Submit your Article

Time and again, some ‘kanda’ (incident) brews up on Nepali social media. This week, someone with a pseudonym wrote a long post on Facebook about her abusive relationship. The post was full of heart-wrenching incidents she suffered in the past one year. There was a back and forth response from both the involved parties. 

The accused man accepted that the allegations were true to an extent, but he then blamed the woman for provoking him. Surprisingly and not so surprisingly, the whole community started offering their own verdict on the case. One common statement from male members who were judging the woman, “Why now?” or, “Why was she still in the relationship even after the first incident?”

This is a straight case of domestic violence where this woman was tortured, both physically and emotionally. Which made me think, why exactly do women stay in toxic relationships or abusive marriages? What could convince them psychologically and emotionally to be with a partner who constantly makes her life miserable?

When I asked a divorcee friend about this, referencing her abusive failed marriage, she said that as her father was extremely toxic, there was no male role model in her life. When she met this guy who claimed to love her, she thought she would never get someone better. And even when things went wrong, she constantly blamed herself for being a difficult person and for everything that was happening. 

Another reason she cited concerned children. Women are the nurturing gender and often, they feel that if the parents get divorced, the kid/s will suffer because of the shuffling between parents. They fear another parent’s absence might destroy the kid psychologically in the long run. They also consider the traumatization the kid/s have to go through living in this society where divorce/separation are still frowned upon.

When I asked the same question of other friends, they also pointed to the issue of financial dependence. Even in urban cities, many Nepali women decide to be homemakers and are financially dependent on their male counterparts. On the other hand, even if they are working, most of the time, the man is a bigger financial contributor to the family. This is how the society is shaped. Stepping out of that zone can be scary for women. So they compromise and stay in the marriage or relationship.

Another major factor we cannot ignore is how our societal beliefs are constructed. People not only look down on women who come out of a bad marriage but also on women who have a series of bad relationships. In this fear even the victims’ families convince them to stay and compromise. The family plays a vital role in the decision making of the women--to be or not to be in the toxic relationship. When families pull out from helping, the woman gets little or no support to make a decision. 

In an informal gathering at a friend’s place, one guest who was in a toxic relationship very light-heartedly said to a group of her friends, “You know girls why I don’t want to quit this relationship? Because I have already invested seven years training him to be with me. Now I don’t have the energy to train another man. In the end, they are all the same”.

Other guests were teasing and laughing but I couldn’t find any humor in it. Instead I found an exhausted individual who had given up on living. There might be many women who might relate to this story. Maybe you have a friend who is going through something similar or you could be that one. 

Interestingly, often, the male partners are very convincing. They vow not to repeat their mistake and to make things better. The reasons mentioned above play the devil’s advocate and as a safety measure, women decide to give it one more shot, and yet another… until they end up with severe depression.

Regardless of how many excuses and reasons we discuss, physical violence of any sort is unacceptable. And after that when a person musters the courage to come out of the toxicity, asking questions and giving unsolicited advice to go to the court and take legal action doesn’t make you a messiah. 

Sometimes they are so mind-screwed due to trauma and depression, the decision they take might be extreme or inconsistent: from expressing rage on social media and again deleting it due to peer and family pressure to self-harming. It is high time we stop questioning the victim: “why?”, “why now?”, or “why didn’t you?”. The burden is already too much for them to take. If we cannot help, it is better to just keep quiet. Silence is also a response and in this case, a better one rather than needlessly butting in and making things worse.

The writer is a businessperson by profession, prefers to be called connoisseur of DIY and recycle, and is mother to a golden retriever named Ba:la Princess 

With the dissolution of the House of Representatives for the second time within months, Nepal is bound to go for midterm elections, possibly in November as announced. However, the opposition parties and lawyers have filed 25 writ petitions against the move, calling it “unconstitutional”. The voices to punish the Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli and to impeach the President have multiplied, creating chaos and confusion for the future of Nepal.

Even before the President took the decision in a late-night drama—where both PM Oli and Opposition Leader Sher Bahadur Deuba had made claims to form government as the PM under clause 76(5) of the Constitution—people were amused by the flip flops happening in Nepali politics. There was surprise and amusement when Oli was reappointed as the PM under clause 76(3) of the Constitution as the leader of the largest party, even though he had lost the vote of confidence in the House. But no other leader could stake the claim within three days granted to the parties.

The public discourse has moved from one side of the pendulum to the other in the process of deciphering the Constitution and the procedures laid out by the leaders. There has been a constant outcry of opposition parties to oust the PM due to his unilateral decision-making, total neglect of discussions, and molding the provisions of the Constitution to fit his decisions. The non-stop bombing of new ordinances at odd times has wreaked havoc among the political leaders, journalists, scholars, and even ordinary citizens. Many have started to call him an “autocratic leader” who lusts after money and power, while others view him as an “ultra nationalist” who has changed the basic character of Nepal and its system.

However, for Oli, politics is a simple game of Mahjong, where money, luck and mind all play their individual role. With decades of experience with the masses and in politics, he is aware of the public pulse and also flaws in the approaches of opposition parties. His jokes and non-seriousness may have left the opposition unhappy, but they have all been embroiled in his Chakravuh. Willingly or unwillingly all leaders are playing the game of Mahjong set up by Oli, even if they are deeply annoyed with his working style.

As he moves away from luring his own party-men to seeking the support of Madhesi leaders, each move he makes in drawing the tiles or discarding them, is aimed at completing a legal hand and staying in command. With the current chaos created by the Oli regime, the opposition is finding it hard to draw his tiles and bring order in the larger political game. In his most recent move, he tried to please the Madhesi people with the ordinance to amend the citizenship provisions of the Constitution. According to Prakash Pokhrel, a writer and political analyst, the bill was pending for over two years, but Oli got it cleared, pronto, after the dates of mid-term elections were announced.

Pokhrel believes there could be two possible outcomes: one, Oli will get someone to file a writ petition against the ordinance in the Supreme Court, thereby nullifying the ordinance and becoming a great supporter of the Madhesi people; or two, he will use it as a card during elections, even though the validity of the ordinance is only for six months and needs House approval to become law, which might be impossible due to the time gap of holding elections and forming of a new government.

Although the Constitution of Nepal has laid down guidelines and procedures, he brings in variations with each move to change the game. None of the other leaders withdraws from the game as well, probably as they think they do stand to gain a little. This was starkly visible at the time of passing of the new Nepali map and even now when without resigning from the PM’s post or losing the vote of confidence Oli managed to give 21 hours for other parties to form the new government. No leader or party opted to boycott, but ran to deliberate and reset alliances, thinking that an opportunity to grab a tile was thrown their way.

Interestingly, beyond the power plays, Oli has set up a larger Mahjong for three big geopolitical players: India, China, and the US. He knows that balancing the two immediate neighbors is not easy under the current geopolitical scenario. Hence he uses tantrums to reap benefits, by first infuriating and then cajoling the neighbors. With India, he played the tiles of “sovereignty” on Kalapani, “Ram Janambhoomi”, “simhaev jayate or satyamev jayate” on Indian emblem, and calling Covid-19 “Indian virus” to draw Indian ire. Later, he changed his tune and withdrew the changed Nepali history books incorporating the new Nepali map.

Oli knows that the US is keen to get MCC passed in Nepal to keep a check on China and to rope in Nepal in the QUAD arrangement, while China wants to link Nepal with its grand BRI project and also establish closer ideological ties. The US and China are also vying for the large populace of Tibetans in Nepal to wage their respective proxy wars. However, according to Dinesh Bhattarai, former Foreign Affairs Adviser to the Prime Minister of Nepal, Oli’s foreign policy is based purely on “political opportunism”. This has helped him not only remain in power for long, but also to continue to be a “nationalist”. For the moment, Oli remains the PM, never mind logic or legal provisions. To remain in power is now the bottom-line, no matter how one amends the rule of the game, as variations of Mahjong is what makes the game unique in Nepal.

The author is assistant professor at the Center for Chinese & South-East Asian Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University

Dear Madam President:
How do you sleep at night?

How do you rest your head back on the pillow, turn off the bedside lamp, close your eyes and drift off to sleep when there is so much grief and despair around? Your palace is no more than a few hundred meters from Kathmandu’s main hospital. Don’t the cries of patients, relatives wailing and people pleading drift in to wake you from your slumber?

Please pardon my impertinence, Madam President. Of late, you remind me of the French Queen, Marie Antoinette, who upon being told that starving French peasants had no bread, famously remarked, “let them eat cake.”

This is not the image I wish to hold. We discarded our kings and queens a long time ago. We are now a young democratic republic, having emerged from a long and brutal civil conflict. Help me shake off this image of you as Queen Antionette. Instead, please help me build a positive image of you, and your political peers, that radiates a feeling of hope, reassurance, humanity, and empathy.

I know that many are questioning the constitutional legality of your recent moves. Over a dozen cases have now been filed in the Supreme Court challenging your latest decision to dissolve Parliament and call elections ‘unconstitutional’. I don’t worry about these decisions or their constitutional implications. Even in the most mature democracies, political leaders are always up to some tricks to extend their influence. Constitutions are always being tested. Nepal is a far younger democracy—the rules haven’t yet been fully established. It should be no surprise that this kind of political instability should plague us more often.

What horrifies me is the blatant disregard for the public pain from across all the political parties. We have been in a lockdown and highly restricted environment for over a year. Many lives have been lost. Livelihoods have perished. We are more vulnerable than before. Yet, the political fighting has intensified in this crisis. Why is it that political parties are not able to set aside their differences, if only for a short time, to focus on the pandemic and the immediate crisis?         

What motivates you, Madam President? You have had an illustrious political career with a long history of struggle from the time you were a teenager. You were part of Nepal’s communist movement. You and your party colleagues spent their whole life fighting for freedom from oppression. Your Prime Minister, for instance, spent 14 years in prison. Your sacrifices, and those of your colleagues, are not to be taken lightly, and reflect a lifetime of commitment. So why is it that now that lifetime of commitment appears as no more than a ruse for a getting to power? Why is it that you and other political leaders once in power all become Queen Marie Antoinette?

What is your message of hope, Madam President? You are more than a President. You are also a mother, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend. You are an inspiration to many young people, particularly the girls and women of Nepal. What will you tell us about how you can sleep, Madam President? What will you tell us about why you’ve become Queen Marie Antionette?

The funny thing about Queen Marie Antionette is that there is no convincing evidence she ever said, “let them eat cake.” But that line became a rallying cry of the French revolution. Queen Antionette had many vices—she spent lavishly to the point of causing a financial crisis and opposed any sort of social reforms. But for all her greater vices, it was the disregard for the pain and suffering of her citizens, so aptly captured in the phrase “let them eat cake,” that stirred and sparked the French revolution.

Madam President, what is your responsibility to the pain and suffering that Nepalis feel? Maybe there is nothing you can do. The constitution limits you to a symbolic head of state, bound to the advice of the council of ministers. You could impose a medical emergency, as many believe you will do next. But I’m not thinking about all that. I am not interested in the implications of what you will decide—the political winners and losers you will create.

I write to ask you a simpler question: What good is our constitution if it cannot get the government to focus on the greatest crisis of our times?

[email protected]

The barking deers bark all night from the jungle nearby, and some dogs from a far away village mimic them. I am not describing a scene from a travel journal. It is a normal night at the village where we live now after shifting from a nearby town, Waling.

Waling is where I grew up. I have strong memories of a childhood in a small town in Nepal. I was seven when the Panchayat fell and we moved to a democracy under a constitutional monarchy. I don’t remember much of the Panchayat era except that the board at the 'Gau Panchayat' office adjacent to our house was repainted a 'Gau Vikas Samiti'. Before that repainting, the walls of the administrative building were plastered with slogans like 'Bire Chor, Desh Chod', a coarse way of demanding the king’s ouster. 

Although the Siddharth Highway was built much before I was born, electricity came to Waling much later. I remember parts of the town had electricity before we got it at our house, and the televisions at those houses were of great interest to us. Many adventures can be recounted only about the endeavors made to watch some television program or movies at one of those 'lucky' houses with both electricity and TV. I also remember the trucks parked on the highway in the town were our perfect hideaways for playing hide-and- seek. 

In the next 30 years, the small highway market has grown into a bustling town. Waling turned into a municipality in 1997, and today gets into national news quite often, mostly for the right reasons. 

This personal journey, and the transition of a small town, is representative of most towns and villages outside Kathmandu. In the past 30 years, I moved out to study and work. I went abroad to study and also worked in a foreign army, came back, worked in Kathmandu and have now decided to finally settle down in my hometown itself. For many here, and for many of my friends and acquaintances in Kathmandu too, this decision to settle in a small town is a courageous one; to some it is blatantly foolish. The social dynamics integrated in our psyche about how we look at places has Kathmandu at its center. Personally it baffles me.

Irritated by the concept of progress and development that our society has ingrained, we tried to rebel. The idea of settling in a village, into farming, is a romantic one for many city-dwellers. Many people busy in the daily grind of city life would probably say they wish to settle into a nice farm-house in the future. Fantasizing is one thing, but actually jumping into the well of death is another. Apart from the social ridicule, we face real challenges too. Although most villages are now well connected with jeep tracks, there is no regular public transport system. And in cases of health emergencies, things can get dangerous.

Poor health and education system makes the biggest contribution to en masse abandonment of our villages. But there is more to it than meets the eye. Over the years, with many half-educated 'awareness campaigns' and misguided modernization attempts aided by foreign agencies, our traditional lifestyles have been ridiculed as symbolising failure. For many youths of our generation, success has come to mean leaving the traditional lifestyle behind, moving into the capital city if possible, or to the nearby town, and building a concrete house for oneself. 

This ill-informed way of looking at success, our traditional way of life, and our culture has disoriented a full generation and left us derooted. Therefore, the way we educate our young minds today is a sad mimicry of many foreign concepts. It’s an irony that in a beautiful village surrounded by nature, we put children in a concrete room tightly packed like a cell and teach them about plants. This extreme picturization aside, without the experiential learning element in our education system, and with little regard for our traditional way of earning a living, we are preparing our future generations to be slaves of some other worlds. 

Our moving into a village from the town coincided with the pandemic’s outbreak. Many of those who were smirking at the idea initially, including my father, now appreciate the freshness of nature and the freedom of getting to produce what one wants to eat. But to depend on a mass tragedy like the pandemic to reorient people's priorities about development is tragic in itself.