The Narayani River is one of the most important biodiverse hotspots among Nepal’s three major river systems. It is inhabited by critically endangered gharial crocodiles, gangetic dolphins, Bengal tigers and the great one horned rhinos.&nbsp; The river drains the watershed of central Nepal and is fed by glaciers from the Annapurnas to the mountains in Tibet. Nepal is among the 30 countries on the route of the Central Asian Flyway, making the river a significant site for the world Wildlife Fund (WWF) Wetlands for Asian Flyways.&nbsp; Migratory birds from the north cross the Himalaya along the tributatries of the Narayani in winter as the river and surrounding areas provide safe resting and feeding habitat for the fowls when the river enters the plains. The post monsoon receding rivers, oxbow lakes, and marshes supply food to the migratory birds and other wildlife.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_695e2f2f42117c2d3de50930eafdf7e62ef80418e518544b27c168dba43cf1a1.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260202160232_695e2f2f42117c2d3de50930eafdf7e62ef80418e518544b27c168dba43cf1a1" data-rendition-name="original" width="1778" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> </figure>  In the 1960s, entire villages from Nepal’s mountains were translocated to the Tarai once malaria was eradicated. Vast stretches of forests and grassland were cleared for farming for the settlers in areas like Chitwan. The indigenous Tharu, Bote, Danuwar, Mushahar communities along the Narayani floodplain became a minority.&nbsp; The influx of population continues due to accessibility, infrastructure, facilities and livelihood opportunities in the Tarai. &nbsp;Chitwan’s population has increased by 37% since the 1981 census. Human settlements are now getting ever closer to the river boundaries of the Chitwan National Park. Chitwan has changed dramatically from the time I first visited in 1967 and when I started my career as a naturalist in 1984. The once laid-back and sleepy town was surrounded by large expanses of farms and forests stretching to the horizon, with the Narayani flowing nearby. Farmlands on the Narayani floodplains were inaccessible till 2000.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_1a20e67120539d5e0abb8701bde51c9bc2ea6eb9d67915cd42bc32bb63a87084.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260202160232_1a20e67120539d5e0abb8701bde51c9bc2ea6eb9d67915cd42bc32bb63a87084" data-rendition-name="original" width="1777" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> <figcaption>Common Teal</figcaption> </figure>  People primarily grew single paddy crops annually, and much of the post-harvest paddy field was left fallow. These moist fallow fields with marshes were prime feeding habitat for geese, ducks, cranes, storks, Ibis and many waders. Today, Chitwan is one sprawling metropolis. The construction of dykes, spurs and high embankment to avert floods now prevent the farms from getting replenished with alluvial deposits. The deepening river channels have also deprived uplands of groundwater and farms of moisture . In 1973 Chitwan National Park was established as Nepal's first protected area, and in 1996, the government introduced the Buffer Zone Management Rule under the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act to manage forests surrounding protected areas, and ensure local participation in parks management.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_b3a91b25342e178e8f6c8b3bc33ae61c674c9e8c5c3eac8e16ee410227d07c69.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260202160232_b3a91b25342e178e8f6c8b3bc33ae61c674c9e8c5c3eac8e16ee410227d07c69" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1205" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> <figcaption>Black stork</figcaption> </figure>  Human persecution of wildlife decreased significantly after buffer zone regulations were enacted, and benefited local people via tourism and revenue from the national parks. Conservation partners worked closely with communities and contributed to an increase in the numbers of many iconic endangered species such as tigers, rhinos, wild elephants as well as migratory birds. Behaviour Change Champions’ bi-annual bird monitoring in the Narayani floodplain recorded 145 bird species in February 2025, and 148 bird species in December. Of the species documented, rare migratory birds included a single Sarus Crane, one Spot-billed Pelican, and about 20 Greater White Fronted Geese. In January 2005, two Bar-Headed Geese were fitted with satellite radio telemetry. Both the birds flew northeast to Dingmo Co lake, about 500km north of Mt Everest. Their return destination was far away in the wetlands of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh states of India.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_e7924a8b7dd620d3d97609b0c1cd030dd38a2c39e9b880ee80af919e96863a39.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260202160232_e7924a8b7dd620d3d97609b0c1cd030dd38a2c39e9b880ee80af919e96863a39" data-rendition-name="original" width="1777" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> <figcaption>Greater white-fronted goose</figcaption> </figure>  According to field ornithologists DB Chaudhary, the number of bar-headed geese increased over 60% from 576 in 2024 and to 946 in 2026. &nbsp;Similarly, the number of Ruddy Shelducks also increased by nearly 60%, from 5,091 in 2024 to 8,523 in 2026.&nbsp; In contrast, common cranes saw a gradual decline in the early 2020s and their numbers have just begun to rise once again. Field ornithologist Hathan Chaudhary observed only 17 sharp common cranes in &nbsp;the Dibyanagar farms 2024, compared to 242 in 2020. In 2026, &nbsp;their number stands at 43 individuals. &nbsp; The fallow farms, the feeding habitats of birds like the Bar-headed Geese, Ruddy Shelducks, Common Cranes are shrinking rapidly from intensive farming and spread of human dwelling and industries. Farmers now grow mustard, buck wheat, lentils and corn during the dry season, and the use of pesticides and fungicides in standing crops is a threat for migratory birds that feed upon the crops. Meanwhile, the increase in the network of power cables pose threats of collision to migratory birds.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_d041195718df61adb57151f7dbc8f05dd720ccbab1f6643c8476a456e4c8082d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260202160232_d041195718df61adb57151f7dbc8f05dd720ccbab1f6643c8476a456e4c8082d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1777" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> </figure>  Other threats to wildlife have yet to be addressed. Growing population along the Narayani floodplain upstream continues to pollute the river with garbge. Fallow farms, which are feeding habitats of geese, ducks, and cranes, are shrinking rapidly from extensive farming, expansion of settlements, and industrialisation. FOWL-FRIENDLY&nbsp; Protecting our migratory birds requires safe feeding areas with vast expanses of open marshes and meadows inside the Chitwan National Park and the buffer zone to mitigate the loss of their feeding habitat. Divisional Forest Offices and Bharatpur Municipality could set aside large open marshes and wetlands as a sanctuary for migratory birds. Similarly, reduced availability of water will be a limiting factor for the conservation of wetland birds in the near future. Harvesting and working on groundwater recharge will ensure food security, habitat for migratory birds and other wildlife, and will help local communities combat the impacts of the climate crisis.&nbsp; Seasonal wetlands are particularly important for birds, with their receding water, they provide succulent grass and roots for dabbling ducks and for grazers and filter feeders such as geese, shelduck, pintails, mallards and gadwalls. Eleocharis, Scirpus and other wetlands plant species that grow tubers serve as food for birds once they are exposed to aerobic conditions.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260202160232_b06163d09ed589bf98186768cc75504e743de9ebbe278cad0dcf30a180b1b878.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260202160232_b06163d09ed589bf98186768cc75504e743de9ebbe278cad0dcf30a180b1b878" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Nepal's vanishing wetlands NT"> </figure>  Enhanced shallow wetlands and surrogate feeding habitats with low angles of approach thus enable birds and mammals to feed. Once these wetlands dry, they expose worms, freshwater shrimps, mollusks, fishes, frogs, roots and tubers, making it easier for birds and other wildlife like rhinos, hog deers, fishing cats, otters, and tigers to forage.&nbsp; As it stands, the two-year WWF-led community-led conservation of wetlands and migratory birds in Narayani’ project aims to reduce the threats to the migratory birds by enhancing wetlands, capacitating local youth through Behavior Change Champions, and expanding surrogate feeding wetland habitats.&nbsp; The program is working to sensitise and enable indigenous and local communities towards migratory bird conservation, and hone the skills and knowledge of local bird tour guides, particularly women, in identifying and monitoring the birds habit and their response and adaptation to habitat change. The Behavior Change Champions are trained to rescue injured birds, and interact with local communities to reduce direct human persecution and harming of wildlife. WWF Nepal is supporting this project through the Terai Arc Landscape Conservation Program. The theme of the World Wetlands Day on 2 February 2026 is Wetlands and Traditional Knowledge: Celebrating Culture Heritage. We must honour this theme and actively contribute to the conservation of the migratory birds, which are our natural heritage, and in the process preserve their connection with local communities, farmlands, and nature. Rajendra N Suwal is the Head of Partnerships Development at WWF Nepal.

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Nepal's vanishing wetlands

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110101152/636cca109c7e80680e08bb47jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1366"/><figcaption>Brown-headed gull. Photo: DASARATH SHRESTHA BIJUKCHHE</figcaption></figure>It was one of those brilliantly clear autumn mornings at Taudaha on the southern outskirts of Kathmandu. This historical pond is regarded as the last remnant of the lake that once covered Kathmandu Valley, where the serpents are still supposed to live.We do not know about serpents. But Taudaha is an important stopover for migratory waterfowl en route from as far away as Siberia to the plains of the Subcontinent.While bird-watching at Taudaha in late November, I saw a gull feeding near flocks of other waterfowl that had just flown in from the north. I could not make out through my zoom lens whether it was the Black-Headed, or Brown-Headed Gull. But this was an exciting sighting, and I clicked several shots.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110101152/636cca139c7e80680e08bb48jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1436" height="957"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>About a dozen migratory duck species are sighted in Taudaha every winter, including the  Common Coot, Common Moorhen, Little Cormorant, Oriental Darter. In summer, the Brown-Headed Gull breeds in the high plateau of central Asia from Tajikistan to Inner Mongolia. In winter, its migrates south, crosses the Himalaya along the river valleys to winter in the lakes of the Subcontinent. According to one satellite tracking research it travels 2,400 km in two weeks.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110101152/636cca169c7e80680e08bb49jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1108" height="744"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Brown-headed Gulls are rare in Kathmandu Valley, with just two records of sightings in November 2004 and October 2005. The Brown-Headed and Black-Headed Gulls are similar in appearance, and are easy to confuse. The Brown-headed Gull is slightly bigger, but on closer observation the shape of its head, the colour of primaries eye are different.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110101152/636cca189c7e80680e08bb4ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="125"><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110101152/636cca199c7e80680e08bb4bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1366"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The Brown-headed Gull has a steep forehead, whereas the black-headed gull has a smaller and rather rounded head. This feature is hard to view in flight, but easier to notice when they are floating. Brown-headed gull has striking long dark outer primaries or longer flight feathers. Ninth and tenth primaries are completely dark with spots near the tip, which is often indicative that it is young or their bird’s first winter. The <a href="http://www.photographyanbirds.worldpress.com/">gull</a> seen in Taudaha was probably a Brown-headed Gull because of its dark eyes.

Spotting a Brown-headed Gull at Taudaha

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110101152/636cca0a9c7e80680e08bb45jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1109"/><figcaption>Photo: HEM RAJ BARAL</figcaption></figure>Experts have called for urgent protection of wetlands following another winter with a sharp decline in the number of migratory water fowl in Nepal’s lakes and rivers this year.Preliminary results of this year’s bird census conducted from 2-18 January show a fall in not just the total number of water birds, but also the species count – a third year in a row with such a worrying decrease.The Kosi River this winter recorded a total of 19,522 water birds of 62 species, much lower even than the 21,744 waterfowls of 58 species counted last year. The Jagadishpur Ramsar site also recorded only 12,476 water birds against last year’s 15,496.Birders at Chitwan, Karnali River and Badaiya Lake also counted fewer ducks, geese and other migratory species compared to previous years -- raising serious concern about the health of Nepal’s wetlands as well as the safety of the birds <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/birds-of-passage-Nepal,2921">en route from Siberia and Mongolia.</a>Waterfowls breed, graze and spend most of their time in and around Nepal’s lakes and rivers in winter, migrating over the Himalaya. Over <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-bird-census/">100 species</a> of waterfowls have been recorded in Nepal, most of them migratory.But shrinking lakes, destruction of wetlands, pesticide use, obstructions in flight paths, climate change, depleted fish in rivers and lakes as well as hunting along migratory routes are the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/saving-nepals-flyway-for-migrating-cranes/">main reasons for the decline.</a><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110101152/636cca0d9c7e80680e08bb46jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="125">“Wetland protection is a must for bird conservation, for their survival, their food and shelter,” says Krishna Prasad Bhusal of the Bird Conservation Nepal. “Waterfowls are an indicator species, they show us the condition of the habitat.”In January’s bird census, over 300 enumerators fanned out across 60 wetland spots across Nepal over a two week period. They did not just count birds and their species, but also collected information about illegal hunting and habitat destruction.The good news this year were sightings of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/eurasian-curlew-visits-kathmandu-after-50-years/">new species</a>: the Mandarin Duck in  Pokhara, Yellow-billed Duck in Kosi and the Baikal Gairi in Barju Lake and Thopla Chuche Nadun Duck in Jagdishpur.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-great-trans-himalayan-bird-migration/">Nepal’s annual bird count started in 1987</a> simultaneously with other parts of Asia under a Wetlands International initiative, which tries to tally the total number of waterfowls in Asia at the same time.The Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation, the Nepal Bird Conservation Association, and community groups took part in the census.Says ornithologist Hem Sagar Baral of Wetlands International: “With this census we aim to increase public awareness about bird conservation by engaging local communities.”Nepal’s great ecological diversity, a terrain that soars from 70m above sea level to 8,848m within a horizontal distance of less than 100km means that it has more than 886 bird species, more than continental United States.Of these, more than 150 are migratory in nature, 60 of them in summer, when migration is relatively shorter in distance.Every winter, birds from as far as Siberia, Europe, South Africa, Central Asia and East Asia travel to Nepal in search of favourable weather and habitat.They spend most of their time in Kosi Tappu, Bishajari Lake in Chitwan, Jagdishpur, Ghodaghodi Lake in Kailali, Shuklaphanta Lake area and Kosi, Gandaki, Narayani and their tributaries.

Decline in wintering water fowl

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.