This is the 89th 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. Growing up in a remote village in Parbat disrict, we walked uphill 90 minutes to get to school. We were never on time for morning assembly. We had to cut grass, feed the livestock before school.&nbsp; My father served in the Indian Army and came home once a year. I preferred it when he was away because he was strict. Even his shadow scared me, and until I was 16, I could not even look him directly in the eyes.&nbsp; I now know that he had good intentions, and if I had followed his guidance, I would probably be in a much better position today. Despite my father’s discouragement, I prepared for Indian Army recruitment walking up at 3:30 to run and do workouts.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260323130328_14b41a7f5380221adf841ad58f73b905a86399817a4e3643ec8d7aca496aa1ec.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260323130328_14b41a7f5380221adf841ad58f73b905a86399817a4e3643ec8d7aca496aa1ec" data-rendition-name="original" width="1285" height="831" loading="lazy" alt="DD 89"> </figure>  I failed thrice despite making it to the final round. I accepted my fate, it was not meant to be. Like everyone else, I sought my fortune in the Gulf. I paid a recruiter Rs40,000 and headed to Qatar to work in a garment factory. The heat there terrified me. My salary was not what the agent had promised, but since I was &nbsp;already there I decided to work hard. My managers took notice and promoted me to supervisor. It came with its perks: a higher salary, a brown shirt that commanded more respect, fewer number of people in our room, and basmati rice.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260323130328_dad6c1d476e08e0f79072612fb6b9dfefd7fa9ccd3bfc368474e65196db49858.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260323130328_dad6c1d476e08e0f79072612fb6b9dfefd7fa9ccd3bfc368474e65196db49858" data-rendition-name="original" width="1360" height="913" loading="lazy" alt="DD 89"> </figure>  I was promoted again to an assistant timekeeper, keeping track of the shifts and overtime of 600 workers. I also learnt to use a computer with the help of a friend from Kolkata.&nbsp; Rising up through the ranks made me understand what other workers were going through, and I treated them with empathy and respect. This made me quite popular in the company.After three years in Qatar, the company shut down. I returned to Nepal but saw an ad in the papers asking for security guards. Two Americans interviewed me, and I gave them my best salute. They did not ask me much, and said they wanted to see me in Kuwait the following week. My father somehow managed to collect Rs60,000 for the job.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260323130328_dbec508694937ea6c9e19fa7dc00fc23b742abc4b985e7490bf4d2f53fc21cbc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260323130328_dbec508694937ea6c9e19fa7dc00fc23b742abc4b985e7490bf4d2f53fc21cbc" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="DD 89"> </figure>  It was tough at first. We did not have food or mattresses. Later, news reached the main client that our contractor was not providing us good facilities so they intervened and things started improving. I soon got promoted to the post of a site supervisor. A group of us were smart and disciplined, the kind of security guards our contractor proudly showed to potential clients as ‘Gurkha’ guards. This helped them gain new business and opened opportunities for more Nepalis to be recruited. People there called me ‘Tyson’ because I was hot headed. I never started fights, but if someone came at me, I did not back down. I was dismissed twice for hitting an Egyptian after he struck me first, and a Bangladeshi who grabbed my throat when I told him not to park in a restricted area.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260323130328_e681354e16121cffecc7bb909d5b5ef5ded910e39202599a54441604b411b13c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260323130328_e681354e16121cffecc7bb909d5b5ef5ded910e39202599a54441604b411b13c" data-rendition-name="original" width="896" height="1030" loading="lazy" alt="DD 89"> </figure>  In both cases, the management was forced to reverse the dismissal. First because nearly 150 Nepalis protested the decision to fire me, and second because American managers from the client intervened and instead promoted me to patrolling supervisor. I married young at 17, and by 19 I already had two children. For me, they were my biggest priority. While working at the American base camp in Kuwait, I often saw VIPs and wondered why I had not studied harder so I could be more than a security guard. People in suits with neatly combed hair, and the cars they stepped out of were impressive. I wanted my children to have such positions. I invested heavily in their studies.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260323130328_65f6ab934b90aab26fdeee2b24338f0bad6eef4f1e2c6d82ad5145814273b496.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260323130328_65f6ab934b90aab26fdeee2b24338f0bad6eef4f1e2c6d82ad5145814273b496" data-rendition-name="original" width="720" height="479" loading="lazy" alt="DD 89"> </figure>  After six years, I returned to Nepal and applied for a seafarer position in the United States. The screening process was intense. I passed the first interview, after which we had two months of training focused on physical preparation, language, and preparation for the final interview.&nbsp; Going to America was the dream, so I took the preparation very seriously. I practice English with my niece and nephew and often studied throughout the night. The questions I had prepared for were mostly about security work. But when Philip, an Australian, came to interview us, he asked random questions such as my favourite Western food and why I wanted to work on a ship.&nbsp; I still remember him asking whether the tie I was wearing belonged to me. I explained that I borrowed it from the guy who interviewed before me, which he had noticed. My honest reply made him smile. That night I could not sleep a wink in anticipation. 10AM. No call. 11AM. No call. At 3PM, I got too anxious so I called the office. They said I did not get the job. Disappointed, I packed my bags to return to my village. Just as I left my in laws’ house they got a call informing me that the recruiter was joking and I had in fact gotten the job. I was so happy I cried.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260323130328_9e212dbf6bacc277196ea5ed83217d9bce922ebee3fde3254345b04929c5948b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260323130328_9e212dbf6bacc277196ea5ed83217d9bce922ebee3fde3254345b04929c5948b" data-rendition-name="original" width="896" height="669" loading="lazy" alt="DD 89"> </figure>  Going to the USA was exciting. People in my village did not believe me. For someone who used to get off in Doha, this time I was in transit. After Doha, the passengers were different and wealthier. Their standards seemed higher, and the food provided was different. I felt out of place on that leg of the flight. My new job was on a cruise ship. Our room, shared by two, was below water level and had no windows. Sometimes the waves hitting the ship were so loud that they kept us awake. Back then, there was no wifi, and we typed long messages to post when we got free wifi when we docked at a port.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260323130328_2e3a94fa27963867a89814da259b7b9d203ee62561841170b1b2a7bbb79f991c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260323130328_2e3a94fa27963867a89814da259b7b9d203ee62561841170b1b2a7bbb79f991c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="DD 89"> </figure>  I sold the land I bought in Pokhara with my Kuwait earnings and purchased land in Lalitpur with my maritime earnings. I also bought a house in Pokhara where my mother and brother live. As I was managing loans and major expenses like my children’s education, my younger brother, who had gone to Qatar as a security guard, fell sick with kidney failure.&nbsp; He received a transplant as our mother was a match, but even after the operation the medical costs remained extremely high. I took care of his family and the &nbsp;bills. Because the problem was long term, I encouraged my sister in law to apply for a job like mine. She failed the first interview, so I had her enroll in English language courses.&nbsp; She passed the second time and has been working on another ship since 2016. This has helped my brother’s family immensely. Then, there was Covid and I was stuck in Nepal. The next job was on the humanitarian Mercy Ship, that offered free medical treatment to poorest people around the world. Right now we are stationed in Sierra Leone and will go on to Ghana.&nbsp; The medical personnel volunteer their time to serve, and the patients receiving treatment are also grateful because they are given a second life. I can see it in their faces when they leave the ship post surgery or treatment. I have now built a house in Lalitpur. My son is studying in Japan and my daughter is in public health. My journey has helped those around me.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260323130328_bfa7ba1c52186e1f610767b817a710a58c75e93a90e7db9907a6d41fd3c2252a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20260323130328_bfa7ba1c52186e1f610767b817a710a58c75e93a90e7db9907a6d41fd3c2252a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="DD 89"> </figure>  My father unexpectedly passed when I was away. Baba was the pillar of my house. Without him, everything has fallen apart. All responsibilities fall on my shoulder. He had an orange orchard with 700 trees and used to sell the fruits in Kalimati, but now we have leased it. I am not sure when I will come back to Nepal. &nbsp;The work is easy because we just have to work six hours a day and four days a week. I get to come home for three months every six months on paid leave to be with my family.&nbsp; I am very lucky that way. I see other Nepalis staying 17-18 years until they cross their 60s. Even when they leave, they pass the baton to their sons who take their positions. I think I will also stay on this job as long as my health allows me.

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Here & Now

From desert to sea

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

Loot in Lele

As war escalates across West Asia, Nepali workers navigate fear, uncertainty and the pressure to keep earning, while back home a new government readies to take charge. &nbsp;&nbsp; Khagendra Basnet, 42, has spent seven years as a security guard here. He sits silently during a long night shift as his mobile phone screeches alerts. Explosions follow as Iranian missiles and drones are intercepted overhead.&nbsp; Three weeks into the war, residents in Qatar have gone from fear to resignation, some even returning to dinners at the Pearl and Souq Waqif under flashes of missiles in the sky.&nbsp; Basnet’s company contracted him to US-affiliated institutions and he works near the American Embassy. He is apprehensive, “I panic from time to time as there is no saying when it is safe.” Qatar’s location and its US air base at Al Udeid puts it at risk of Iranian missile attacks. The base was struck on the very first day of the war on 28 February. Oil and gas installations in Iran and across the Gulf were targetted this week.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260319090332_e3b4c07574b9680a40263d0a005bd08a2864a4c49747762203fd92d01cdf799a.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260319090332_e3b4c07574b9680a40263d0a005bd08a2864a4c49747762203fd92d01cdf799a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1036" height="582" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis in Doha during war"> </figure>  While no deaths have been reported in Qatar so far, there is fear among Nepalis in the Gulf states, as well as in Israel itself where there are 7,000 caregivers and nurses.&nbsp; Three South Asian migrant workers were killed by debris from intercepted Iranian drones above Abu Dhabi on 28 February. Among them was 29-year-old Diwas Shrestha from Gorkha, who had been working as a security guard. “Hearing that news made my heart ache,” says Basnet. “What if my family has to bear a similar tragedy without saying goodbye, and hearing from news sources?” Basnet came to Qatar to save enough to support his family. His company had promised him a plane ticket home in April, but Doha airport is only partially open for limited routes. He says, “My family is really worried. I assure them that it’s all ok, just to lessen their fear.” Basnet’s thoughts are about the political change back home in Nepal. He blames the decades of corrupt governments for not creating opportunities for people like him in Nepal, and forcing him to work in a war zone. The Foreign Ministry issued an advisory to the nearly 2 million Nepalis in Israel, Iran and other West Asian countries telling them to follow local security instructions.&nbsp; “We have formed an Emergency Response Team with different departments in light of the ongoing conflict in West Asia. We are closely monitoring the situation through our 24/7-operating control rooms, our embassies and advisories in the region, and online information forms,” says Lok Bahadur Poudel Chettri of the Foreign Ministry in Kathmandu. More than 65,000 Nepali citizens have registered in the ministry's online system, among whom roughly 6,000 requested emergency assistance.&nbsp; Foreign Minister Balananda Sharma has said Nepal would “use both air and sea routes” if the number of people requiring assistance increases.&nbsp; However, the department sees no immediate need for mass-evacuation from the region.&nbsp; But for many workers here, the issue is not only whether they are officially asked to leave. It is whether they can afford to.&nbsp; On 14 March MoFA advised Nepalis in Qatar to secure Saudi tourist visas in advance so they could use the Salwa border route and fly out to Nepal.&nbsp; Other governments evacuated their nationals through overland transfers, charter flights, and consular assistance routed via Saudi Arabia or Oman.&nbsp; The Indian Embassy in Qatar facilitated departures through limited Qatar Airways flights and through Saudi Arabia, including temporary 96-hour Saudi transit visas for its Indian nationals.&nbsp; “I checked the available options and it will cost at least 4,000 riyals (Rs157,000) to fly to Nepal via Saudi Arabia, and most flights are already booked,” says Basnet, whose salary is only 1,800 riyal a month. NEW NORMAL For most migrant workers in Qatar, fear has become routine. Arun Thapa, 31, works at a food delivery company here, and was in his room scrolling through TikTok when he first saw videos and updates about war breaking out 28 February.&nbsp; Before he could fully process what was happening, emergency alerts began ringing on his phone, followed by explosions in the sky.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260319090332_4eeb6f20a1006baa2eaaa8461759a99a8c257099725c7bc3acf1b4b21a893603.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260319090332_4eeb6f20a1006baa2eaaa8461759a99a8c257099725c7bc3acf1b4b21a893603" data-rendition-name="original" width="1096" height="319" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis in Doha during war"> <figcaption>Snoonu, a Qatar-based food delivery app, message to its customers on the initial days of the conflict</figcaption> </figure>  For Thapa this was less scary than the Israeli air strike in Doha last September targetting the Hamas leadership. He was delivering food when he heard the bombs go off at that time.&nbsp; “That day, I was really frightened. It was my first time seeing this,” recalls Thapa. “That is not to say I am not scared now, of course, I am,” he says. “I try not to overthink, and get on with my job.” Thapa came to Qatar 10 years ago after being first rejected for medical reasons. He first worked in Bangalore as a waiter, and connections he built there helped him secure a job in a supermarket in Qatar. Unlike many migrants he did not have to pay an exorbitant amount to recruiters. Still, he was promised a salary of 2,500 riyals a month, which was the main reason he agreed to come, but found out he would earn only half that.&nbsp; His job is risky even without war: riders spend long hours on the road, exposed to traffic, heat and now the possibility of falling missile debris. But he came here to earn and save, and this means he has to overcome his fear. Thapa wants to stay on for another two years because he still has loans after buying land for his family. “It has become a habit. If I hear an alert, I park my bike to watch the fireworks, and get back to delivering,” he says. “People are not as scared as they were at first. Despite everything, Qatar feels safe.”&nbsp; But if the war escalates, Thapa does not expect much from his company beyond the annual return ticket, he will have to fend for himself. He is somewhat more optimistic about the Nepal Embassy helping than before.&nbsp; Even though Nepal is a neutral country, its citizens are now scattered across the globe — many of them in war zones like West Asia. Ten Nepalis were killed in the Hamas attack on Israel in 2023, at the Canadian Embassy in Kabul in 2014, and the dozen Nepalis were killed in Iraq in 2004. At least 1,000 Nepalis are fighting in the Russian Army against Ukraine, and 110 have been killed. Economic desperation and tempting offers by recruiters pushes many to risk their lives just to support their families. “Labour and migration must be diversified and not be entirely dependent on Gulf countries,” says Pitambar Ghimire at the Ministry of Labour, Employment and Social Security in Kathmandu. “We must ensure safe and dignified migration in our labour diplomacy.” With the change of government in Nepal, there is hope among migrants that in the long term there will be better job opportunities, but there is the immediate risk posed by the West Asia war.&nbsp; Nepal needs to move beyond lip service to migrant workers for supporting the country with their remittances, to ensuring their safety and security.&nbsp; Khagendra Basnet stares out at the glittering Doha skyline, gives a worrying glance at the sky, saying,“I hope I can still live safely and be here to work and earn. If not, I will have to find a way back.”&nbsp; Some names have been changed to protect their identity.

Migrant workers in wartime

- High Court employee Amrita KC fulfilled her duties as a polling officer in Nepalganj on election day, with her six-month-old daughter held in her arms.&nbsp; - The same morning in Kathmandu-1, RSP candidate Ranju Neupane appeared at the polling station to cast her vote with her 10-day-old baby. The next day, she became the first candidate declared a winner by the Election Commission. Her party won a supermajority and will now be tasked with reforms in governance, development, the economy, and service delivery. At least four of the winning RSP candidates are doctors, and the party must fulfil its campaign promise of improving healthcare access across Nepal. Among the lowest-ranking region for healthcare indicators in Nepal is Madhes Province. Across the districts of Madhes and Karnali, where maternal and neonatal health outcomes remain poorer than in the rest of the nation, local governments in collaboration with non-profits, have financed and facilitated the operation of birthing centres where <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-haemorrhaging-nurses">nurses are lifelines</a> for pregnant women, new mothers, and newborn babies.&nbsp; At the Inarwari birthing centre in Rautahat district, nurse midwife Manisha Kushwaha gently applies ultrasound gel on the abdomen of 28-year-old Robina Khatun who is having a sonogram in the first trimester.&nbsp; Kushwaha glides the transducer over Khatun’s belly before pronouncing her baby healthy. She will later send the ultrasound machine for the municipality’s monthly mobile sonogram program in a neighbouring village.&nbsp; Ministry of Health and Population guidelines recommend that pregnant people make eight antenatal care (ANC) visits to health posts before their delivery date. Expecting mothers are also provided Rs800 for the eight visits and travel costs according to geographical region. In Baudhimai, the local government provides more incentives: 10 eggs for non-vegetarian and protein powder for vegetarian mothers-to-be per visit. The municipality also provides free ambulance service for pregnant women, and conducts a monthly mobile sonogram program across all communities.&nbsp; The initiatives of local governments, health officials, non-profits, and volunteers have meant that institutional deliveries here have increased drastically. In Rautahat, institutional deliveries have increased from 50% to 68% in four years, according to figures from the non-profit One Heart Worldwide that works to improve <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-lagging-in-safe-motherhood">maternal and neonatal health</a> outcomes arcoss Nepal.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260314020352_a3f66142aa6a0333b78d82cd5520b1818633a580885232c10625572e014b1b15.png" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260314020352_a3f66142aa6a0333b78d82cd5520b1818633a580885232c10625572e014b1b15" data-rendition-name="original" width="1034" height="650" loading="lazy" alt="Motherhood in Madhes"> </figure>  “Home deliveries have completely stopped in Inarwari, and women are increasingly accessing ante-natal and post-natal care, as well as family planning measures,” says Manisha Kushwaha. “Women and families here are now more aware of maternal and neonatal healthcare.” One of them is Noor Jahan Khatun, who had her first baby at home and gave birth to her second child at the local birthing centre despite wanting another home birth. When the due date for her third child came around, she walked to the health post herself.&nbsp; “I realised it is much better to give birth at the hospital,” Noor, who is pregnant with her fourth child, told us. “They have everything we need in case of complications.” The nursing staff at the birthing centre, as well as other centres in the municipality also periodically review their training in the birthing simulation room set up on the premises of the Inarwari birthing centre so that they retain their training and continue to hone their skills. Over in Sarlahi’s Sundarpur in Chakraghatta Rural Municipality, a state-of-the-art birthing centre now stands adjacent to the derelict old structure from which nurses previously had to provide services.&nbsp; The new and improved maternity ward was built last year with Rs2.4 million from the municipality and a Rs2 million from <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/what-can-be-more-fulfilling-than-saving-lives">One Heart Worldwide</a> under a cost-sharing public-private partnership formula.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260312120328_4e7f71b535541d56d267baa6f2656faf008b7e98cc16da0042253f4c0db3eeb7.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260312120328_4e7f71b535541d56d267baa6f2656faf008b7e98cc16da0042253f4c0db3eeb7" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="2000" loading="lazy" alt="maternal health"> <figcaption>Sundarpur birthing centre in Sarlahi built through the collaboration of the local government and One Heart Worldwide.</figcaption> </figure>  Chief nurse Sunita Rai has been stationed here for the last six years, and looks at the old building. “I remember when we had to deliver babies while ankle-deep in flood water during monsoon,” recalls Rai. “This new facility and the equipment have improved service.”&nbsp; Since the start of the fiscal year, the six-nurse team at Sundarpur has delivered more than 140 babies. One day last month, a national holiday, the centre was quieter than usual, with just two women waiting for delivery.&nbsp; But fewer-than-usual patients does not mean there is no work to be done. In the afternoon, nurses make the rounds of the community to conduct post-natal care visits, and to keep track of how the new mothers and babies in the village are doing. This is important because neonatal mortality of babies within the first month of birth is still high. “For the people in this village we are both the doctor and the nurse,” Rai says matter-of-factly as she walks towards the village to see a new mother.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260314020352_24b9e04295150a8a64ff56f457e3faebd84eaa22a3e3521499ac17c23ec48027.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260314020352_24b9e04295150a8a64ff56f457e3faebd84eaa22a3e3521499ac17c23ec48027" data-rendition-name="original" width="790" height="542" loading="lazy" alt="Motherhood in Madhes"> </figure>  In Sarlahi's Laxmipur Kodraha, Kanchan Rai makes her own rounds, calling out to several young children playing in the pale afternoon sun. Rai has been stationed in Laxmipur for 10 years and delivered most of those children playing outside herself. A beloved member of the community, Rai is greeted by several women and invited in for tea and snacks as she walks by. The Laxmipur birthing centre has seen major renovations to make it more spacious, better equipped, and hygienic. Mothers now have more privacy, especially from men who in the past would simply barge in wanting to know which woman from the village was about to give birth.&nbsp; “We deliver 400 babies on average every year,” Rai says. “There have been zero home births in this village for the last five years, and women are increasingly accessing maternal healthcare and family planning services.” Institutional deliveries in Sarlahi have gone up from 37% to 71% over the past five years.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260314020348_983e3b652b38cee4a1d977742e0211dd85c1ab8085f961876dde1ada78c7c2ac.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="20260314020348_983e3b652b38cee4a1d977742e0211dd85c1ab8085f961876dde1ada78c7c2ac" data-rendition-name="original" width="359" height="329" loading="lazy" alt="Motherhood in Madhes"> </figure>  Pregnant women who require C-sections, or those who experience complications during pregnancies, are referred to the nearest provincial hospitals in Gaur or Malangwa. “Community-based awareness programs about going for hospital visits have helped reduce home deliveries, and counselling sessions provided to new mothers at provincial hospitals have contributed to better maternal and neonatal health outcomes,” says Sachin Yadav, obstetrician-gynaecologist at Malangwa Provincial Hospital. SAFE MOTHERHOOD Newborns with birth asphyxia, tachycardia, meconium aspiration syndrome and other complications are admitted to the special newborn care unit at the Gaur Provincial Hospital. But Apsana Khatun, chief nurse at the hospital’s maternal and neonatal unit says: “We have not been able to provide neo-natal care as effectively because we do not have an NICU.”&nbsp; Provincial hospitals provide life-saving services, but remain underfunded and in need of life-saving equipment. At the Gaur Hospital, Rukmini Kumari Shah gently rocks her three-day-old son, who was admitted to the special newborn care unit due to birth asphyxia and dehydration.&nbsp; “I have not even been able to think of a name for him,” says the 25-year-old. “My other two children were born normal but I worry for this one.”  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260312120328_2736dbc7660fdb60d928df22b387d084a244607126567e5cbf37235177d1ac3c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20260312120328_2736dbc7660fdb60d928df22b387d084a244607126567e5cbf37235177d1ac3c" data-rendition-name="original" width="3000" height="2000" loading="lazy" alt="maternal health"> <figcaption>Gaur Provincial Hospital.</figcaption> </figure>  This is where the election pledge of the RSP will be tested. Will the new government cut through the bureaucracy, corruption and resource constraints to provide life-saving services to mothers and babies in places like Rautahat and Sarlahi? There has been no maternal mortality at the Malangwa Provincial Hospital for the last two years, but the hospital has had neonatal deaths. “We need more spacious waiting areas and training for maternal and neonatal healthcare workers,” says Sachin Yadav. “Without that we are unable to serve our patients and have to send them to Kathmandu or Birganj.” In Baudhimai village, patient numbers have increased by 140% in the last three years, but the federal government slashed the health budget by 60%. The government across three levels is supposed to provide 98 types of essential medicine free of cost at primary healthcare centres, but the federal and provincial governments often fail to make their share of the drugs available.&nbsp; “Federal and especially provincial governments have been irresponsible when it comes to investing in local healthcare,” says Baudhimai mayor Pradeep Kumar Yadav. Health workers and institutions continue to work without being paid or funded when the budget remains frozen for months at a time. “It does not matter to a patient when the fiscal year begins,” says Sachin Yadav at the Malangwa Provincial Hospital. “Maternal deaths do not wait for the budget to be released.” And despite budget constraints, political posturing still continues. At local levels, officials build multiple birthing centres in each ward when one would suffice, and these buildings remain empty.&nbsp; Politics also plays a significant role in whether or not local officials are willing to agree when health officials try to refer pregnancy-related complications to better-equipped facilities. And while services have improved due to the efforts of dedicated healthcare officials, they are transferred from one place to another at the whim of governments that come and go, which means staff turnover in these institutions is very high, affecting consistent service delivery. &nbsp; Yadav has been at Malangwa for three years— during which yearly institutional deliveries have gone from 2,000 to 3,200 and C-section births have gone from 150 to 700. He had just begun to hit his stride at the hospital when he received transfer letters to another hospital.&nbsp; So far, he has managed to hold on to his position in Malangwa, but he does not know how long he will be able to delay the transfer. &nbsp;&nbsp; <h2>Tackling patriarchy</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260312120328_7df47f32c19a10cd59efbd7e2639a1b719bd4f6ca50bfa24189c8ecc65f21d09.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20260312120328_7df47f32c19a10cd59efbd7e2639a1b719bd4f6ca50bfa24189c8ecc65f21d09" data-rendition-name="original" width="1850" height="3000" loading="lazy" alt="maternal health"> </figure>  Nepal has made dramatic progress in reducing the maternal mortality rate (MMR) from 539 per 100,000 births to 142 over the past 30 years. But that is the national average. MMR is still high in parts of Nepal where access to healthcare and adoption of health services are not as extensive. One reason is that despite birthing centres and awareness of pre- and post-natal healthcare, s<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-slaughter-of-our-daughters">ocio-cultural norms in a patriarchal society</a> also mean that female literacy remains low, and the rate of underage marriage is high.&nbsp; Rautahat has the lowest literacy rate in Nepal, and the lowest female literacy rate. This has a direct correlation with its its fertility and maternal mortality rates. Gaur Hospital continues to see maternal and intrauterine fetal death (IUFD) deaths due to a lack of ANC visits by patients. In the absence of education and information, socio-cultural misconceptions still persist. Women refuse to take essential pre-natal medication like folic acid because they think it will affect their babies’ complexion, and do not eat enough fruits because they believe it will cause fetal pneumonia.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260314020348_2ce41f5b625cb005b9477861d0c208e806601ce7eaa804d525030282675e3856.jpg" data-media-id="editor_10" data-image-id="20260314020348_2ce41f5b625cb005b9477861d0c208e806601ce7eaa804d525030282675e3856" data-rendition-name="original" width="377" height="367" loading="lazy" alt="Motherhood in Madhes"> </figure>  Women are also expected to get through their pregnancies without going for health check ups in keeping with the tradition of their mothers and mothers-in-law enduring pregnancy and childbirth at home without access to healthcare. Maternal and neonatal health outcomes are also affected by child marriage, as well as the patriarchy-enforced preference of a male child in the family.&nbsp; At Gaur Provincial Hospital, 25-year-old Asha Kumari stands with her hands braced against the hospital bed as she is gripped by a contraction. Her eldest child is already 12, and she is at the hospital to have her fifth baby.&nbsp; “She had already had two children by the time she was 18,” explains her mother, who is here with Asha’s mother-in-law. &nbsp; Officials worry that reporting instances of child marriage might mean that women no longer trust health workers and hospitals, and stop accessing healthcare altogether. They insist that investment in maternal health needs to be accompanied by socio-cultural interventions. <div class="embed-block"><div><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 0; position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%;"><iframe src="https://cdn.iframe.ly/api/iframe?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fembed%2FtVA--CRk3nM%3Fsi%3DJtFs6cwqOhJua9NI&key=87ca3314a9fa775b5c3a7726100694b0" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen scrolling="no" allow="accelerometer *; clipboard-write *; encrypted-media *; gyroscope *; picture-in-picture *; web-share *;"></iframe></div></div></div>

Motherhood in the Madhes

“Let's have another cup of tea,” <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/ujwal-thapa-s-light-shines-on-n0tfurod">Ujwal Thapa</a> of the alternative Bibeksheel Nepali party told the young activist Pukar Bam ten years ago. The two had 12 cups of tea that day, discussing ways to get Nepal out of its political deadend. Thapa contested the Constituent Assembly election in 2013 as an independent from Kathmandu, and formed Bibeksheel Nepali to galvanise youth impatient for change, fielding candidates in the first federal election in 2017.&nbsp; Ujwal Thapa was a political guru who was way ahead of his time, and his protégés were among the RSP’s winning candidates in last week’s election. Pukar Bam was a core member of Bibeksheel Nepali until its dissolution, and won the Kathmandu-4 seat this time. Other former Bibeksheel members who won the election from the RSP in Kathmandu include Ranju Neupane from Kathmandu-1, Sasmit Pokharel from Kathmandu-5, and Biraj Bhakta Shrestha in Kathmandu-8. As votes were counted and the results from Kathmandu began to come in, the candidates paid fulsome tribute to Ujwal Thapa’s mentorship and in inspiring idealistic youth to become a part of an alternative political force.&nbsp; Today, as RSP members of Parliament, they are no longer an alternative, but a part of Nepal’s new mainstream politics. Thapa returned to Nepal after finishing his undergraduate computer science degree in the US at the peak of the Maoist insurgency. His foray into politics began when he traveled to Nepal’s western mountains to train communities in mediation. After the war, he started a computer design company for young entrepreneurs entering the workforce. But he became frustrated with the inability of the second Constituent Assembly to promulgate the Constitution, and the power struggle between political parties played out in the streets that led to frequent shutdowns paralysing the country.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260313120348_d18647d53a3b2927328067c35b2e3e6eecf9aefe13f23384e73a2c17211cd9cb.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260313120348_d18647d53a3b2927328067c35b2e3e6eecf9aefe13f23384e73a2c17211cd9cb" data-rendition-name="original" width="823" height="682" loading="lazy" alt="The RSP's activist DNA"> <figcaption>Thapa with Pukar Bam, who was elected to Parliament last week from Kathmandu-4. Photo: PUKAR BAM / FACEBOOK</figcaption> </figure>  PROTEST TO POLITICS Ujwal Thapa had had enough, and rallied people from across walks of life, leading peaceful, silent demonstrations proclaiming 'नेपाल खुल्ला छ' against prolonged, violent strikes. Citizens fed up with the main political parties organised to defy the shutdowns. Thapa’s activism and vision for a new Nepal drew disenchanted and previously apathetic youth into politics and to join the Bibeksheel Nepali Party in 2013.&nbsp; Thapa was the pioneer of alternative politics in Nepal, and was leading a youth force long before the GenZ became synonymous with Nepal’s September Storm. He mentored and guided social activists who are today influential youth leaders engaged in non-traditional politics. “Ujwal Thapa, with his entrepreneurial spirit, wanted to address people’s pain-points, and believed that activism was the starting point to alternative politics,” explains <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/nepal-loses-rare-purpose-driven-leader">Ashutosh Tiwari</a>, former member of Bibeksheel Sajha party. “He sought to build confidence, motivate, and build a community for young people, which drew a lot of people into Bibeksheel.” He adds: “ And while people might say that Bibeksheel never got big, that was never its point. Its function was to be an early talent incubator, which is what it did as evident by the result of this election.” Thapa died in 2021 of complications related to Covid-19, and Bibeksheel had two mergers with Rabindra Mishra’s Sajha Party before being permanently dissolved in 2021. But many of its idealistic members joined Rabi Lamichhane’s RSP, formed just four months before the 2022 federal election. Such was the groundswell of support for change that the RSP became the fourth-largest in Parliament. In 2017, Ranju Neupane (then Ranju Darshana) was the youngest mayoral candidate for Kathmandu at age 21, and contested the federal election in 2022. Pukar Bam himself lost the 2022 election in Kathmandu-1 as an independent.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260313120348_6302a9b534f57191d9a2cb2c31b31449873c6cc27d375344a248dd90847921dd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260313120348_6302a9b534f57191d9a2cb2c31b31449873c6cc27d375344a248dd90847921dd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1729" height="1365" loading="lazy" alt="The RSP's activist DNA"> <figcaption>Photo: SOCIAL MEDIA</figcaption> </figure>  Sashmit Pokharel also ran an unsuccessful campaign as an independent candidate in Kathmandu during the 2022 provincial election. Later, he was a member of the City Planning Commission under Balendra Shah when he was elected mayor of Kathmandu in 2022.&nbsp; Last week, the RSP swept the election with a supermajority of 182 seats in Parliament. Voters placed their trust in the party and its leaders to steer Nepal in a new direction after the youth unrest in September.&nbsp; In many ways, Nepal’s youth have decided, just as Ujwal Thapa once did, that enough is enough with corruption, malgovernance, nepotism and dynastic politics.&nbsp; In the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/review/the-man-who-shook-our-minds">documentary</a> about his life, Dimag Ghochne Manche, released earlier this year, some RSP nominees who previously worked with and were mentored by Thapa spoke of the impact he had on their lives, career, and activism. Among them is Biraj Bhakta Shrestha, former minister of Youth and Sports who is now a second time RSP parliamentarian. “I tell everybody that if it hadn’t been for Ujwal Dai, I would not have gotten into politics,” he says in the film.&nbsp; It would be unfair to attribute all the success of the hard-fought campaigns entirely to Ujwal Thapa’s protégés and former coworkers.&nbsp; But his ethos and vision for Nepal was what inspired them, and will in the coming years be reflected in national politics through the young idealists he mentored. Says Ashutosh Tiwari: “There are many Bibeksheels outside of RSP in constant and open communication with their old friends who have been elected. They will be keeping the lawmakers in check so that they do no stray too far from the values that they grew up with.”

Shristi Karki

RSP’s activist DNA

The Bell that rang in the new A daughter stands in her family's living room, frantically ringing an actual घण्टी at her father. He is a lifelong Nepali Congress (NC) voter. She tells him his party loyalty is as humiliating as a daughter eloping.&nbsp; He looks visibly defeated, and because of RSP’s landslide sweep in this election, he has no reply. She is not a party member. Nobody told her to do this.&nbsp; Multiply this actual family scene by hundreds of thousands of households across Nepal and you find the reason for the RSP tsunami. Children ringing bells at parents over dinner. Aunties shaking bells at legacy party candidates on their morning walks. Taxi drivers, lifelong UML supporters, cheerfully announcing they have switched.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026031014038_096f980a799b4f80118863174ed629680cc6c21b02e226a899ce1dc5268b4b72.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="2026031014038_096f980a799b4f80118863174ed629680cc6c21b02e226a899ce1dc5268b4b72" data-rendition-name="original" width="364" height="662" loading="lazy" alt="RSP Flag prank"> </figure>  And overseas, Nepalis in Dubai and Doha, Sydney and Seattle, calling home to deliver just one instruction: “चुपचाप &nbsp;घण्टीमा छाप”।&nbsp; How did an election symbol like the Bell jump off a ballot paper and become weaponised for generational shame?&nbsp; The RSP's 2026 campaign is a case study in how a symbol becomes so participatory and instinctive, that citizens start campaigning on behalf of a party they never formally joined. It may look like a cult, but it is a phenomenon no political party in Nepal has ever pulled off. The ghost in the machine&nbsp; The 3-year-old RSP entered the 2026 race without the campaign infrastructure that legacy parties considered essential. It has no sister organisations, no vanguard student unions, no established cadre networks.&nbsp; In a country where ground reach and organisation wins elections, this looked like a fatal handicap. Established parties had spent decades building a top-down machinery: youth wings that mobilise on orders and unions within government. But it was all hollow and manufactured.&nbsp; That is why when the NC or UML posted a policy manifesto, it got barely 200 shares. When a 19-year-old posts an <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/spot-ai-generated-election-videos">AI video on TikTok </a>of Balendra Shah swinging a bell like a Kung Fu Hustle weapon, it gets 5 million views.&nbsp; The RSP’s very absence became its strategic advantage. Without a chain of command for content, every post felt peer-to-peer. Supporters built communities instead of following orders. Network effects took over: one person posts, three friends remix it, their followers adapt it for their own local context, and the message multiplies without a single directive from party headquarters. A TikTok from Kathmandu featuring Balendra Shah gets remixed by someone in Birganj who <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@bhojpuriyasuppor0/video/7596686360111484178?q=bhojpuri%20dub%20balen&amp;t=1773115199365">dubs it in Bhojpuri</a>. A supporter in Pokhara takes the same “अबकि बार बालेन सरकार” audio and films it over footage of the city’s broken road.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026031014038_56090217f5b3482fad934c4f76fc872047571b3c86331a4eda1ac19ae389c2fc.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2026031014038_56090217f5b3482fad934c4f76fc872047571b3c86331a4eda1ac19ae389c2fc" data-rendition-name="original" width="375" height="646" loading="lazy" alt="Balen Bhojpuri remix"> </figure>  A Nepali worker in Dubai films himself shaking his phone at the camera, captioning it “I can't vote but my family can”. The content stays structurally the same (bell + emotion) but the surface changes every time. The format is the constant. The context is the variable. A single post multiplies into a thousand pieces of local content without anyone coordinating it. Legacy parties spent money on reach. RSP's strategy built reach for free, because participation itself was the product. The Bell, blazer and brand&nbsp; Run the sensory test. The UML's Sun symbol is only visual. You see it on a ballot, on a flag. You cannot hear a sun. You cannot perform a &nbsp;sun. Nobody walks into a room and ‘suns’ at an opponent.&nbsp; The NC’s Tree symbol is also only seen. It communicates nothing as a verb. Nobody ‘trees’ the father across the dinner table. Ujyalo Nepal's lightbulb was the most passive symbol of all, it just sits there being always on. The Bell had rare resonance as an election symbol. It is a verb (to ring), a sound (tintinnabulation), a physical action (shaking), and a metaphor (wake-up call). घण्टी is participatory by design. You do not just see it, you perform it.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260310140312_c5580164e1f11a8466f591c4d514420bb5313a34b559554db05364065486c3b7.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260310140312_c5580164e1f11a8466f591c4d514420bb5313a34b559554db05364065486c3b7" data-rendition-name="original" width="368" height="654" loading="lazy" alt="Classroom ghanti NT"> </figure>  It works as a metaphor: wake up. It works as a taunt: we are coming (“हामी आयौँ”). It operates across sensory channels a meme can travel through. The other party symbols are logos. The घण्टी is a multimedia verb in active voice. Poets on the frontline Politics has always been about performance. Murray Edelman wrote decades ago that political actions are symbolic acts: what politicians do matters less than what their actions represent.&nbsp; Guy-Ernest Debord argued that spectacle replaces lived experience. But the stage has changed. The social media feed is the new stage, and the algorithm is the casting director. It does not select for policy depth, but for recognisability, emotional charge, and remix potential. Poets have always been at the frontlines of political rupture. The French Revolution had its pamphleteers. The Bolsheviks had Mayakovsky. The Black Panthers had Gil Scott-Heron. Nepal's own political history is full of writers who paid for their words with prison or exile.&nbsp; Rap is rhythm and poetry. Balen Shah did not cross from entertainment into politics, his art was always political. “सडकबालक" in 2012 was already a protest song. The diss tracks against corruption were manifestos set to beat.&nbsp; So, if घण्टी was the sound, Balen was the voice. Supporters rang Bells to perform, projecting their hopes on Balen. One is participatory (anyone can ring it), the other is aspirational (representing what you want the country to become). Together, they form a complete symbolic system: an action and an icon, a thing you do, and a person you believe in. Both are algorithm-native. The sunglasses are instantly recognisable in a thumbnail at any size. The bell sound action is identifiable within half a second of a video starting. The confrontational attitude generates the emotional charge that the algorithm rewards.&nbsp; Balen was already trained in the language of the algorithm: hooks, rhythm, timing, and audience retention. While legacy politicians are just now trying to learn the language of the algorithm, Balen grew up speaking it. The folk song brand kit: The slogans wrote themselves. While legacy politicians are just now trying to learn the language of the algorithm, Balen has grown up speaking it. The folk song brand kit The slogans wrote themselves. “चुपचाप &nbsp;घण्टीमा छाप” spread through tea shops and bus parks like a folk proverb. <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-ai-generated-election">AI-generated Mahabharat edits</a> positioned Balendra Shah as a warrior-hero fighting K P Oli in golden armour.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026031014038_cd7fbb8b4a97628757977b55d1244b192c233566dad268e894c7132d16cf180c.png" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2026031014038_cd7fbb8b4a97628757977b55d1244b192c233566dad268e894c7132d16cf180c" data-rendition-name="original" width="369" height="667" loading="lazy" alt="Ghanti Chhap NT"> </figure>  The entire package, partly by accident, partly by instinct, was built to be remixed. Every element is modular: the bell, the sunglasses, the slogan, the attitude. Take any piece and make your own version. Like a ‘Deusi re” song, the melody is fixed, everyone knows it, but anyone can change the words to fit their occasion and mood. It survives across generations precisely because no one controls it.&nbsp; The घण्टी ecosystem works the same way. The melody is fixed: the bell, the sound, the slogan, the sunglasses, the attitude. But the lyrics can be anyone’s. Shoot it in your neighborhood. Dub it in your language. Film your grandmother's reaction. Set it to your local context. That's why it spread faster than any IT cell could manufacture.&nbsp; The generational pincer The standard narrative is that digital movements stay digital, and that memes are a GenZ thing. RSP broke both assumptions. Its content operation executed a pincer movement across generations, capturing not just the youth vote but used youth as a delivery mechanism into households where no party organiser could reach. The Generational Pincer Flowchart Three vectors of pressure, all converging on the same target: the living room and the dinner table, where votes in Nepal are actually decided. Downward: children trolling parents by ringing bells at dinner, turning family meals into campaign arenas. A bell rings as a prank, then as a joke, then as a political statement. By the third night, it's not funny anymore. It's a conversation.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260310140316_446e465f60994532e53b1786368dd025e9ad99a387b4121493f8826c46921cb7.png" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20260310140316_446e465f60994532e53b1786368dd025e9ad99a387b4121493f8826c46921cb7" data-rendition-name="original" width="364" height="669" loading="lazy" alt="Ghanti prank"> </figure>  Lateral: the diaspora pipeline. Nepalis in Australia, the Gulf, Japan, could not vote, but they turned every Viber call home into a campaign touchpoint.&nbsp; Upward: the bell pressured power itself. No RSP organiser gets a meeting with a UML ward chairman or a NC MP. But those people go home. And at home, they have teenagers, nieces, nephews, and staff whose kids are on TikTok.&nbsp; A party boss's son rings a bell at dinner and asks uncomfortable questions. A NC donor's daughter shares RSP content on her Instagram story, visible to her father's entire social circle. No political structure, no matter how hierarchical, is sealed off from its own household. The bell did not need to breach the gates of Singha Durbar, it walked in through the kitchen window. The result crossed every demographic line analysts thought was fixed. Memes didn't just stay in the feed. They colonised the living room, the kitchen, the long-distance phone call, the taxi ride. Content nobody commissioned&nbsp; What the RSP's organic content looked less like a political campaign and more like a football fan club. People were not posting because they were told to. They were posting because they belonged. Trace the trends as they accumulated: <ul> <li>“<a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@rameshmahto065/video/7610784878174424338?q=chup%20chap%20ghanti%20chap&amp;t=1773115568686">चुपचाप &nbsp;घण्टीमा छाप</a>” started as a TikTok post, then showed up on motorcycle stickers, WhatsApp statuses, AI-remixed songs, and in tea-shop conversation as a folk proverb.</li> <li><a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@rajjimond_18/video/7612570510508969236?q=ma%20ta%20balen%20ko%20fan&amp;t=1773115129539">Original songs composed by supporters</a>, not the party, gained millions of views. People danced to them at rallies and in the streets. People at polling booths created TikToks to RSP anthems to show their support.</li> <li>AI spectacle videos of Balen as a Mahabharat hero, filmy dialogue, stylised Nepal flag. Slapstick clips hitting 200K+ likes and 5M views. All made by random accounts, none traceable to party infrastructure.</li> <li>Supporters built Bell apps and websites on their own. One site, <a href="https://ghanti.website">ghanti.website</a>, was registered by a random supporter in January. Open it on your phone, shake it side to side, and it rings. Within weeks, crowds of supporters were walking through neighborhoods shaking their phones in unison, producing a wall of digital bell sound.</li> <li>The intimate content. A husband-wife vlog filmed inside a car, casually discussing what a lawmaker should actually do. Just two people talking, and it resonated more than any campaign ad.</li> </ul> None of this was centrally coordinated. Parties across Nepal spent money on polished graphics that looked like professional advertisements. RSP supporters spent nothing and made content that felt like conversation. The algorithm doesn't reward production value, it rewards emotional resonance. And nothing resonated more than the feeling that you, personally, could participate in this movement without anyone's permission. Now what? The RSP has a supermajority. The Bell rang louder than anyone predicted. But a movement built on open-source energy now has to deliver closed-source results: budgets, legislation, diplomacy, institutional reform. Balen built his brand by bypassing institutions, Prime Minister Balendra Shah has to run them. He communicated through Facebook posts and rap lyrics. Now he needs to communicate with India, China, and multilateral lenders.&nbsp; His midnight F-bomb post, deleted within 30 minutes but screenshotted by thousands, showed both his appeal (unfiltered authenticity) and his risk (unfiltered impulsiveness). The question is not whether the bell rang loud enough. It obviously did. The question is what happens when the supporters who posted without being asked start expecting results they did not specify. When the meme energy that won living rooms has to translate into parliamentary committees.&nbsp; For decades, the promise of democracy was that people choose their leaders. What RSP's campaign revealed is something more uncomfortable: in the age of the algorithm and remixable content, people do not just choose their leaders.&nbsp; They build the campaign, write the slogans, produce the content, convert their own families, and then show up to vote for the movement they made with their own hands. The party becomes a container for energy it didn't create and can't fully control.&nbsp; That's either the most democratic thing that's ever happened in Nepal, or the most dangerous. It might be both.

Nobody ran the campaign. That is why it worked.

Mamata Kumari Yadav was born just before her father passed his high school exam on his second attempt. Which is why Ram Kewal Ray thinks his daughter brings good luck. Mamata is now a government civil servant, and has three sisters and a younger brother. All are doing well in their professions: one is a doctor at the Army Hospital, another has an MSc in Microbiology, and the other is working in Australia after finishing her MPh. Her brother, an engineering student, is in Kathmandu. “It was all because our parents prioritised education that we did so well in life,” says Mamata. Instead of being woken up to do household chores or work on the family farm, they were encouraged to finish their homework first. While Ram showed his daughters the way and encouraged them to study, it was Sanjeev Karn, a primary school teacher at a school near their home, who motivated them to do well. On International Women's Day, the story of Mamata and her sisters is an inspiring account of dedication, hard work and good guidance.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260309070332_e15e07735cf958367ccf7457f17b181ca168def7d3c7cf01a6d1fc76559e1422.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260309070332_e15e07735cf958367ccf7457f17b181ca168def7d3c7cf01a6d1fc76559e1422" data-rendition-name="original" width="873" height="980" loading="lazy" alt="The Girl Dad of Nepal"> <figcaption>Samata, Punam, Kumudini and Mamata, the four accomplished Yadav sisters from Sarlahi</figcaption> </figure>  Boys always came first in class, but that changed when Mamata and her sisters started excelling in their studies. All four sisters consistently ranked first in their classes and became widely known in the community for their performance. “My friend Sanjay Chaudhary was my biggest competition and used to stand second. He is an engineer now. We are still good friends and laugh about how we were rivals,” recalls Mamata. In a school where no girl had previously passed the high school exam with first division, Mamata became the first to do so and set a record that her sisters later followed. Her uncle in Kathmandu called her father Ram Kewal with the news that Mamata had passed in the first division. Overjoyed, her father went to school and bought Fanta for all her teachers in celebration.&nbsp; Mamata went to Chitwan after receiving a scholarship for a health assistant course. Although her school in Sarlahi was Nepali-medium, she was not able to speak the language properly and felt more comfortable using Maithili. In the new environment, she struggled with language and confidence.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260309070324_030cd8d2bd9eb6334b5dac6f402253a582e4f3c64d03ef820327935b6dd2346e.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260309070324_030cd8d2bd9eb6334b5dac6f402253a582e4f3c64d03ef820327935b6dd2346e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="1200" loading="lazy" alt="The Girl Dad of Nepal"> <figcaption>Mamata in Sarlahi with her siblings and father when she was young</figcaption> </figure>  She was surprised to learn that Maithili is not spoken all over Nepal. The course was demanding, the textbooks were in English, the student community was diverse, and academic expectations were high. But Mamata began building friendships and confidence. Her sisters later joined her in Chitwan. Mamata returned to Sarlahi and began working with an organisation as a counsellor on sexually transmitted infections. It was her first job, and was proud to be able to support her father. Her second job with a non-profit required field visits across Sarlahi district, so she bought her own second-hand scooter.&nbsp; “Some neighbours did not approve that my parents gave me so much freedom, but they did not pay much heed to such warnings or gossip,” she says. Seeking stability she prepared for the civil service exam for auxiliary health worker position and was stationed in Sindhupalchok. When her father came to drop her off, being used to flat land he was a bit nervous about the steep mountains and 90-minute commute on foot. But he was proud to hear her patients call her ‘doctor’. Later, Mamata transferred back to her home district of Sarlahi.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260309070324_2a91efea2735ba33b6e7945d46ce1c8c8f014679f14909829be3247f68619f78.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260309070324_2a91efea2735ba33b6e7945d46ce1c8c8f014679f14909829be3247f68619f78" data-rendition-name="original" width="977" height="965" loading="lazy" alt="The Girl dad of Nepal"> <figcaption>Mamata Kumari Yadav</figcaption> </figure>  On a work trip to Kathmandu, on her family's recommendation she met a young man who was pursuing a master’s degree in engineering. Their first meeting was at a cafe in the presence of her brother. She found him simple, gentle, and committed to his studies, qualities that resonated with her own personality.&nbsp; “We got married, and my parents did not have to invest in dowry for me and my sisters because they had invested in us,” recalls Mamata, who then became a health post in-charge in Lalitpur. Following administrative restructuring, she found herself reporting to juniors, which limited her sense of growth. She then decided to prepare for the civil service exams in administration. Coming from a health background, the syllabus was unfamiliar and broad. Her first attempt taken without much preparation was unsuccessful, a first failure ever for Mamata.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260309070328_19fa4ca6fde0d8a9311116c64302eddc08f22280632fc16a83c489194ef06120.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260309070328_19fa4ca6fde0d8a9311116c64302eddc08f22280632fc16a83c489194ef06120" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="722" loading="lazy" alt="The Girl Dad of Nepal"> <figcaption>Seeing off her sister Samata who studied MPH under the AusAID Scholarship</figcaption> </figure>  By this time, she had a son and the exam took a back seat for two years while managing her health post and raising him. When he turned two, she sent her son to Sarlahi, where her mother Phul Kumari took care of him so she could focus on her studies. This time, she passed. She became the first from her family in a government administrative position. After gaining enough experience, she aims to go back to the Madhes to serve in government positions as an honest bureaucrat. Her parents continue as they always have. Phul Kumari takes care of the household while Ram Kewal runs a pharmacy and tends to the farm back in Sarlahi. &nbsp; “We daughters owe a lot to our parents because our peers were never given the kinds of opportunities we had,” says Mamata. “They were married young and now have adult children. There is nothing girls cannot do if given the right guidance and opportunities.”

The Girl Dad of Nepal

This is the 88th 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. Chandra Gurung, Sierra Leone Six of us came to Nepal from Sierra Leone to vote for घण्टी of the RSP. But the six votes were wasted because of the crisis in the Gulf and delayed flights. We arrived the day after the election.&nbsp; The morning we were supposed to fly out, we found out our flight was cancelled, so we had to postpone by four days to figure out an alternate route. Luckily, we did not get stranded in the Gulf like many others. Even though I missed the election, I now look forward to spending time with my family especially to help my children with their studies as their exams are approaching. I am happy because it looks like we will get the outcome we desired and came to Nepal for. Stability is Nepal's most urgent need. If the government is stable and works for five years, they might be able to build change.&nbsp; Fighting corruption, quality education and job creation should be the priority for the new government. We had already advised our families to give the new party a chance. Despite being a new party, the RSP has been able to win the hearts of people. Well-educated people with professional backgrounds have joined the party even though they might not have experience in politics. I first left Nepal in 2008, I am still abroad, and I do not know when I will return. I need to save. I want to see this new government create the conditions to bring us back. In these 18 years, I have not felt like returning. My goal is to make sure I can provide good opportunities to my children. I miss home, going overseas is only to make a living.&nbsp; Suraj Bhandari, Korea I had timed my vacation to vote for Nepal. In our discussions back in Korea, the GenZ protest made those of us overseas want to vote for and bring change. Whichever party it was, we wanted a new one. I had also told my family that if I was unable to arrange my vacation around the election, they should consider voting for new candidates.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260307020344_ebd90331e37dd1c6d37c4d1e35fe58eefcbf1923894cf397aafb7a81b887d63f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260307020344_ebd90331e37dd1c6d37c4d1e35fe58eefcbf1923894cf397aafb7a81b887d63f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="900" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali migrants in Korea"> </figure>  We have seen what the old parties have done for the country, they had their chance which they wasted.&nbsp; Leaving Nepal feels different because this time, I am leaving with the hope that Nepal will soon be worth returning to. What I realised after migrating is that when you are away, you have even more love for your country. We overseas youth know the pain of being away and wanted to vote for change.&nbsp; If you earn one lakh abroad, you are willing to work for half that amount back home so you can be with your family. Next time when I come back to Nepal, I want to be able to come for good and not just on vacation. I leave with hope. I hope to return to start my business in Nepal.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260307020344_e835553553e201610afabafa73827a8b7e56d05a6b86c14721f3080d3d5a730f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260307020344_e835553553e201610afabafa73827a8b7e56d05a6b86c14721f3080d3d5a730f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="900" loading="lazy" alt="Korea migrant worker"> </figure>  Investing here in a small business is very risky and I hope that changes. I think we have done our part, now it is up to the new government to do its part. They have five years to deliver and if they don’t, we will again have to look for change. I hope history won't repeat itself. When the Maoists came to power, they had brought a similar sense of hope and people believed them and voted. They started off well initially but failed to deliver. I hope that won't happen with घण्टी. Rajendra Kunjeda, Belgium Those of us overseas have attachments back home. But because of the Gulf crisis I was not able to make it on time for the election.&nbsp; When I talk to colleagues in Belgium, the broad consensus among us Nepalis was that we should give the new party a chance. The expectation from the new government is that we need a way out of the rut the country is in. That is what the election was about.&nbsp; When you live in a developed country, you also hope the same for your country. Transformation takes time, but I hope for the best. Not all the old guard was bad, and not all the new guard will be good either. But the new government has to take the country towards development. The expectation is not for overnight change.&nbsp; I was lucky to get a scholarship to study in Europe and have now started working. My degree in agricultural science is relevant for Nepal and the world – you need food to live.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260307020344_1b419bdc71ea6b2b307d5cace49112f976757949b64323fea282986e11231b55.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260307020344_1b419bdc71ea6b2b307d5cace49112f976757949b64323fea282986e11231b55" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="900" loading="lazy" alt="Nepalis in Denmark"> </figure>  I felt bad about not making it on time for the election because I was so excited. Not everyone can return, but what the diaspora wants is evident from social media posts and conversations. I did not influence my parents back home because it is their right to vote for whoever they wanted.&nbsp; During the GenZ movement, the deaths of the students were devastating, but it has also made it clear that the nation is desperate for change. It was an outcome of trying to suppress the change that youth desired.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260307020348_3fa02333f99ff131e84e31c2e990aa40fc1797913b5e6625a18f86d40649ddfa.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260307020348_3fa02333f99ff131e84e31c2e990aa40fc1797913b5e6625a18f86d40649ddfa" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Gen Z movement"> </figure>  In Nepal, I have worked with returnees who came back during Covid-19 to see how their skills can be productively utilised in Nepal. There is a lot of potential there which the government needs to prioritise.&nbsp; I have not decided whether to stay overseas or return to Nepal. If day-to-day life and bureaucracy were easier, it would be better. When I am assured that I can sustain myself and get a sense of satisfaction in Nepal, I will consider returning. I need to feel confident in Nepal, feel ढुक्क that if I work hard both I and the country will benefit. This requires a collaborative approach. The Blue sweep means we are on the right path. Sudip Khanal, Denmark I was coming from Denmark to vote. My wife and I left on 28 February but we were stuck for eight days in Istanbul. I was coming to vote for change. I am happy to see that Blue is winning. Even though I did not get to vote, I am glad the country is getting the change it needed.&nbsp; I first went to Denmark in 2022, starting as a student and after graduation I am working. The Nepal embassy in Copenhagen has made things easier to deal with immigration stuff but for a wider population across the world especially the Gulf I also wish the embassies did more.&nbsp; This time our government was not proactive in supporting Nepalis stranded overseas due to the Gulf crisis. Our main wish is that the new government creates new opportunities at home. Education, healthcare and jobs should be the biggest priorities.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260307020344_a774a87b087d49498900728988049634956e8286a61923d9a8cd0de2fafa49ea.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260307020344_a774a87b087d49498900728988049634956e8286a61923d9a8cd0de2fafa49ea" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="900" loading="lazy" alt="Belgoum Nepali migrant"> </figure>  If I could earn up to Rs80,000 back home I would return. I studied business in Denmark but I don’t yet have the guts to return. I am worried about whether there will be a return on investment here and there are no jobs to fall back to. Abroad, I can work for someone else even if I cannot start my own business. I hope change will now come. But this will not happen quickly. All of us back in Denmark supported change. We wanted to come as a group but many students faced constraints like exams or classes. I had no holidays but after the GenZ protests I did not want to waste my vote. Unfortunately, I was not able to return in time but I convinced my parents to give घण्टी a chance for the RSP. Let’s see how things go. ANONYMOUS, Dubai I lived in Dubai for five and a half years, returned to Nepal for a year, and then remigrated two years ago. It was convenient that my holidays and the election coincided.&nbsp; The new government should provide proper job opportunities back home. There are 4-5 people in a house, you need at least Rs50,000 to live comfortably in Nepal. When someone is sick, where can we go?&nbsp; Companies abroad are not always good about leave. You are promised something here, and get another job abroad. Embassies do not always listen to us, like the Philippine embassy.&nbsp; People get tired and give up.&nbsp; I am updating election results on my phone but I am more worried about my flight which is likely to be cancelled because of the situation in the Gulf. The airline just says ‘it is not cancelled till now’, but they do not tell you when you can fly.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260307020348_399b70503f4e25a35e21574985d0d188285b457c38534ae6d95b35e4546b5683.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260307020348_399b70503f4e25a35e21574985d0d188285b457c38534ae6d95b35e4546b5683" data-rendition-name="original" width="1600" height="900" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali migrants"> </figure>  I paid Rs5,000 to come here from Dhanusa just to be told there are no flights. It is simple things like this that need improvement. We have watched politicians for many years and they kept youth unemployed. How can you love any government that has killed kids?&nbsp; The new ones say they will do something, lets see. Foreign labour migration has helped me. I cannot earn even Rs10,000 a month in my village. How will I support my children? If I go, I can send them money. My family is happy. I work hard for them. If my दुख्ख keeps 4-5 people in my family सुख्ख it is all right, isn’t it?

The diaspora and Nepal's Blue Sweep

This is the 87th 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. Priti Tamang, Qatar I am migrating overseas as a cleaner for the first time. I have said my goodbyes, but am stuck at the airport because of the Qatar crisis. Luckily, I have people travelling with me. I cannot go home because there is a belief that it is bad luck to go home after saying goodbyes. If this wait stretches for more days, I will return to my family. I have come to the airport before to drop off my family and friends, but this time I myself am leaving for Qatar. My brother and brother-in-law are both in Croatia. I only completed Grade 10 and cannot afford to go to Europe. My parents are back in the village.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260305110320_d894cacaebd0eb3b50dcf48d3544c5bea6863c26e42a77c740c0755ed0096b6d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260305110320_d894cacaebd0eb3b50dcf48d3544c5bea6863c26e42a77c740c0755ed0096b6d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali migrant worker in Qatar"></figure>  There are no jobs here. Those who do get good jobs know big people. I hope to change my life and make my family happy. I don’t have such high expectations. I have mixed feelings about missing the election. They say we have to choose a good leader, but they all make lofty, empty promises. How to decide who to vote for? The crooks win, and people like us have to leave the country anyway. But a part of me also wishes I could vote for someone good. I hope the new government will make lives more comfortable. I am a single mother and have to provide for my son. My sister is taking care of him while I am away. I am unable to give my son anything beyond a good education, I hope he realises his mother went out of her way to educate him. If I could just find a Rs25,000 job in Nepal, I would not have to leave. My English is weak, and my Nepali is better now. Sabitri Paudel, Malaysia I am married with a son. I am migrating to learn and earn to help my family. I have done many kinds of jobs in Nepal. I worked in a factory and also as a marketing manager. I am migrating to Malaysia without paying any fees through Aakarshan International. I would still have borrowed money to migrate if the amount was reasonable. But this way there is no financial burden on my family. I can now focus on supporting my son. Most of my relatives are overseas in Japan and Korea.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260305110316_d7d8b75bf0d807a33371c6e6cb4a5125aad90d1425dddfea6db68f3c149e9d38.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260305110316_d7d8b75bf0d807a33371c6e6cb4a5125aad90d1425dddfea6db68f3c149e9d38" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="women migrant worker"></figure>  I am going away right ahead of the election, and have a twinge of regret that my vote will be wasted. But I hope the new candidates will perform well. The new government should create conditions so those who want to be in Nepal can stay. It’s not like I don’t have skills, but they are not utilised here. Even if I am unable to vote, I hope the government will not let the votes of my family go to waste. Law enforcement in Nepal is weak. My brother was cheated while emigrating to Serbia, and he is still fighting the case. Nepalis should not be defrauded like my brother was, and the culprits must face justice. Sangita Darlani Magar, Romania I have been living in Romania since 2022. I work in a nail salon. I came here when I was 20, since I could not complete my undergraduate because of Covid. I chose Romania because the cost of recruitment was the lowest among European countries. But I had not even heard of the country. I also chose it because it allowed travel to other European countries. I worked as a babysitter, switched to a warehouse and now I am in a salon. My English is good enough for Romania. My language skill and calm personality impressed my boss, and it is after securing my job that I learnt about nail care and hairdressing during a vacation in Nepal. I honestly do not care much about the election. Still, I am a Balen fan. I have always been self-reliant and expect nothing from the government beyond proper education, health and roads and better tax policies. I will perhaps return in two years or so after I have saved enough. I have realised that living abroad may not be for me. When you cry, you cry alone and resume life as normal the next day. You don’t want to spend even 10 Euros on food because you could be sending that money home or saving for your future.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260305110320_a6cac6b77055507e5753d14d2eb1f0b22ec195a0ca96798020ca349fba4bbaa0.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260305110320_a6cac6b77055507e5753d14d2eb1f0b22ec195a0ca96798020ca349fba4bbaa0" data-rendition-name="original" width="1280" height="960" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali worker in Romania"></figure>  I want to save enough so I can be self-reliant when I return home, I have no desire for a big house or a car. You can earn enough in Nepal to live and eat, but not beyond. I am a single child and have to take care of my family financially. Everyone says I am like their son. My father was also a migrant worker in Malaysia. I missed building a deep connection with him since he was away when I grew up. He is now a security guard in Lalitpur. Sometimes I feel like giving up, but then I think of him and all the sacrifices he made for us. Even at his age, he is struggling, and I am just getting started. I worked in two schools in various capacities back in Nepal. The environment was very positive and respectful. Children were attached to me, and I want to start my own pre-school after I return. If I were to take a job instead in Nepal I would need to earn at least Rs50,000 to live comfortably. When I need a break in Nepal, I have my Gods, and can go to the temple to clear my mind. Here I don’t even have my God. Anonymous, Oman I came to Oman over a decade ago. As I did not have papers, it took me four years to first return home and I had to go through India as Nepal did not give labour approvals for domestic work. When my mother was ill, I risked coming home. On the way back, I paid Rs250,000 underhand to agents so I could fly out. Nepal should just allow it because people will go anyway just like Filipinos and Indonesians. Newcomers need some language training, and domestic work skills like how to iron or use washing machines. Not everyone is going through India because they don’t know any better: they are doing so because that is the only way out. I had to reluctantly pay the bribe to get out of Nepal. I have worked in this house in Oman for a decade, and things are going well. Not all households are good, so we need to have the option to change employers through placement offices here. I make 120 dinar ($320) a month, higher than what general workers earn. There are challenges especially around Ramadan. It gets easier when you stay longer with an employer because wages improve, you are more comfortable and work gets easier. Muscat is full of Nepali Didis and Bahinis like me, and we meet frequently. I have never voted in my life. I am not into politics. I am missing this election too but hope someone good will come to power. I don’t know when I will come home next. I have to think about how to survive before deciding to return. Let’s see what the new government will do.

Mixed feelings about missing the election

Last year, an audio clip of Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) vice-president Swarnim Wagle surfaced on Facebook in which the potential future finance minister appeared to be having a private conversation with Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi about Nepal-India border issues.&nbsp; The clip racked up 1.5 million views. It jumped through Viber family groups without caption or context, the way political gossip always does in Nepal. By the time Wagle walked into the Cyber Bureau office in Bhotahiti to file a complaint and confirm the audio was fabricated using AI, the clip had already done what it was designed to do. This is the problem with fake AI videos — the damage is not in the content, but the damage is in the lag between the share and the correction. Some videos are partisan, but so funny that millions share it: like the one of K P Oli running away carrying a huge bell while his rival Balendra Shah chases him to possess his election symbol. Google ‘how to detect AI videos’, and there is a tidy checklist. Look for jerky motion. Count the fingers in the hand. Check if the eye blinking looks unnatural. Inspect the lighting. That advice made sense two years ago, it does not anymore.&nbsp; On TikTok, the account ‘AI Nepal’ recently posted an entirely AI-generated video of a young Nepali living abroad on a video call with his parents and sister, encouraging them to vote. The footage looked like any other family video call. No glitchy fingers. No uncanny valley. No visual tell whatsoever.&nbsp; The tech industry’s response to hyper-realistic AI generated videos has been cryptographic watermarks and metadata trails embedded in files, solutions that require software to detect and that no<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-s-ai-generated-election"> voter scrolling through their feed </a>eight days before the 5 March election will ever use.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260227100240_4e043a24f845bdda3b3637e24a6382817dba935b1ac13606c1e47cc174faaf2a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260227100240_4e043a24f845bdda3b3637e24a6382817dba935b1ac13606c1e47cc174faaf2a" data-rendition-name="original" width="2250" height="4053" loading="lazy" alt="AI generated election images NT"> </figure>  RED FLAGS So, forget the checklist. The fakes now pass the eye test. What has not changed is the ecosystem around them. Here are a few things to look out for this election cycle. -Look at the source, not the spectacle.&nbsp; -Before you look at the content of a video, look at who posted it.&nbsp; -What does this account usually share?&nbsp; If a profile known for uploading grainy, shaky smartphone footage from political rallies suddenly drops a cinematic, flawlessly lit clip of a private scandal, that gap between the account’s history and the production quality is the first red flag.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260227100240_91e3ed1f22f37b92ec3986feee8f5ae24943efe8a0890b382fc32c98d005b05f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260227100240_91e3ed1f22f37b92ec3986feee8f5ae24943efe8a0890b382fc32c98d005b05f" data-rendition-name="original" width="1250" height="2226" loading="lazy" alt="AI generated election images NT"> </figure>  Is the profile tied to a verifiable person, or is it a faceless account that appeared three weeks ago and posts exclusively about one candidate?&nbsp; In Nepal’s current election cycle, AI-generated images of Nepali Congress (NC) president Gagan Thapa being chased away by crowds were traced back to exactly these kinds of disposable accounts.&nbsp; Fact Checkers confirmed the images were fabricated. But by then, the images had already been screenshotted and forwarded thousands of times. Look at the cuts. This is the tell that still works, even as the visuals get better. Despite all recent advances, the best AI video generators top out at five to ten seconds of high-fidelity footage per prompt.&nbsp; A longer AI-generated video has to be stitched together from multiple short generations, which means frequent, awkward cuts every few seconds. If you are watching a tense two-minute ‘leaked’ recording and the camera conveniently cuts every eight seconds with no logical reason for the edit, you are watching a patchwork of separately generated clips glued into a sequence.&nbsp; Evaluate at your own reaction. This is the one nobody talks about, and it is the most important. The algorithm does not care about truth, it feeds on emotional resonance.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260227100240_58d5cede080eff173f2728c5af7686879b9255c84070baeb6b93efa43b79e456.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260227100240_58d5cede080eff173f2728c5af7686879b9255c84070baeb6b93efa43b79e456" data-rendition-name="original" width="1750" height="1761" loading="lazy" alt="AI generated election images NT"> </figure>  A clip that makes your blood boil within five seconds, that perfectly validates something you already believe about a politician, that gives you exactly the outrage you were looking for, that precision is the red flag. Real events are messy and ambiguous.&nbsp; They do not arrive in 15-second packages engineered to confirm your worldview. The instinct we need before the election is the pause between seeing and sharing. That cognitive pause, the two seconds where you ask yourself why this video is making you feel exactly what it wants you to feel, is the only defence that scales against a technology that is evolving faster than any detection tool. Nepal went from masu bhat to digital masu bhat. The plate of mutton curry that once bought votes has been replaced by AI-generated dopamine hits served through the feed. In both cases, the target is a voter who reacts before thinking. &nbsp; Think you have the instincts to tell AI from reality? Test yourself. We built <a href="https://spot-the-ai-pied.vercel.app/">AI OR NOT</a>, a challenge where you listen to audio clips and watch footage and vote on what is AI-generated and what is not. <a href="https://spot-the-ai-pied.vercel.app/">Try it out online</a>. &nbsp;

Spot AI generated election videos

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

Will it be different this time in Nepal?

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

People’s power

This week, the RSP held a two-day closed orientation camp for its newly elected members of Parliament. The party has also decided to assign parliamentary and Cabinet roles to leaders only after the new MPs are sworn in on 28 March.&nbsp;
This means the new prime minister and his cabinet of 15 ministers are likely to be installed closer to the Nepali New Year, and the expectation is that it will also usher in a new era of governance and politics in Nepal.&nbsp;
Between now and then, there is much speculation regarding who will become new ministers and from which camp—Balendra Shah's or Rabi Lamichanne’s. Meanwhile, the final argument in the petition against the Rabi Lamichanne case revision is set for Thursday, with a verdict expected on the same day.
“In the past, parties did anything to form coalitions and to keep them from splitting ministries and appointing anyone they wanted to, even going against the spirit of the Constitution, but the RSP doesn’t need to partake in any such activities,” says political analyst Indra Adhikari.
Adhikari notes that governance failures in the past was often the result of coalition governments formed through political bargaining that meant the primary party often had to compromise on their agenda.&nbsp;
“But nothing is stopping the party from fulfilling its election manifesto,” she says. “And if they aren’t able to deliver, we know Nepalis are prone to protests, so another revolt is also a possibility.”
Journalist and author Mohan Mainali agrees that the everyday Parliamentary proceedings should go smoothly for new government because of their majority.&nbsp;
But there are questions as to what a near two-thirds majority allows the RSP to achieve in Parliament. Its 182 seats in the Lower House allows the party to enact and amend laws without hurdles and bypass Upper House’s request for Bill revisions. But the RSP has no presence in the National Assembly, and that means that its majority in the Lower House is not enough to amend the Constitution.&nbsp;
“The Constitution poses no obstacles for the RSP to work on improving governance, development and delivery,” says Mainali. &nbsp;“If they do show some performance, it will be easier for them to go into the next election and ask for a two-thirds majority to also amend the constitution,” he adds.
The last coalition government of the UML and Nepali Congress before the GenZ protests had been built upon a primary agreement to make amendments to the Constitution. So, depending on the nature of amendments, the RSP might find some support within the National Assembly at a time when some of the older parties, such as the Nepali Congress, have committed to supporting the new government as well as internal party reforms.
“What we need is a structural overhaul, from our laws and foreign policy to economy and security apparatus, and for this the RSP needs to champion collaboration and consultation for the sake of nation building,” says Indra Adhikari. “So it all comes down to the understanding and judgment of the RSP’s leadership. If they try to go at it alone, it will lead nowhere.”
To be sure, the provincial government could also clean up their act before the next local and provincial elections, which would help the older parties to regain some of their lost footing and rebuild trust.
As it stands, RSP lawmakers will also have to learn to work with each other. Mainali notes that the RSP not being bound by one clear ideology might lead to future problems, including the rumoured animosity between party president Rabi Lamichhane and prime minister-in-waiting Balendra Shah.
“Parties that came before the RSP had an ideology, whether they followed them or not, but the RSP is made of different kinds of people,” says Mainali. “If they are not motivated by a common goal of achieving something tangible in the next five years, it might be difficult for them to stay together.”
Adds Adhikari: “Balendra and Rabi don’t seem to be compatible. Rabi has already failed when it comes to the matters of governance, and Balendra won’t carry that burden. Additionally, there is a struggle between the two in terms of party hierarchy.”
Speaking at the closing of the two-day orientation, from which Balendra Shah was noticably absent, Rabi Lamichanne said that the RSP’s image as intolerant needs to be changed, and that the country is not heading towards totalitarianism but is in the hands of good, new people.
Regardless of the assurance, the general public has seen Balendra Shah and Lamichanne’s disposition in the last several years, and analysts are worried that their personalities and ambition might lead to an environment of increased intolerance.&nbsp;
As it stands in absence of a strong opposition, the responsibility falls on the media and the civil society to be the watchdog and play an effective check and balance role.&nbsp;
“Seeing how Balendra has ignored the media so far and Rabi has made inflammatory remarks in the past, they are probably more intolerant than the likes of Trump and Modi,” says Mainali. He notes that the party does not just have technical human resource and cyber army but a large number of dedicated supporters.&nbsp;
The media must thus continue to build trust by highlighting good work, educating the public on the importance of impartial journalism in democracy and debate any Bill purposed in Parliament, Mainali adds.&nbsp;
Says Adhikari: “The media should praise the government when they do well, motivate them, but it should also point out wrongdoings without fear, and provide recommendations to do better. Otherwise, absolute power corrupts absolutely, which we have seen happen happen in America with Trump and in India with Modi, where extremism has taken over and democracy has been curtailed.”

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