament emerged</a> with the UML forming a minority government that lasted only nine months before collapsing after a no-confidence vote, allowing a NC-led coalition to return to power.&nbsp; 1999: Voters gave the NC a second chance and the party won 111 out of 205 seats. The party was divided between supporters of Koirala and Krishna Prasad Bhattarai, who became prime minister. &nbsp;The internal NC power struggle intensified and Koirala became prime minister again only to face bribery scandals, the Maoist insurgency, and the royal massacre.&nbsp; In 2001, under growing pressure from both the public and the party, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2001/07/20/world/nepal-premier-resigns-caught-in-chaos-after-royal-blood-bath.html" target="_blank">Koirala was forced to resign</a> to be replaced by Sher Bahadur Deuba. The party eventually split into Koirala’s NC and Deuba’s NC (Democratic). &nbsp;In this chaos, king Gyanendra dissolved the parliament and assumed executive powers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260322130332_e107b95de5641044f72a13fd20f417d16b9a2d1ecbae3492126ee5fd4244bd84.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260322130332_e107b95de5641044f72a13fd20f417d16b9a2d1ecbae3492126ee5fd4244bd84" data-rendition-name="original" width="1250" height="753" loading="lazy" alt="Deuba and Girija"> </figure>  2017: This was the first election under the federal constitution. The UML and Maoists created a surprise pre-electoral alliance, breaking the Maoist coalition with the NC. The left alliance won a massive victory with the UML winning 121 seats and the Maoists 53 seats. Prime Minister K P Oli fell out with Pushpa Kamal Dahal of the Maoists. The House was dissolved, with the UML itself breaking into factions. What followed was seven shaky coalition governments in eight years.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260322130352_8b09b374d7fcb811e0a652c7f60b30eea4b9052a19ed3d768ba8ca9aaeb4dec7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260322130352_8b09b374d7fcb811e0a652c7f60b30eea4b9052a19ed3d768ba8ca9aaeb4dec7" data-rendition-name="original" width="667" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Oli and Prachanda"> </figure>  2022: The RSP was formed only four months prior to elections, but managed to become the fourth-largest party. In this month’s &nbsp;election, the RSP won a commanding parliamentary majority by presenting itself to the electorate as different from the discredited old parties.&nbsp; The RSP leadership structure is largely personality-driven and opaque. Party leader Rabi Lamichhane joined the governing coalition with the Maoists and UML securing four ministerial positions. Lamichhane became Home Minister and Deputy Prime Minister, using his swing vote to be the kingmaker party in the coalition. Lamichhane was embroiled in various scandals which he blamed on political vendetta. There was internal dissent within the party and among supporters who felt the coalition betrayed RSP’s founding ideals.&nbsp; Lamichhane <a href="https://thediplomat.com/2023/02/key-ally-quits-government-in-nepal/" target="_blank">reportedly</a> bypassed the party’s internal mechanisms, unilaterally deciding to pull out of the government without broad consultation.&nbsp; The youth-led September protests gave the RSP an opportunity to represent GenZ aspirations, and its popularity was cemented after Balendra Shah joined the party as a prime ministerial candidate.&nbsp; With its dramatic election victory, there is a question whether the &nbsp;party can separate itself from its two leaders, and have internal democracy. Or will it just be a vessel for new political elites to continue staying in power?&nbsp; ‘BALEN PARTY’ The RSP has increasingly relied on the same tactics that the NC once used in its heyday. Backed by Balendra Shah’s meteoric rise to fame, the RSP is called ‘The Balen Party’. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/cyberia/rsp-s-pr-list-is-not-good-pr" target="_blank">RSP’s PR list</a> includes celebrities, actors, singers, pageant winners, business personalities, and athletes to maximise visibility and public appeal. Many of these soon-to-be MPs have little to no experience working in government, or together as a team. Which is perhaps why they needed a two-day orientation last week. In today’s attention economy, political currency depends on visibility. This is why the RSP’s strategy to harness Shah’s popularity was necessary to secure victory, while Shah needed a political platform for the election.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260322130348_abd1522a1f4f8ad4a0861c3916d86bd9688deafc7c44081b976378405d2b8e39.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20260322130348_abd1522a1f4f8ad4a0861c3916d86bd9688deafc7c44081b976378405d2b8e39" data-rendition-name="original" width="900" height="900" loading="lazy" alt="Balen and Rabi"> </figure>  Political parties are essential for a democracy, but when they &nbsp;revolve around one dominant leader, internal institutions become weak, and decision-making becomes centralised in the leader rather than in party committees, rules, or ideological platforms.&nbsp; This is exactly what led to the downfall of the NC and the UML. Both over the years were ridden with inter- and intra-party strife and failed the electorate. RSP must take a lesson from this and unite to institutionalise beyond its two personalities. Or it will suffer the same fate as the legacy parties. Since its inception, RSP has espoused a populist and anti-establishment agenda. The ‘new’ RSP with the Balendra brand gained massive support by being a clear ‘other’.&nbsp; The RSP can fall into the same trap as the NC and the UML by defining itself by what it is not, rather than what it is for. Beyond the external enemies they oppose, these parties often struggle to articulate what they actually stand for.&nbsp; RSP positions itself as an alternative to established parties — a pragmatic, results-oriented political force rather than one driven by traditional ideologies. However,<a href="https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/abs/theorizing-in-comparative-politics/parties-and-ideology/8386083191B53EC86A239B8852D4A6A6" target="_blank"> ideology gives a party identity and direction.</a> Without ideological grounding, RSP risks becoming a hollow vessel for power-chasing politicians who oppose each other’s every move, a story that is all too familiar.&nbsp; RSP can no longer define itself as being anti-establishment. It is now the establishment.&nbsp; While RSP might look like Congress 2.0 to many who have seen Nepal’s democratic trajectory, RSP does differ from past majority parties in both positive and negative ways.&nbsp; Times have also changed. Nepal is no longer a monarchy, literacy rates are much higher, social media has made information more accessible, and Nepalis are less forgiving, as seen by the events that transpired on 8-9 September 2025.&nbsp; The RSP has fielded more qualified candidates, and they could steer the country in the right direction. Many are experts in their fields and have had years of experience prior to joining politics. Having experts from such different backgrounds is a huge asset.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260322130352_426011e8c377bffcef6fcb4371325b36fb940eb5a8ab66d3c76ff5cf6f1943c7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20260322130352_426011e8c377bffcef6fcb4371325b36fb940eb5a8ab66d3c76ff5cf6f1943c7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1066" loading="lazy" alt="RSP new MPs"> </figure>  Moreover, having MPs from various other parties/fields can also prevent a cult following of hardcore loyalists within the party.&nbsp; There are members loyal to certain RSP leaders in the party, but there are also those who will not hesitate to go against their leaders if need be. The RSP has little opposition in Parliament, so its own members may have to take on a check-and-balance role. Nepal is in a much better spot institutionally compared to what it was like back in the early days of its democracy. There is a Constitution, there is no active conflict, the monarchy is no longer an existential threat to democracy, and the local and provincial governmental bodies have had the time to settle.&nbsp; This means the RSP is in a better position to work without the basic institutional hurdles that previous governments faced, but it will not be able to hide behind institutional issues if it fails to deliver.&nbsp; In the past, majority parties could easily pin the blame on an authoritarian monarchy, a Maoist conflict, a lack of consensus during the constitution-building process, or a newly implemented federal system.&nbsp; Most of these were just excuses for incompetency. Governments were formed and fell based on self-serving negotiations, but they managed to keep the parties afloat, and the citizenry was willing to give them a second, third, or even fourth chance.&nbsp; The RSP will not have this privilege. Nepal has many problems, but its governmental bodies are better institutionalised than when the NC last had a majority. A challenge for RSP now would be fixing broken institutions, not building new ones. A recurring issue during Balendra Shah’s tenure as Kathmandu’s mayor were his <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/politics/2026/01/28/can-nepal-s-viral-mayor-run-the-country" target="_blank">disputes with the bureaucracy</a> that resulted in months of unpaid salary for KMC staff, a lack of collaboration between him and Deputy Mayor Sunita Dangol, and rarely any public appearances.&nbsp; The RSP is inheriting a bureaucracy tainted by deep-seated patronage networks. Sustaining a government requires institutional collaboration and a willingness to work together, not disruption and division.&nbsp; While Nepal has seen the rise of many populist figures in its democratic history, the RSP’s victory based on Balendra Shah’s fame is new. Populism is usually harmful for a democracy because it punishes dissent, turns criticism into betrayal, and fuels hyper-nationalism, authoritarianism, and polarisation. A trend of punishing criticism is already visible on online spaces. Without an effective parliamentary opposition, the responsibility for democratic accountability will fall on the media and civil society. If the trend of intolerance to criticism deepens, Nepal risks sliding toward a majoritarian politics where popularity replaces accountability. Time and again, the Nepali people have given opportunities to parties that promise change, only to face disappointment. Nepal’s political history shows that majority governments fail not because they lack seats, but because they lack institutions.&nbsp; The electoral earthquake Nepal just witnessed could bring sweeping reforms or drown the country’s fragile democracy. If RSP hopes to succeed where others failed, it must build a party that outlives its founders. Suvexa Pradhan Tuladhar is an Early Career Policy Research Fellow at the Nepal Institute for Policy Research (NIPoRe).

Will it be different this time in Nepal?

Sometimes, we need to take a step back to realise what a tectonic movement Nepali politics witnessed this month.
In a region and world ruled by elected authoritarians, Nepalis &nbsp;went to the ballot box freely to express a collective will for change.
These faces in this group photo of the RSP’s 180 freshly-minted MPs at the ballroom of the Royal Tulip Hotel on Wednesday is symbolic of what Nepal has come through.&nbsp;
The ship of state righted itself after the September Storm, installing an interim government that held an election within six months in which voters banished obsolete politicians and their parties into oblivion.
Nepalis, fed up with the inept kakistocracy of the past three decades, took the country into a post-ideological phase — replacing Marxists, Maoists and monarchists &nbsp;with a belief in a new governing culture that rewards delivery and accountability. And they have trusted the RSP to carry it through.
Nepal’s history has never been linear, it jerks ahead in lurches. The polity also tends to take one step forward and two steps back, so the public’s great expectations is tempered by a sense of cautious optimism and guarded pessimism.
This could be the great leap forward that Nepalis have waited for and deserve, but it could also be a Gramscian interregnum in which the old is dead and the new is not yet born. We will have to wait to see whether this transitional period will also see ‘morbid symptoms’.
As disruptor-in-chief, it was the Balendra Shah ‘wave’ or ‘craze’ that propelled the RSP to power. The former Kathmandu mayor needed a party platform, and the RSP’s tainted leader Rabi Lamichhane required a booster. Nepal's voters were looking for a saviour.
Personality-wise Shah and Lamichhane are poles apart: one is Type B and the other Type A. One is enigmatic, the other phlegmatic. But yin and yang do also tend to complement each other.&nbsp;
Kathmandu’s chattering class is already making self-fulfilling prophecies about the two falling out, and are fishing for hints that they already have. Shah’s absence from the RSP’s orientation this week was taken as a clue.&nbsp;
Closing the two-day tutorial on Wednesday, Lamichhane delivered a fiery 30-minute speech that laid out the RSP’s main agenda: to function differently from the old parties, serve the people, avoid middlemen, become true lawmakers without taking the law into their own hands.&nbsp;
“The old political parties contributed to history, we will build the future with a new political contract with citizens,” he said, trying to rise over past controversies and his abrasive rhetoric to sound statesmanlike.&nbsp;
GIVE AND TAKE
Lamichhane is said to be in touch with the reclusive Shah to announce a compact cabinet next week. Its composition will be an indication of how much give-and-take there was, and whether the criteria for selecting ministers is competence or loyalty.
Will RSP ministers behave like rulers or service providers? The new government will dive right into the economic fallout of the West Asia war with soaring fuel &nbsp;prices, inflation and uncertainty about remittance inflows.
On Thursday, Gagan Thapa resigned as NC chair, taking moral responsibility for the party’s election loss. The UML’s unrepentant K P Oli does not share the same sentiment about who is responsible for his own party’s historic downfall.&nbsp;
NCP chair Pushpa Kamal Dahal, who was luckier than his cross-party cohort, is now a comparative relic in a Parliament largely comprised of freshmen and sophomore lawmakers.
But the NC, UML and NCP still control provincial and most municipal governments. The old parties could try to make things difficult for the RSP at the centre, but it is also an opportunity for them to clean up their act ahead of local elections next year.&nbsp;
Another test for the RSP will be dealing with a heavily-politicised klepto-bureaucracy which has to frontend its policy decisions. &nbsp;

People’s power

Deadly floods two years ago along the southern fringes of Kathmandu Valley killed 200 people. Climate change was blamed, but the destruction was magnified by quarries and sand mining owned by local politicians and crony contractors. Disaster mitigation and environmental risk was not a priority for any of the political parties that ran and won Nepal’s election last week. Although the RSP has a supermajority, rural municipalities that grant mining contracts are still ruled by the established parties that supply aggregates and sand to feed &nbsp;Kathmandu’s construction boom. Here in Lele Valley, residents are worried about another monsoon season that will start in June and fear more floods bringing unmanaged gravel from quarries down the Nallu River.&nbsp; The house of Sanumaya Nagarkoti, 65, and ten neighbours were washed away by the flood on the night of 28 September 2024. She and her husband petitioned the ward and municipal council to remove the crushers but no one listened. The slopes above are scarred by landslides from two years ago, and the banks of the river are strewn with bounders the size of cars that were brought down. “We live in constant fear of landslides,” says Chakra Nagarkoti, “the heavy crusher machinery and tipper trucks also constantly shake the house.”&nbsp; Google Earth images show that 24.6 hectares of mountain flanks have been excavated since 2010, and despite the disaster no lessons have been learnt.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260319090348_bdce7f17500eadac0ce0814c32c2b4190d01325976fd4d29db9985148459c0bc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260319090348_bdce7f17500eadac0ce0814c32c2b4190d01325976fd4d29db9985148459c0bc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="907" loading="lazy" alt="Lele"> <figcaption>Photo: GOOGLE EARTH</figcaption> </figure>  The RSP might have got a near two-thirds majority in Parliament but decision-making at the community level is controlled by politicians in cahoots with contractors.&nbsp; Along the Mahadev Khola, the Department of Mines cancelled excavation permits for crushers citing flood and landslide risk. Yet there are still 21 contractors mining stones and sand.&nbsp; Nearby Godavari Municipality also instructed operators who had not renewed permits to close down. No action was taken. One of them is Vinayak Multipurpose which delivers aggregate and stones for United Cement. Local ward chair Milan Silwal, has a stake in Vinayak and locals accuse him of taking the side of industry.&nbsp; Another slope is being gouged out near Mahadev Khola, and comparing satellite imagery from 2010 shows that the scar on the mountain is now five times bigger.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260319090348_21a8f7f7f9d6cc784c35719da737b20283f934bbe16c9de971d91bf01012499a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260319090348_21a8f7f7f9d6cc784c35719da737b20283f934bbe16c9de971d91bf01012499a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Lele"> <figcaption>United Cement operating near Mahadev Khola. Photo: ARCHANA DARJI</figcaption> </figure>  Nearby stands the lone house of 55-year-old Sabina Tamang, who lives with her husband and daughter. Due to the sound of the stone-breakers, they cannot hear each other speak. “Last year, a landslide destroyed our cowshed and latrine,” she says. “Next it is going to be our home.”&nbsp; DRY SPRINGS Lele gets its water from several perennial springs which have gone dry in recent years. One of them is near where the cement factory quarries limestone. “We hardly get any water, and the little that does flow is murky and red,” says local resident Rajesh Shrestha. A parliamentary committee directive ordered excavation to stop 15 years ago after a similar flood to the one in 2024.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260319090352_af7da754299116578cc1dd91d5318ec337b69e74b0676599260b7c57c6ec6fd7.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260319090352_af7da754299116578cc1dd91d5318ec337b69e74b0676599260b7c57c6ec6fd7" data-rendition-name="original" width="1440" height="494" loading="lazy" alt="Lele"> <figcaption>Lele over the years. Photo: GOOGLE EARTH</figcaption> </figure>  United Cement’s manager Hari Upreti says his company has fulfilled all requirements and has permission to mine 15 hectares of its own property and 4 hectares of government land. “We have the Department of Mines permit which is valid till 2036 and extract 1,600 tons of limestone every day,” says Upreti. “The local community knew about the mining and if there is a problem with springs going dry it is not because of us.” Environmental researcher Uttambabu Shrestha, however, says there is a direct correlation between the quarry operation and floods, landslides and dry springs.&nbsp; “Extraction should not be allowed without an environmental impact assessment, and companies must stick to set limits,” he says. Investigation of permits show that there is collusion between local officials and contractors. Godavari-6 Chair Bishnuman Maharjan has investment in two quarries and crusher companies operating along Nallu Khola. A paper trail links Maharjan also to Sagarmatha Stone Crusher and Mankamana Aggregate Industries. IMPUNITY&nbsp; Godavari Municipality published a notice in June 2024, instructing crusher companies to submit environmental reports within two weeks, covering initial examination and impact assessment. It also told them to pay local development fees and clear outstanding dues. The municipality even wrote to the Department of Mines clarifying that it had issued permits to only five out of 27 contractors. Within a month, the Department wrote to the District Administration Office (DAO) and District Police Office instructing them to stop illegal excavation, and sent a copy to the Lalitpur Division Forest Office. The DAO then wrote to Lalitpur Police naming Machindranath Multipurpose as operating illegally and should be shut down. There was no followup. The municipality then issued fines worth Rs 60 million to it and one other company for non-compliance. The companies stalled, disputing the calculations.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260319090356_6e96403d3c5be4aef4d030974d6d92029a0eb396deafd19c511978dae30dd3d2.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260319090356_6e96403d3c5be4aef4d030974d6d92029a0eb396deafd19c511978dae30dd3d2" data-rendition-name="original" width="4000" height="2250" loading="lazy" alt="Lele"> <figcaption>Another site of extraction near Mahadev Khola in Godavari. </figcaption> </figure>  Machhindranath Multipurpose operator Kedar Timalsina Shashi denies doing anything wrong, and says the landslides were collateral damage because of the steep terrain. When contacted Godavari Municipality Deputy Mayor Muna Adhikari declined to comment. It has been 10 years since Rajesh Shrestha, Nikesh Shrestha, and others raised their voices against the environmental destruction caused by the construction mafia. An agreement was finally reached two years ago between locals and mining and transport businessmen, stipulating that stone mines must close permanently by mid-2025. The agreement also stated that check dams must be built to manage mining debris, and damaged structures must be restored to their original state. Trees were to be planted at sites where stone mines had operated. But the mines in the catchment are still in operation with 500 tipper trucks working on the site every day, transporting stones and aggregate. Local youth have continued holding sit-in street protests and at Lalitpur DAO.&nbsp; After one sit-in, the mines closed for about a month but they started back up a month later.&nbsp; Birendra Maharjan owns one of the crusher units, and says he follows all environmental protocols. He told us: “You need stones to build, and we must dig to extract stones. Some trees have to be cut, people get employment, and besides, floods and landslides happen across Nepal.” &nbsp;&nbsp; Centre for Investigative Journalism – Nepal.

surrealism

Between the sacred and everyday

The imaginarium of Samridh Mukhiya

A dead tree tests Nepal's bureaucracy

Will it be different this time in Nepal?

People’s power

Loot in Lele