<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058359c7e80680e0ce191jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Pheriche Aid Post where David Shlim lived in 1979 where it was just part of seasonal yak pastures, managed by the Himalayan Rescue Association</figcaption></figure>My first home in Kathmandu was a glass A-frame house nestled in a lychee and mango orchard, sheltered by a magnificent old fig tree in Bansbari. It was rented from Prem who lived with his young family in the same garden, rice fields stretching beyond the back wall with distant views of the northern hills. It was tiny, with seating on floor cushions and the bedroom a mattress on the mezzanine accessed by a precarious circular staircase, but that did not preclude large parties on the lawn and jolly meals around a polished table in the cramped dining alcove.As Dr David Shlim recounts in his memoir, A Gentle Rain of Compassion, it was here at dinner one evening that his life was profoundly changed by meeting Jane, a leggy blond Canadian who worked for us at Tiger Tops. This chance encounter led to a series of events (spoiler alert) that broke his pattern of ricocheting romances and obsessive despair which, in the mysterious way of this magical Valley, eventually catapulted him out of his misery and onto the healing path of spiritual awakening.That evening would lead to the transformation of David’s life through his discovery of Tibetan Buddhism, personal tuition by reincarnate lamas and an enduring friendship with Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche, whom he met when offering free healthcare in his Boudha monastery. But this journey towards enlightenment, compellingly written with David’s signature self-deprecating humour, encapsulates much, much more. In the words of Jon Krakauer, author of Into Thin Air: ‘Dr. Shlim’s story is candid, wise, fascinating, funny, tragic, astonishing, hopeful, and wonderfully entertaining.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058399c7e80680e0ce192jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="844"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/6390583c9c7e80680e0ce193jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1384"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Today David is world renowned as a specialist physician in travel medicine and has pioneered the bringing together of Buddhist philosophical practice with modern medical theory. Based in Jackson Hole Wyoming, he has lectured around the world on travel medicine topics and spends his time coaching caregivers to apply compassion in their daily interactions with patients, teaching Buddhism, and directing the Medicine and Compassion Project (<a href="http://www.davidshlim.com/medicine-compassion-project" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.davidshlim.com/medicine-compassion-project&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1668505584783000&amp;usg=AOvVaw20UaHm5NlXkxsR3gmzaaPd">www.davidshlim.com/medicine-compassion-project</a>).Collaboration with Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche and others resulted in the first-ever book that provided authentic Tibetan Buddhist insights into altruism and compassion for Western medical professionals, Medicine and Compassion, published in 2004. Monk philanthropist Matthieu Ricard (who David’s son is named after) writes: ‘Uniting his medical vocation with the essence of Buddhism … led to his teaching physicians around the world on how to bring back compassion at the heart of their profession and day to day activities.’<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058409c7e80680e0ce194jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="957" height="820"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Dr Shlim, as he is known locally, was a popular guest and a well-known fixture in 1980s’ Kathmandu. Adept at tolerating local conditions, both personal and medical, he first worked in Nepal in 1979 as the volunteer doctor posted in the Pheriche aid post high in the eastern Himalaya, lured away from his lacklustre life and flailing medical career in the US by the peerless mountain doctor and climber, Dr Peter Hackett.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058439c7e80680e0ce195jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="948" height="1061"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Returning as director of CIWEC, Nepal’s first international clinic with which he remains associated, Dr Shlim was a lifesaver, literally. Prior to CIWEC’s establishment in 1982 with Canadian assistance, we all relied on the Shanta Bhawan Hospital in a former Rana palace, run by dedicated and hard-working missionaries. I would regularly invite David down to Chitwan and Bardia for the reassurance of his gentle medical expertise when we had celebrity guests such as Henry Kissinger, Ringo Starr and Robert Redford in our care.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058469c7e80680e0ce196jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1141" height="1261"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In a unique position to study medical conditions afflicting travellers, including diarrhoea, tropical diseases and travellers’ depression, the research that David led during his 15 years in Nepal made CIWEC the most famous travel clinic in the world. In addition, he served ten years as medical director of the Himalayan Rescue Association and became president of the International Society of Travel Medicine, an organization with 4,000 members in 100 countries. In 1998 Dr David Shlim was recognised by the Prime Minister of Nepal for his lifetime contribution to Himalayan rescue and mountain medicine.It was to CIWEC that Beck Weathers and Makalu Gau were brought after the epic 1996 high altitude flight by Madhan KC above the Everest icefall, at that time the highest ever helicopter rescue. I coordinated the rescue operation, manning the phones in Kathmandu with Rob Hall’s team at basecamp, the American Embassy and Adventure Consultants in Christchurch. Having been left for dead above Camp II after the storm, we held the phone to Beck Weathers’ ear as he called his wife from David’s consulting room to tell her that he was still alive, tears streaming down his face, his frostbitten nose treated and both hands bandaged by Dr Shlim.David is a good storyteller as this page-turner attests, and inevitably was at the centre of expat life in those early self-reliant days, with all their dramas, disasters, accidents and adventures. A sober physician by day, David let off steam as a rock and roll singer by night. The Fear of Heights band had us dancing late into the night, a precursor for another twist in his eclectic career as tour doctor travelling the world with the Rolling Stones for three years - David had originally met Mick Jagger and his family in 1990 at my house in Kathmandu.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/6390584b9c7e80680e0ce197jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1622" height="1160"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>As Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche writes in the Foreword: ‘Dr. Shlim’s life was filled with many challenges and many successes, both medically and personally. He tells these stories very well.’  Particularly remarkable is the way he shares the step by step progression of a Jewish American doctor’s skepticism that evolved from a growing spiritual awareness into a deep connection with Tibetan Buddhism.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058529c7e80680e0ce198jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1022"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But this unputdownable book is about more than medical sagas and spiritual exploration, on which David clearly left his mark in Nepal and vise versa, gripping as they are. The narrative gallops along, featuring romances, travel and personal trauma, sweeping us through the delights and deprivations of Kathmandu life in the 1980s and the stark reality of Sherpa living in the high Khumbu with little health support. We follow David through the unsatisfactory dead ends of his early years in the US, settling into the beguiling rhythms of life in Nepal, then returning to the American Tetons having found the other Jane - another beautiful Canadian lady chanced upon in Kathmandu with whom he has shared his extraordinary life and two children.Recently released in the US and Kathmandu, it is fitting that A Gentle Rain of Compassion was selected as the best autobiography/memoir by International Book Awards 2022 - a great boost for Dr Shlim, and nice recognition for Nepal as the most rewarding of adventure and spiritual destinations.A Gentle Rain of Compassion by Dr David R Shlim Di Angelo Publications USA 2022Distributed in Nepal by Vajra Books362 pages $19.99<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022120710128/639058569c7e80680e0ce199jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1383">

Lisa Choegyal

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The good doctor

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151116/636bb65c9c7e80680e07bc59jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1365"/><figcaption>Photo: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>Last year this time, the Infectious and Tropical Disease Hospital in Teku would be filled with patients suffering from mosquito or dog bites. But for the past week, entire families are sleeping in the open overnight at the hospital gate waiting for their turn to get Covid-19 PCR tests in the morning.The novel coronavirus has overshadowed many prevalent diseases and their treatment in Nepal, and one of the deadliest among them is <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19652#.X3E9tS2B0b0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">rabies</a>.Last month, on a day that saw six Covid-19 fatalities nationwide, at least three people died of rabies in Dolakha district after a dog bit 10 people. The three, aged 32, 14 and 8, died despite receiving anti-rabies vaccines.Their families filed police complaints against a local clinic for using faulty vaccine, but ward chair Raj Kusum Lama later said the three died because they did not go for the full treatment of three injections.In Kathmandu, the Teku hospital is the only one which administers free anti-rabies vaccines. It used to get as many as 150 dog bite cases a day, but the number dwindled to only about 30 daily cases in the past months – even though there is anecdotal evidence of hungry street dogs getting more aggressive during the lockdown.Surya Ghimire was recently walking from his home in Dhapakhel to a school in Patan where he is a security guard, when he was suddenly attacked by a <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/woof-of-fresh-air-for-street-dogs-in-kathmandu,4132" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">canine pack</a>."There were no cars on Sat Dobato, and the dogs ruled the intersection. It was so dangerous, I started carrying a stick to protect myself,” he recalled. “The dogs were chasing people on motorcycles. They never did this before.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151116/636bb65f9c7e80680e07bc5ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3264" height="2448"><figcaption>Photo: BASU PARAJULI/THE KAT CENTRE</figcaption></figure>The lockdown also meant that without transport, people could not travel to health facilities to access the vaccine on time. Even after travel restrictions were lifted, many dog bite victims are afraid to visit Teku because it is also where Covid-19 patients are tested and treated.“Rabies is a under-diagnosed and under-rated in Nepal,” explained Buddha Basnyat of Patan Academy of Health Sciences. “Rabies doesn’t take any prisoners, it kills. Good thing we have a set of highly effective preventive measures.”A post-exposure prophylaxis, commonly known as anti-rabies vaccine, must be administered immediately after a dog bite, even if the dog may not be rabid. No one wants to take the chance. The vaccine takes about a week for the body to develop antibodies to fight the virus.While completely preventable, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17455#.X3E9tS2B0b0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">rabies</a> is a disease with the highest documented case-fatality rate -- close to 100%. Globally, it is responsible for 59,000 deaths every year, and 40% of all human rabies deaths are of children under 15.While rabies occurs in more than 150 countries, it is endemic in South Asia and Africa. India alone accounts for 40% of all annual rabies deaths in the world.Nepal has an average of 125 cases a year, but experts say most of the cases in remote rural areas go unreported. In fact, given the uncontrolled and growing population of stray dogs in urban areas, rabies and its preventive measures deserve more attention.“Teku hospital is synonymous with dog bite treatment, but the anti-rabies vaccine should be made available across the country and not just in few government hospitals,” says Prativa Pandey of CIWEC Travel Medicine Centre in Kathmandu. “Widespread access to the vaccine also means cutting down on travel cost for patients seeking treatment.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151116/636bb6629c7e80680e07bc5bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="530"><figcaption>Photo: KAT CENTRE</figcaption></figure>Indeed, if all major hospitals, health facilities and clinics had a stock of vaccines, many more lives would have been saved during the lockdown. Free anti-rabies vaccines are available only in Teku and limited district hospitals. Private hospitals stock the vaccine, but there is a hefty charge. Even then, most facilities are not equipped with immunoglobulin, which together with post-exposure prophylaxis is considered a complete treatment against rabies.An immunoglobulin shot is crucial in severe bite wounds, but both equine and human immunoglobulin can be found only in a select few clinics.“South India has made much progress in equine serum and we should invest on making it more widely available in Nepal,” says Basnyat. “It’s much cheaper than human immunoglobulin and doesn’t need a lot of maintenance, and the side effects are reduced.”Knowledge about immediate and thorough bite wound washing with soap and water is also crucial, and can save lives. But prevention by <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17934#.X3E9xS2B0b0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">controlling the street dog population</a> and canine vaccination are equally important. Although bats and monkeys also carry the rabies virus, dog bites make up 99% of all transmission in Nepal.Animal welfare organisations such as Kathmandu Animal Treatment (KAT) Centre and Sneha’s Care have been immunising community dogs in the Valley. Along with individual initiatives, they have also been busy <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/singha-darbar-dogs-go-hungry-in-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">feeding and caring for stray animals during the lockdown</a> so they are not as aggressive.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109151116/636bb6649c7e80680e07bc5cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption>Photo: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>On Monday, 28 September, the Global Alliance for Rabies Control is marking the 14th World Rabies Day with the slogan ‘End Rabies: Collaborate, Vaccinate’. Nepal and other endemic countries should renew their commitment to end rabies by prioritising and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/bhaktapurs-dog-catchers/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">investing on preventive measures</a> and meet the World Health Organisation (WHO) target of bringing down human deaths from dog-mediated rabies to zero by 2030.Elsewhere in the world, pre-exposure vaccines are readily available and most travellers to Nepal use one so that even in case of a dog bite, they can survive with only one booster dose of the anti-rabies vaccine.Says Prativa Pandey: “Ideally, immunisation against rabies like we have for polio is recommended for this part of the world even though it is expensive. Even so, we must make the vaccine available and invest on preventive measures to save lives.”

Dog bites man is still news in Nepal

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

Sky is the limit

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

Nepal’s AI-generated election

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

Time, transience, transition

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

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