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The world around us is full of noise—cars honking, factories buzzing, and machines running. But behind all this sound, there’s a quiet voice we often forget to hear. It is the voice of nature—the trees, rivers, mountains, and animals—softly crying for help.

From the green hills of Nepal to the big cities of the world, our Earth is slowly losing its beauty. The air is filled with smoke, the rivers are turning dirty, and the forests are disappearing. Nature keeps speaking to us, but we have stopped listening.

In a small village in Nepal, a little girl named Aasha once asked her teacher, “Sir, why can’t I see the butterflies my grandmother used to see?” The question sounds simple, yet it is deeply sad. It shows how, with each new generation, a piece of nature’s beauty is fading away.

Today, many children grow up with phones and video games. But some have never climbed a tree, played in the rain, or seen a clear river. If they never see nature’s beauty, how will they learn to love and protect it?

Young people are full of ideas and energy. In Kathmandu, a boy named Sujan and his friends have started planting trees every Saturday. He says, “We cannot fix the whole world, but we can do our part.” Students in many countries are doing the same—cleaning rivers, planting trees, and spreading awareness. Their efforts give hope that our generation can bring back the green world that is slowly disappearing.

Adults, on the other hand, are busy with work and daily life. They build cities, run businesses, and chase success. But in this race, they sometimes forget that clean air and pure water are far more valuable than gold or silver.

A teacher in Bhaktapur once said, “When I was a child, I played in fresh streams. Now my students wear masks to school.” We must remember: when nature becomes sick, we cannot stay healthy.

The elderly among us remember a different world—a world full of trees, the songs of birds, and clear blue skies. Hari Baje, from a village in Lamjung, recalls, “When I was young, we used to drink straight from the river. Now even the fish are gone.” Their memories are lessons for us. They remind us of how beautiful the Earth once was—and how we must protect what is left.

Nature’s pain is not only Nepal’s problem. It is the world’s problem—the problem of all humans. One country faces forest fires, while another struggles with polluted oceans. But Earth is one home, and we all live in it together. If we destroy nature in one place, life suffers everywhere. Still, it is not too late. The Earth can heal itself if we care for it. If we plant trees, save water, and keep our surroundings clean, even small actions can make a big difference. Nature forgives easily—one tree can give shade, fruit, and life to many.If every person does a little, together we can do a lot.

Nature is not something outside of us—it is part of us. When we care for it, we care for ourselves. And when we harm it, we harm our own future. So let us promise to listen to the silent cry of nature—by planting, protecting, and living in harmony with the Earth. Because Earth is not just our home for today—it is the home of every tomorrow.

Samunnat Sharma

Grade VIII

Sanskar Pathshala, Dang

Two months after the GenZ protest, Nepal’s politics remain largely unchanged, and political parties have refused to acknowledge the spirit of the movement of Sept 8. Streets in Kathmandu were filled with young demonstrators raising their voices against corruption and the social media ban. Following the repression and deaths of young protesters that day, public outrage erupted on Sept 9, forcing then Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli to resign and take protection with the Nepal Army. The protest still leaves many questions unanswered, including the potential role of infiltrators, constitutional breaches, and the legal accountability of the then Home Minister and the Prime Minister. Yet the core message was clear: the current structure and leadership of political parties are not trusted.

This message has been consistent among most Nepali voters, particularly the urban youth. In the last several years, political analysts, civil society members, scholars, and politicians have been engaging in conversations about deep-rooted frustration in Nepali society. A survey conducted by the Nepal Institute for Policy Research in Feb 2024, and a later published National Survey of Nepal by the International Republican Institute in June 2024, highlighted a significant level of youth dissatisfaction. More than 65 percent of respondents felt that political parties were moving in the wrong direction, while roughly three out of four expressed skepticism toward the motives of political leaders. This frustration had already manifested during local and federal elections, where urban voters demonstrated clear resentment toward mainstream parties.

Following the elections, public discussions centered on political reform, and it seemed as though parties were presented with a choice: reform or extinction. Most questions were focused on internal democracy, leadership change, and a genuine commitment to institutional reform to tackle longstanding corruption. The Sept 8-9 protest was not a sudden outburst but years of accumulated frustration. The issues raised like anti-corruption measures, the “nepokids” phenomenon, and opposition to the social media ban should be understood as longstanding grievances in Nepali society. These demands were not new as they echoed a persistent call for accountable leadership, meaningful party reform, and genuine inclusion of young voices in decision-making.

Yet, in the aftermath of the protest, political parties largely ignored this message. Nepali Congress has struggled to conclude its central committee meeting, with little sign of internalizing the spirit of the protest. CPN-UML openly disregarded the protests and refused accountability for the violent crackdown under the Oli-led government. CPN-Maoist and smaller communist parties have united as a single party but have failed to engage directly with demands for leadership change and youth inclusion. Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) faces challenges in balancing the blame associated with its chairperson, Rabi Lamichhane, while trying to acknowledge the GenZ movement as well.

Mainstream political parties have largely failed to grasp the depth of public discontent. Instead of addressing widespread frustration over corruption, the disconnect from citizen expectations, and accountability for September 8, many leaders have focused on superficial narratives by labeling the protests politically motivated, blaming social media, or dismissing them as a result of geopolitical interference. By prioritizing self-preservation and partisan interests over genuine accountability, political elites have reinforced the perception that mainstream politics is detached and unresponsive.

As of today, the interim government led by PM Sushila Karki is preparing for the general election on March 5. Most parties have accepted the outcome of the protest and plan to face voters, however, CPN-UML has actively confronted the government, campaigning for the restoration of parliament and calling for protests. Parties going to elections without any substantive change or refusing to participate both disregard the youth movement and the message it carried.

The refusal of political parties to internalize the GenZ protest carries profound implications for Nepal’s political landscape. First, it deepens the erosion of political trust, particularly among urban youth, who increasingly perceive mainstream parties as self-serving institutions rather than accountable actors. When voters feel ignored, skepticism about the value of elections and democratic participation intensifies, creating fertile ground for disillusionment. According to a global study by the OECD on youth political engagement, younger generations are less committed to democratic institutions and more likely to become politically alienated when governments fail to perform effectively, particularly in contexts marked by corruption or unresponsiveness.

Second, persistent neglect risks creating a generation of political hopelessness. Young citizens may disengage from formal politics entirely resulting in absence of youth voices in governance and leadership roles despite their demographic prominence. This disengagement undermines representative democracy, reduces pressure on politicians to implement reforms, and contributes to halted institutional reform, continued policy paralysis, and the persistence of corruption and inefficiency.

Third, ignoring longstanding grievances can exacerbate social polarization. When institutional channels for voicing concerns are ineffective or blocked, frustration may spill into identity-based politics, street mobilizations, and divisive social media campaigns. The absence of trust in mainstream political parties creates fertile ground not only for new parties or movements but also for authoritarian or anti-democratic forces. Political instability and societal discontent create openings for external geopolitical actors to intervene, influence narratives, or exploit divisions, potentially shaping domestic politics to serve strategic interests rather than national priorities. As observed in comparative studies of democratic backsliding, when citizens lose hope and distrust elected democratic leaders, political entrepreneurs seeking power through division, fear, and populism can gain traction, eroding institutional checks and weakening democratic norms from within. Democratic backsliding often begins under ostensibly popular democratic governments that fail to deliver legitimacy and accountability.

Finally, governance suffers when leaders prioritize self-preservation over reform. Policy paralysis, unchecked corruption, and inefficiency continue, exacerbating societal frustrations. Over time, these dynamics threaten institutional stability, impede long-term development, and weaken public faith in the democratic process.

The GenZ protest, therefore, was not merely a transient event but was a warning. The stakes are high: continued disregard risks producing a generation for whom mainstream politics is no longer a viable avenue for participation, amplifying social polarization, creating openings for anti-democratic forces, and inviting geopolitical actors to exploit domestic fissures, all of which could undermine the foundations of Nepalese democracy.

In conclusion, Nepal’s political parties face a critical choice. The message from the social sphere has been clear for years: change in leadership, demand for accountability, inclusion, and institutional reform is non-negotiable. Ignoring these demands not only alienates an entire generation but also creates fertile ground for division, radicalization, and anti-democratic forces to emerge. Political parties must confront the structural failures that generated this discontent and act decisively, or risk a future where trust in institutions is irreparably lost, social cohesion is weakened, and democracy itself becomes fragile. The GenZ protest is more than a moment of civic expression, it is a warning for the nation, and its lessons remain urgent and unheeded.

Sparsh Adhikari

Bachelor of Science in Foreign Service

IInd Year

Georgetown University,  Qatar

What is the difference between a living body and a dead one? In the dead, similar to the living, all the organs are precisely where they are supposed to be (except if the dead had endured significant damage in any of the organs or bones). The difference is the dead are not breathing; that is to say, the food is not being oxidized, energy is not created; hence, all the major biological processes are stagnant. But what truly makes us breathe? Why do we breathe? What makes life live? Hypothetically, if we configure a body from scratch, engineering every organ, every bone, and every piece of flesh precisely where they are supposed to be, do we create a fully functional living body? No. According to the eastern philosophy based on Sri Isopanisad, too, an ‘organic whole’ cannot arise from parts that have to be assembled. That process can only produce inorganic, mechanical, or chemical processes, not living organisms. Hence, even if we successfully integrate all the organs, flesh, and bones to engineer a body, an entity that is missing what truly makes life live is consciousness. In this article, I’ll subtly try to answer the pressing mysteries about the origin of consciousness using a molecular and cellular perspective. 

A conscious cell

All human beings, and other living beings, have an ancestral cell that, some billion years ago, was divided into two; that is to say, the ancestral cell passed on its genetic information onto another one, and so on and so forth, forming organs, systems, and organisms. It can be hypothesized that the energy, or an entity, that someday drove the passing of information from one cell to another is the same energy (consciousness) that today enables us to think, perceive, learn, and live. Moreover, cells can interpret chemical messages, communicate via cell signaling, regulate internal functions, and perform programmed cell death, illustrating coordinated, intelligent responses to environmental stimuli. These behaviors suggest that consciousness and cognition have biological bases at the cellular and molecular levels. According to Eshel Ben-Jacob, a pioneer in the study of bacterial intelligence and social behavior of bacteria, consciousness also exists in most primitive organisms without a brain, like plants and unicellular organisms like bacteria. Jacobs states that unicellular organisms also display learning, memory, anticipation, risk management, and other aspects of cognitive behavior. These examples, ultimately, provide more legitimacy to the idea that cells are sentient beings.

Cell consciousness, evolution, and Darwinism 

The notion that consciousness could emerge from cells challenges neo-Darwinism and the theory of evolution. Darwinism suggests that some random changes in the genetic code within DNA give rise to a genetic diversity that undergoes a natural selection pressure within the environment; and upon surviving the selection pressure, organisms and species adapt, change, and evolve. If the cells are conscious on their own, it can be hypothesized that mutation could be a conscious act—and not just a ‘random’ change in the genetic code. James A. Shapiro, a molecular biologist at the University of Chicago and the author of the book Evolution: A View from the 21st Century, states that “A shift from thinking about gradual selection of localized random changes to sudden genome restructuring by sensory network-influenced cell systems is a major conceptual change. It replaces the “invisible hands” of geological time and natural selection with cognitive networks and cellular functions for self-modification. The emphasis is systemic rather than atomistic and information-based rather than stochastic.”

Moreover, Richard Dawkins, in The Selfish Gene, also argues that organisms are merely a survival machine for the genes that created cells, synthesized proteins, and formed sophisticated membranes and cellular mechanisms to eventually create bodies and minds to protect themselves and their legacies.

Consciousness and quantum mechanics 

As a kid, I was always confused about what the fundamental particles of nature were. In chemistry, I learned that electrons, protons, and neutrons were the fundamental particles. In physics, I learned that protons and neutrons can further be divided into quarks. And in biology, I learned that cells are the fundamental building blocks of life. I never really understood the difference between an atom and a cell. It was not until high school that I realized that cells that contain a nucleus, mitochondria, cytoplasm, ribosomes, and vacuoles can further be divided into proteins, water molecules, and other organic compounds that are fundamentally made up of particles like electrons and quarks. So, it can be hypothesized that the nucleus that contains DNA, which works to synthesize proteins with the help of RNA and also triggers the process of cell division (nuclei are the brains of cells), is guided by the quantum phenomena that take place deep within the atoms that form these cell bodies. 

There have been numerous theories and pieces of evidence that have worked to find connections between quantum theories and consciousness. One such theory is the Orch OR (Orchestrated Objective Reduction) theory, which posits that tubulin proteins within neuronal microtubules engage in quantum computations via superposition and objective reduction events that generate discrete moments of conscious awareness. 

Furthermore, Goodman et al. state that the theoretical models suggest that weak force interactions and electron neutrino exchanges might also support long-range quantum coherence across cellular assemblies, thereby linking quantum mechanics to large-scale neural synchrony. These perspectives collectively emphasize that quantum-level biomolecular interactions provide mechanisms for the integration of information across both spatial and temporal scales, which is essential for the emergent property of consciousness.

In summary, these theories and ideas give strength to the fact that consciousness arises from the cells, not from the brain. Evidence from cellular biology indicates that individual cells exhibit rudimentary forms of awareness through membrane dynamics, laying the foundation for conscious processes. Ultimately, the synthesis of molecular, quantum, and integrative theories provides a robust framework for understanding how consciousness could emerge from the fundamental interactions of biomolecules.

Chirag Timilsina

In recent years, Nepali society has witnessed the rise of a troubling phenomenon: the conversion of social work into a stepping-stone for publicity, wealth, and political clout. What once symbolized sacrifice and service has now become a strategic entry point for individuals seeking personal gain. These pseudo-social workers, equipped with smartphones, cameras, and clever messaging, masquerade as reformers while exploiting society’s trust. Their actions raise an urgent question: are we being served, or merely deceived?

The new breed of social worker is less a servant of the people and more a performer for the public eye. Social media has amplified this shift, turning compassion into a commodity. With every post, video, and reel, these individuals craft an image of benevolence. But behind the carefully staged acts lies a motive far removed from public good—building a base of followers to leverage in the pursuit of political power or business advantage.

This culture of spectacle-driven social work reduces serious societal issues to photo opportunities. It prioritizes visibility over substance, popularity over impact. In doing so, it not only trivializes the meaning of service but also entrenches cynicism in a society already disillusioned by corruption and betrayal.

The pathway from pseudo-social work to politics is well established. Figures across Nepal have used their social presence to launch themselves into the political sphere, where power multiplies opportunities for wealth. The formula is simple: gain public sympathy through visible gestures of service, translate that sympathy into votes, and then leverage political office for personal or partisan gain.

The case of Kathmandu Metropolitan Mayor Balen Shah exemplifies both the promise and the peril of this phenomenon. He rose to prominence as an outsider, admired for his energy and reforms. Yet, his conduct during recent Gen Z protests and shifting political dynamics has sparked suspicion about his long-term ambitions. Some now question whether his mayoral role is merely a springboard for larger political goals. Others even speculate—however conspiratorially—that his rise is tied to foreign interests. Regardless of the truth, the doubts underscore a wider problem: when leaders rely on image rather than transparency, public trust inevitably erodes.

At the core of pseudo-social work lies a profound illusion. On the surface, these individuals appear to champion causes—healthcare, education, environment, or culture. In reality, their contributions are often superficial. Schools, for instance, invest in glossy infrastructure and fleets of buses to impress parents, while neglecting essential laboratories, libraries, and trained staff. Doctors promote wellness on social media while failing to make healthcare affordable or accessible in their own communities. Business magnates donate for public visibility but rarely tackle systemic issues such as pollution, unemployment, or inequality.

This illusion is dangerous. It diverts attention from what truly matters—sustainable reforms, accountable governance, and long-term investment in communities. Worse, it conditions people to mistake performance for progress. Nepalis clap for social media heroes while overlooking genuine reformers who, away from the limelight, are quietly building schools, innovating in technology, and building roads for the community. Speaking of genuine reformers, my heart brims over with pride and joy at the thought of Chandrabir in Dang, who built a community road manually toiling for years for the convenience of his blind wife and blind children.

When pseudo-social workers ascend into politics, the costs are borne by ordinary citizens. Their shallow understanding of social needs translates into shallow policies. Their hunger for publicity fosters divisive rhetoric. Their networks of followers create personality cults that discourage criticism. And once in power, their reliance on crony capitalism ensures that decisions serve a narrow elite rather than the broader public.

This cycle is not new. It echoes decades of Nepali politics where populism has repeatedly trumped principle. But in the age of social media, the scale and speed are unprecedented. Today, a viral video can launch a political career. Tomorrow, that career can shape laws, allocate budgets, and influence generations. The stakes could not be higher.

The question, then, is not whether pseudo-social workers exist—they clearly do—but how we, as citizens, respond to them. Should we continue to idolize every charismatic figure who claims to serve us? Should we mistake Instagram reels for real reforms? Or should we demand evidence, transparency, and accountability before extending our admiration?  

Across Nepal, business tycoons and professionals alike have found in “social work” a convenient platform to polish their image and prepare for a political career. In Dang, a doctor has become famous through morning-walk videos with locals, preaching fitness while ignoring the more pressing community needs around him—garbage burning, lack of public parks, and absence of infrastructure for exercise. He could have lobbied for cleaner air or built walking trails, yet he has chosen the easier route of self-promotion.

The wiser course is clear: take every self-proclaimed social worker and politician with a pinch of salt. Celebrate their achievements when they are real, but interrogate their motives when they are not. Separate spectacle from substance. Learn to distinguish between those who build institutions and those who merely build images. Nepal today stands at a crossroads. Our politics is fragile, our institutions are weak, and our youth are restless. In such a context, pseudo-social workers thrive, exploiting hope and disillusionment alike. But their rise is not inevitable. If citizens remain vigilant, if we question before we clap, if we demand action over appearance, we can ensure that service regains its true meaning.

Let us not be fooled by the holy grail of publicity, power, and money. Let us judge our leaders—and our social workers—not by the noise they make, but by the lives they transform. Only then can we break the cycle of deception that has for too long defined our politics and society.

Ganesh P Paudel

The author is a teacher