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When I look back at my education—from childhood through my master’s degree—I realize how much it was structured around rote learning: memorizing facts, repeating them and aiming for good marks. I didn’t attend a prestigious school, just a regular one like most students in Nepal. Regardless of the school, the emphasis was the same. This pattern wasn’t just my experience—it’s reflective of a broader issue in Nepal’s education system. This kind of education didn’t teach me how to think or understand the world; it only taught me how to pass the exams. 

Even today, with some changes here and there, many schools continue to follow this outdated pattern. Whether well-resourced or under-resourced, the focus remains on memorization, repetition and obedience. The result? A generation that can recite facts but struggles to think critically. Worse still, questioning is often actively discouraged. In my experience, when students ask questions, they're frequently met with responses like, “Don’t ask too many questions” or “Just focus on the syllabus.” This discourages curiosity and stifles intellectual growth. If we want to cultivate thinkers and leaders, we must create an environment where asking questions is encouraged—not seen as a sign of disrespect, but as a sign of engagement. 

I’m not advocating for baseless questions, shouting or insults, as we often see on social media; that kind of behavior doesn’t promote healthy discourse. Instead, I advocate for thoughtful, well-reasoned questions—ones that are essential for growth and understanding. We must teach students not just how to gather information, but how to question it, analyze it and think critically. Sadly, this skill remains missing in many education systems, including Nepal’s.

Rote learning and blind following 

With some exceptions, schools in Nepal—regardless of whether they are well-resourced or not—still emphasize memorization and grades over teaching students how to think. The problem is even more pronounced in under-resourced schools, where education remains largely about repeating what’s taught and passing exams. This creates students who are good at memorizing but poor at thinking critically. In some well-resourced schools, while modern methods are used, students often adopt Western ideas without questioning or developing their own perspectives. This creates a disconnect in their minds; they may learn to think in a Western way but fail to fully engage with or understand their own culture. This leads to confusion and a lack of visionary leadership, which Nepal desperately needs. One alarming trend is the focus on preparing students to migrate abroad, primarily to Western countries. From a young age, students are taught that success depends on passing exams and acquiring qualifications to settle abroad. I am not against studying abroad—global exposure is valuable—but the issue arises when studying abroad becomes the only path to success, which is not always true. This narrow view has led to a loss of vision for Nepal’s future. Instead of nurturing local leadership, we are teaching students that the best way to succeed is to leave their country behind.

Vedantic and Buddhist wisdom

This widespread focus on external validation—whether through grades or foreign degrees—has come at the cost of our own intellectual traditions. But Nepal has never lacked a tradition of deep thought. Long before modern schooling systems, our culture valued questioning, contemplation and philosophical inquiry. Nepal’s intellectual and spiritual traditions, especially Vedantic and Buddhist philosophies, have long emphasized deep, reflective questioning. These traditions encouraged individuals to explore the nature of existence, the self and the world—not to accept things blindly, but to understand truth through inquiry and reflection. 

Both Vedanta and Buddhism emphasize that knowledge is power, but only when it is understood through contemplation and personal experience. Sadly, this tradition of critical thinking and self-inquiry has been overshadowed by an increasing reliance on rote learning and unquestioned acceptance of information. This shift has steered us away from the rich intellectual tradition of inquiry and independent thought that Nepal once embraced. 

To change this, we need to reclaim the legacy of critical thinking and inquiry. My point here isn’t to discard modern science textbooks or start teaching only Sanskrit and ancient scriptures. Rather, it’s about taking the essence of those philosophical traditions—especially their emphasis on questioning and inner exploration—and weaving that spirit into today’s classrooms. By doing so, we can reshape the education system to foster freethinkers—people who question, explore, and lead with a clear vision.

Empowering the next generation 

Given these gaps, the real question is: how can we move forward? How can we improve the education system in Nepal? The solution likely lies in finding a balance. We cannot discard exams and grades entirely, but we should place more emphasis on critical thinking, problem-solving, and curiosity. Our education system must nurture free thinkers, not just exam-passing robots. The role of teachers is central to this transformation. Teachers must teach students how to ask good questions, think critically, and express ideas clearly. Classrooms should not just be places where students receive information but where they engage with it, question it, discuss, and debate. Teachers need to create an environment where curiosity and independent thinking are encouraged. While systemic change is essential, it’s important to remember that transformation starts in the classroom. And classrooms cannot change unless teachers are empowered. 

At the same time, many teachers in Nepal are working under extremely challenging circumstances, often without proper support, training, or resources. The issues I raise here are not criticisms of individual teachers but of a system that has not empowered them to innovate or think freely. Any reform must begin with supporting and valuing our educators, ensuring they have the tools they need to foster critical thinking and curiosity in the classroom.

The link to leadership

The consequences of our educational shortcomings extend beyond classrooms. Nepal’s current political crisis is not just a struggle for power—it’s a crisis of leadership. The country lacks visionary leaders capable of guiding Nepal toward a better future, and this deficit reflects deeper issues within our education system. Instead of fostering critical thinking and independent thought, we are producing followers who passively accept information. This is evident in our political landscape, where many follow empty rhetoricians rather than leaders with clear ideologies. 

To address Nepal’s political crisis, we must shift the focus from just who holds power to how we educate our people. Our education system is failing to produce the kind of visionary leaders we desperately need. A nation without an educational foundation that encourages critical thinking and nurtures leadership will remain stagnant, regardless of the political system or the individuals who rise to power. If we want to shape a brighter future, the future of the nation depends on how we educate young people today. 

Without an education system that fosters independent thought and leadership, we will continue to see a generation of followers, rather than leaders with vision. We, as educators, parents and citizens, must steer Nepal’s education system toward a future where critical thinking is valued above rote memorization. This is not just about changing curriculums—it’s about changing the very mindset with which we approach education. Only then will we truly empower our youth and ensure a better future for the country.

Nepal is experiencing a growing economic disparity between its urban and rural areas, where rapid development in cities contrasts sharply with the stagnation in rural regions. The concentration of infrastructure, services and job opportunities in urban centers exacerbates inequality, while rural areas remain underdeveloped and lack basic facilities. This uneven development has led to a significant rural-to-urban migration, with people leaving villages in search of better opportunities in cities, further depleting rural economies.

Urban centers have become magnets for rural populations due to the concentration of essential services such as education, healthcare and employment opportunities. The hope of improving living conditions drives internal migration, as rural residents believe cities offer a better standard of living. This urban-centric development model not only leaves rural areas behind but also accelerates the growth of overcrowded cities, contributing to further challenges like rising unemployment and inadequate housing.

In response to this issue, Nepal adopted a federal system of governance to decentralize power and resources. The goal was to empower provincial and local governments, assuming that they would be better equipped to address local needs and promote equitable development. By transferring authority and funds to local governments, it was hoped that development would be more localized and tailored to the specific needs of rural areas. Unfortunately, the anticipated benefits have not fully materialized.

Despite the decentralization of power, rural development has not seen significant improvements. In many cases, local governments have struggled to use the funds effectively, and instead, the transfer of power has led to the decentralization of corruption. Local authorities have misused public resources meant for development, often siphoning off funds for personal gains. This problem, which was initially concentrated in the central government, has now spread to local levels, undermining the objectives of decentralization.

Corruption at the local level has further deepened economic inequality. Political elites and well-connected individuals in both urban and rural areas often benefit from the misuse of state resources, while ordinary citizens continue to face hardship. Funds that could have been used for infrastructure development, job creation, education and healthcare are diverted through corrupt practices, leaving rural communities trapped in poverty and underdevelopment. This corruption weakens public trust and limits the potential for inclusive growth, which could have uplifted the rural population.

Moreover, the lack of transparency and accountability in local governance has made it difficult to ensure that development projects are carried out effectively. In many cases, development funds are not properly monitored, and there is little oversight to ensure that they reach the intended communities. Without effective monitoring mechanisms, local leaders are often able to exploit the system for personal gains, while the rural poor continue to suffer from a lack of access to essential services.

The failure to achieve equitable development and inclusive growth can also be attributed to weak governance structures at the local level. Local leaders often lack the capacity to manage development effectively, and there is a significant gap in skills and knowledge required to implement projects that could drive real change. In the absence of strong institutions and effective leadership, rural areas continue to miss out on the benefits of federalism and decentralization.

To address the growing disparity between urban and rural areas, Nepal needs comprehensive reforms. One of the most critical steps is to strengthen anti-corruption mechanisms at both the local and national levels. Transparency in how development funds are allocated and spent is crucial to ensure that resources are used effectively. Independent bodies should be established to monitor the use of public funds and hold local leaders accountable for any misuse. Additionally, capacity-building programs for local leaders and administrators are essential to improve governance and ensure that development projects are implemented effectively.

Another important reform is the improvement of infrastructure and services in rural areas. This can be achieved through better planning, prioritizing rural development and ensuring that basic services such as healthcare, education, and transportation are accessible to all. Rural communities should not be left behind in the pursuit of national development, and government policies must reflect this commitment to equitable growth.

Furthermore, local governments must be provided with the tools and training necessary to manage development funds effectively. Capacity building should focus on transparency, financial management and project implementation to ensure that rural areas benefit from the decentralization of power.

In conclusion, Nepal’s growing economic inequality, fueled by the urban-rural divide, requires urgent action. The decentralization of power through federalism has not led to the expected improvements in rural development, largely due to corruption, mismanagement, and weak governance. To bridge the gap between urban and rural areas, Nepal must strengthen its institutions, promote transparency and build the capacity of local leaders. Only then can the country achieve true inclusive development and provide equal opportunities for all its citizens, regardless of where they live.

I can’t quite recall how I ended up teaching primary school students, but it was my first proper job. After completing my intermediate studies in arts from Ratna Rajya Campus in the early 1990s, I was struggling to make ends meet in Kathmandu. My parents had stopped sending me their modest monthly allowance, which barely covered my rent and basic survival.

I must have seen an ad somewhere, which led me to the back alleys of Babarmahal, where an Indian couple had set up a primary school on the ground floor of a three-story building. Strangely enough, as I write this, I’m sitting in a quiet office near the confluence of the Bagmati and Dhobi Khola rivers–close to where it all began.

They hired me to teach English. The principal and his wife were impressed by my English grades. But the stint didn’t last long, and I later heard the school shut down soon after I left.

A few years later, I found myself commuting from my rented room in Thapagaun to Lamatar in Lalitpur district–changing two buses to get there. My friend Kamal Paudel had to leave town for personal reasons, and I was his stand-in at the school. Back then, I was deeply into Bollywood films and sported shoulder-length hair. The headmaster appreciated my teaching, but he asked me to cut my hair. As a young man with a flair for fashion and a fierce sense of freedom, I chose to walk away from my second teaching job.

As my journalism career progressed and later began to stall, I found myself circling back to teaching. Following covid pandemic, freelance journalism opportunities began to dry up. After my stint at a fact-checking organization, I started training journalists on verification and tackling mis- and disinformation. But those gigs were few and far between. 

I had failed to revive my freelance career. In my golden years as a freelance journalist, I always had three stories on the go: one already edited and awaiting publication, another in the reporting stage with an approved pitch, and a third, a solid idea ready to be pitched. But in recent years, my pitches were being regularly rejected, leaving me dejected and crestfallen.

Then, just before Dashain last year, I received an unexpected call from Krishna Niroula, the principal of the Institute of Advanced Communication, Education and Research (IACER) in Kathmandu. He offered me a chance to teach a course to postgraduate students of English literature, filling in for Ujjwal Prasai, who had left for the US to pursue a PhD. Kamal Dev Bhattarai, another friend who taught at IACER, had recommended me for the course.

Fortunately, I wasn’t starting from scratch. Two years ago, I’d been invited as a guest lecturer in the same course. Even better, the course, “Writing in the Digital Age”, had been designed by a friend, Dinesh Kafle. Knowing I could lean on him if I stumbled gave me some confidence. Still, this was a far cry from my Babarmahal days. I was now standing in front of graduate students and the stakes felt higher.

The course was close to my heart. It introduced students to powerful writing, from George Orwell to David Foster Wallace to English translations of essays by Buddhi Sagar and Raju Syangtan. I made a few tweaks to the reading list, adding some of my personal favorites: Pankaj Mishra, Manjushree Thapa, Indra Bahadur Rai, Declan Walsh, Samanth Subramanian and Peter Matthiessen. Their work had helped shape my worldview as a writer; now, I hoped it would inspire my students too.

From day one, it was clear the students came from diverse backgrounds, but most lacked formal training in writing. The course’s goal–teaching someone how to write well–felt at times like chasing the impossible. And yet, there we were, trying.

The curriculum already featured multimedia: a video of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “The Danger of a Single Story” was part of the syllabus. I added an audio interview with David Wolf, editor of Guardian Longreads. Wallace’s essay Consider the Lobster, a meditation disguised as a food review, was a surprise hit among the students.

Someone once said: if you want to learn something, teach it. Over those three months, I reconnected with something I’d been losing: my reading habit. Years of social media scrolling and an endless stream of attention-grabbing videos had dulled my focus. But teaching forced me back to the page.

I tried to pass on the lessons I’d gathered from writers and editors I admire and have learned from a great deal over the two decades of my journalism. In 2008, I spent a memorable week at Poynter Institute in Florida. There, I learned the craft of feature writing from masters like Roy Peter Clark, Chip Scanlan and Tom Huang, who hammered home key principles of good writing: brevity, clarity, the power of a strong nut graf or the main idea of the story, the magic of scene-setting. 

At IACER, “Show, don’t tell” became my classroom mantra. I was delighted when the students began to echo the phrase in their own reflections. I also emphasized the importance of capturing sensory details–the sights, sounds and smells–that bring writing to life.

I also shared my own journey: how I began as a reporter for the now defunct Nepal Weekly magazine in the early 2000s, writing in Nepali, and eventually won an Alfred Friendly Fellowship in the US in 2008 (that’s when I spent a week learning the craft of writing at Poynter). That experience opened new doors–I wrote for Time magazine, then worked for international news agencies like AFP and dpa. I explained how I went on to write for The New York Times, The Guardian, Al Jazeera, Outside, The Caravan and Nikkei Asia.

Standing before the class each week, I felt a quiet sense of fulfillment. Teaching didn’t just pass on the craft–it rekindled my joy in learning it.

In recent days, a strong debate has resurfaced in Nepal’s political landscape: monarchy versus democracy. Nepal has a long history of monarchy, particularly under the Shah dynasty, which ruled the country for centuries until the introduction of an interim constitution in 2007. The swift and peaceful transition from monarchy to a democratic republic was remarkable. The last king of Nepal, Gyanendra Shah, stepped down and left the palace without resistance, marking a historic moment in the nation’s political evolution.

Following the abolition of the monarchy, the country embraced a republican democratic system, which was widely welcomed by the public. However, political parties have since struggled to maintain the trust of the people. The transition was marred by inefficiencies, broken promises and poor governance. One key issue has been the adoption of an inflated and disorganized government structure, which has proven both costly and ineffective. The socialist orientation of the constitution has also had unintended consequences for Nepal’s economy and overall development. 

Additionally, while federalism was introduced to decentralize power, the central government has been unwilling to truly empower local governments. This has created overlapping responsibilities and financial burdens at both the federal and local levels. Given the country’s limited economic resources, it has been impossible to meet the high expectations raised during political campaigns. Political parties have often made unrealistic promises, leading to widespread disillusionment. Many Nepalis, in turn, have placed faith in these false assurances, often without access to accurate, fact-based information. The rise of social media has further enabled the spread of misinformation, deepening public confusion and distrust. These issues have played a major role in fueling public support for autocratic monarchists.

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a monarch is a hereditary head of state with life tenure, whose powers range from symbolic to absolute. In the 21st century, the consolidation of inherited power and rule over the people is no longer acceptable. However, some monarchies continue to exist due to geopolitical factors. These monarchies tend to survive when they remain politically neutral, avoid scandals and maintain a limited ceremonial role. Unfortunately, Nepal’s monarchy has consistently failed in all these aspects.

Some monarchists have argued that Nepal should adopt a democratic monarchy and reinstate former King Gyanendra Shah. This is a baseless argument, rejected by most freedom-loving citizens. History shows that monarchs who seek absolute power are eventually forced to relinquish it or see it dramatically reduced. For instance, in 1920, King Christian X of Denmark dismissed his prime minister and government over a policy disagreement, which led to mass protests and a constitutional crisis. He was ultimately forced to back down. King Leopold III of Belgium spent five years in exile due to his refusal to comply with his government’s decisions.

The Shah dynasty in Nepal has never demonstrated a commitment to constitutional democracy. Instead, its kings repeatedly sought absolute power. Nepal's monarchy might have survived had King Gyanendra not staged a coup in 2005 to seize full control. This pattern of authoritarianism dates back further: King Mahendra executed a coup in 1960, dissolving democratic institutions and concentrating all power in his hands. King Birendra also maintained absolute rule through the Panchayat system, using political manipulation to hold onto power. Any credible historian can confirm that the Shah dynasty consistently pursued authoritarian governance.

Moreover, Nepal’s monarchy has been plagued by scandals—from the tragic royal massacre to allegations against Paras Shah involving illegal drug use, extrajudicial killings, sexual violence, extramarital affairs and ties to criminal networks. These controversies further eroded any moral legitimacy the monarchy once had.

The Shah dynasty has failed to govern Nepal effectively since the time of geographic unification under Prithvi Narayan Shah in 1768. After his reign, successive generations of the royal family were embroiled in internal power struggles, often marked by violence and betrayal. It was not uncommon for royal family members to conspire against or even kill one another in pursuit of power and personal gain. This violent legacy is one of many reasons why the Nepali people should not trust the monarchy or the Shah dynasty.

Even after the political reforms of the 1990s, the monarchy continued to act as an absolute authority, refusing to adapt to democratic norms. A large network of individuals benefited from the palace and the monarchical system, creating vested interest groups that further damaged the monarchy’s reputation. As a result, the institution lost the public’s trust,

The recent rise in pro-monarchy sentiments has negatively affected Nepal's progress toward prosperity and democratic development. Many Nepalis are understandably frustrated by ongoing political instability and economic hardship. However, this frustration has led some to overlook the value of democracy and entertain misguided notions of restoring the monarchy. There is no evidence that bringing back the monarchy would resolve even a fraction of Nepal’s current problems.

Certain political parties and crook networks have exploited pro-monarchy rhetoric to destabilize the democratic system and gain political advantage. Figures like Rabindra Mishra, Rajendra Lingden and Kamal Thapa appear to be leveraging this unrest to expand their influence. For them, whether the system is democratic or autocratic is irrelevant—they enjoy social, economic and political privileges either way. Their primary interest lies in gaining power, even if it means fueling division, protest or violence.

What the Nepali people truly desire is a prosperous nation where they can live freely and securely. Access to quality education, healthcare, public safety and a government that genuinely represents the people are the real needs of the moment. Yes, there is deep dissatisfaction with corruption, lack of opportunity, political instability and the unethical behavior of current leaders. But these issues are far more likely to be addressed within a democratic framework than under an autocratic monarchy.

The monarchy in Nepal was historically corrupt, repressive, autocratic and ineffective. Under its rule, people had no voice or freedom to speak out. Restoring such a system would be a step backward, not forward. Ultimately, Nepal’s future lies not in a return to monarchy but in strengthening its democratic institutions, promoting good governance and focusing on inclusive economic development.