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The recent government decision to allow foreign direct investment in agriculture is a bold step. It will boost competition in otherwise moribund sector. Although the decision has been criticized in some quarters, as the inflow of foreign investment and technology will supposedly marginalize domestic investors, it was nonetheless essential in order to break the cycle of low investment and cultivation of sub-standard products in agriculture.

The business community has objected on the ground that the Foreign Investment and Technology Transfer Act (FITTA) 2019 bars foreign investment in agriculture. The council of ministers made the decision by going against the act. You could argue that this represents a massive breach of standard procedure in policy-adoption in a sector that touches the lives and livelihoods of nearly 70 percent of the national population. This may be true. But with the parliament under heavy influence of lobbyists and industrialists, there really seemed no other way out.

Foreign investment in agriculture will not negatively impact farmers. They will rather get better prices for their products in competitive markets. The hardship will rather be felt by the industrialists who have been exploiting both farmers and consumers without being accountable for their sub-standard products that are costly too. On one hand, farmers are not getting fair prices for their products with domestic industrialists forming cartels to buy farmers’ products. On the other, domestic industries do not produce quality products at competitive prices for consumers.

Nepal’s agriculture has always been stunted in the absence of outside disruption. The Agriculture Development Strategy (2015-2035) is being implemented after the completion of the implementation of the previous Agriculture Perspective Plan or APP (1995-2015). But there have been no meaningful changes in farmers’ lives or the way they do agriculture in all this time. The reason again is lack of innovation. The sector’s condition is not much different to what it was in 1995 when the government started implementing the APP. Farmers have not seen any meaningful changes in their lives in the past 25 years.  

Allowing foreign investment in agriculture was discussed during the formulation of the new FITTA in 2019. But a parliamentary committee directive ended that discussion. The directive was the direct result of the political economy of bill drafting and interest-groups’ access and influence in the process. The same group of traders and businessmen that blocked the FITTA is against welcoming foreign investment in agriculture.

The government decision applies only to export-oriented items. It will enhance the ability of our agri-based industry and support those willing to explore global markets and bring more investment. Consumers at home can enjoy export-quality products and farmers get better prices. The only group that will be hurt is a coterie of businesspersons who are holding the entire sector hostage by imposing a monopoly on prices and quality of agricultural products.

Again, the cabinet may not have gone by the book. But this decision made in public interest was both bold and right. We have to differentiate between real farmers and domestic industrialists while making policy decisions. The Federation of Nepalese Chambers of Commerce and Industries (FNCCI) and other associations have objected. But the FNCCI and likeminded associations do not necessarily speak in favor of common folks. Let’s not forget these are the same people who forced sugarcane farmers to beg for the payment of their dues.  

A federal structure with central, provincial, and local governments was to be the core basis of a new Nepal. But although it was meant to devolve decision-making to the local level, federalism has been one of the most disappointing and unrealized aspect of Nepal’s political transition. Instead of genuine devolution, federalism is emerging as a top-down conduit for managing disbursements to the local level.

Authority remains vested in the center. The constitution does devolve authority and responsibility to provinces and local entities. In practice, however, they are being structured to manage government disbursements and expenditures. Without meaningful emphasis on building revenue sources for local governments, federalism in Nepal will remain an empty promise.

Several promising new acts, such as the Local Government Operations Act 2074, delegate spheres of authority but do little to fiscally empower provinces and local entities to deliver on their responsibilities. Local governments remain entirely dependent on the center’s generosity.

Federalism in Nepal was a direct result of the Maoist movement. During constitution-making, the Maoist leadership strategically protected the space for federalism. Recognizing that federalism would be a contested issue, they drew the debate towards provinces—how many should there be, their names and geography.

While that debate on provinces raged, Nepal’s constitution quietly established 753 highly empowered local entities. These local entities, more than provincial authorities, represent the genuine basis for federalism in Nepal. The constitution combined federalism with decentralization, returning Nepal to its original state with many diverse and different entities before a king had unified them under one central authority.

Why is that Nepal’s vision of federalism and decentralization confined to paper, lacking the thrust to translate its principles into practice? Because the Maoist uprising only provided the political movement to establish a federal decentralized structure. An economic revolution is needed to realize it.  

The fight for genuine federalism represents the next phase in Nepal’s political transition—an economic revolution that will dismantle the concentration of wealth at the center, paving the way for genuine fiscal federalism and decentralization. Whether the Maoists will reinvent themselves to lead this charge, or a new alignment of forces will emerge, is hard to say.

Kathmandu, where the wealth and authority are most concentrated, is the battle ground. Much like the capture of Kathmandu was the final piece in the unification of Nepal centuries ago, the dismantling of Kathmandu’s economic stranglehold is now the final piece in the genuine decentralization of Nepal.

For evidence, start by looking at land prices in Kathmandu. Fuelled by access to cash, debt financing, lack of alternative investments, and short-term speculative transactions, Kathmandu’s economy sits on a giant asset bubble. Return on housing or commercial assets are a miniscule fraction of the underlying land value.

To visualize Kathmandu’s asset bubble, contrast the hustle and bustle of everyday life in the city with the quietness that prevails during Dashain and Tihar. Kathmandu is deserted then not because everyone is quietly celebrating at home. It is because most have left Kathmandu to celebrate the holidays with their families in other cities, towns, and villages around Nepal.

What would Kathmandu’s land and real estate asset prices be if the situation during Dashain and Tihar were normal everyday life? This is what genuine federalism would do to Kathmandu—suck out the pressure on land and burst its asset bubble.

The federal capital’s economy thrives by sucking in remittances, export earnings and foreign aid, before turning them around to fuel consumption across Nepal. As a trading, financial and administrative hub, it has very little productive capacity of its own—unlike other towns and cities in Nepal that draw in resources from surrounding areas and add some value.

Unlike other towns and cities, Kathmandu’s value comes entirely from its administrative positioning as the central hub through which everything must pass. That value is now under threat. Genuine federalism will erode Kathmandu’s unchallenged administrative position as the hub through which all earnings and consumption must pass.

Why does genuine federalism in Nepal require an economic revolution? Because genuine federalism will burst Kathmandu’s asset bubble. The impact will be felt largely by Kathmandu’s wealthy asset owners, though the economic fallout may be broader. At the same time, wealthy asset owners have too much at stake to let the asset bubble burst.

The parties to the conflict have now taken their positions. Nepal’s economic revolution is brewing.

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Niranjan Koirala or Niru Da as he was fondly called by his loved ones, passed away on the morning of January 3, Tuesday, at Max Hospital, New Delhi. He was 75.

Born to Keshav Koirala and Nona Koirala in Biratnagar, he studied in St. Xavier’s Patna for a few years and then completed his schooling at Adarsh Vidyalaya in Biratnagar. He then did his Masters in Political Science from Banaras Hindu University, followed by another Masters in the same subject from the University of California, Berkeley. Following this, he completed a course in hospitality management from Delhi and was a part of the hospitality sector for 20 years. He was also an adviser to a former Nepali minister of tourism in the 1990s. From his time in the ministry, Niru Baba, as I liked to call him, was particularly proud of his role in getting Italian filmmaker Bernardo Bertolucci a permit to film his movie 'Little Buddha' (1993) in Nepal.   

A member of the illustrious Koirala family—he is the elder brother of Nepali Congress central committee member Shekhar Koirala—Niru Baba also played a prominent role in the reestablishment of democracy in 1990.

Although he lost his first wife Santosh in the fatal Thai Air crash near Kathmandu in 1992 and his second wife Ila Dalmia—whom I met a couple of times when I was a kid—to cancer in 2003, he never stopped to live and love life to the fullest.

My first memory of Niru Baba was at his house in Delhi. As his profession suggested, he was a very hospitable man, and hosting people for meals was something he enjoyed a lot. He was passionate about reading and writing, and the study in his house exemplified his interests perfectly. He had a big garden at home and could be found basking in the afternoon sun in winters, sometimes just enjoying a cup of coffee or displaying produces from his garden.

He was known for his peculiar passions. He had a pet monkey which he had brought to Delhi from Kathmandu. To my fascination, he had also built a tree house for the pet. Such were the things that gave him real happiness. 

A travel enthusiast, he had travelled all over the world, covering the remotest of places such as Antarctica and Upper Mustang. Every winter he would travel and spend time in the Western Ghats of India to escape the treacherous Delhi winter.

He was a progressive man and technologically savvy. I remember an instance in Kathmandu where he was a bit jittery as he could not figure out the Wi-Fi password. He always mingled with the younger generation, trying to see things from their perspectives, broadening his as well as their horizons.

I still have fond memories of our last meeting on the 10th of February 2020 where we were analyzing in great detail the result of Delhi Assembly Elections. He was knowledgeable in a wide array of things from religion, politics, travel to art, culture to cuisine. A vehement critic of crony capitalism and propounder of rural culture and ethos, one could see him travel and cherish the rural lifestyle.

In the end I would like to quote two literary authors who I think had a great impact in his life and the essence of these could be seen in the life he lived. The first one is Rabindranath Tagore who says, “The tendency of mind is economical, it loves to form habits and move in grooves which save it the trouble of thinking anew at each of its steps. Ideals once formed make the mind lazy. It becomes afraid to risk its acquisitions in fresh endeavors. It tries to enjoy complete security by shutting up its belongings behind fortifications of habits. But this is really shutting oneself up from the fullest enjoyment of one's own possessions. It is miserliness. The living ideals must not lose their touch with the growing and changing life. Their real freedom is not within the boundaries of Security, but in the highroad of adventures, full of the risk of new experiences.”

The second one is a poem by W.H. Davies

“What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.”

Goodbye Niru Baba, I will miss you.

Niranjan Koirala was the author's uncle

The last day of the year that passed, December 31, was special for spiritual seekers. The followers of Ramana Maharshi celebrated 141^ST Jayanti (birth anniversary) of one of the greatest Indian mystics of the past century. Maharshi [great sage] was born on a night earlier, December 30, in the year 1879, near the south Indian town of Madurai as Venkataraman Iyer. Later his devotees started calling him Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharsi.

Ramana is best remembered and revered for his teaching of self-inquiry, in the form of “Who am I”. The questioning is done consistently to such a degree that the question vanishes and everything the “I” associates itself with is dropped, leaving behind the bare, naked I-ness. And this I, in its bare starkness, finds itself no different to the un-manifest basis of all creation—or the Self. Ramana referred to this Self as God or Shiva or Brahma, as the occasion required. In that revelation of the Self, the egoist concept of individual and separate “I” dissolves and you are put on the path of moksha (liberation) or ultimate union with the Self.

But of course, it cannot happen that simply. And this inquiry is not that easy. When visitors came to see him, Ramana tried to help them have a glimpse of their true Self through silent transmission. He just glanced at them with a compassionate gaze, which brought about subtle spiritual changes in them. Visitors would get their questions answered, their thirst quenched, their confusions cleared in his presence. No words were needed. But when prompted, he would give minimal teachings. Sometimes, his caretakers would finger-count the words he spoke in a day. Those few words were remarkably succinct and profound.

“When he chose to answer questions, each sentence was like a text from the Upanishad, so full of meaning that it required calm, silent pondering over in order to be understood fully,” writes Professor T.M.P. Mahadevan of Madras University.

The outer manifestation of Ramana's silence was an absence of speech. But its real nature was the stillness and calm of the mind that was constantly manifest in his meditation as well as his worldly chores, even when meeting people. He said his real teaching was silence, words were just pointers. Teaching through words was a mundane and inferior act for the illumined sage.

Ramana settled at Arunachala, the hill of Tiruvannamalai in Tamil Nadu, for the rest of his life after leaving home at 17. The hill was not just a hill, it was his Shiva itself as he referred to it as Arunachala Shiva. Three incidents before his leaving home are noteworthy. When he was 16, a visiting relative told him he was coming from Arunachala. The word worked like a magic spell on the young Ramana, indicating a past-life association. Upon knowing that Arunachala was a real place and it was called Tiruvannamalai, his future course was set. Then he found a book, Periyapuranam, which chronicled the life stories of sixty-three exemplary saints. Their tales of renunciation had an overpowering effect on Ramana, and he started envisioning a similar life for himself.

When he was few months to 17, he entered a death experience. One afternoon he was sitting in his room, his health perfect, but he suddenly felt like dying. He lied down on the floor and welcomed death, questioning what is it that dies. He felt his physical body dying, but his consciousness was very much alive. He had an extraordinary experience of everything about him dissolving except his real Self. Few weeks later, he left home for good.

People coming in his proximity felt liberated. Sometimes, spiritually uplifted gurus may still have a good stock of ahamkara (ego) in them. In their presence, one may feel dwarfed or embarrassed. But never with the egoless Ramana. Anybody coming close to him was bound to be filled with awe for his simplicity and compassion. Face to Face with Sri Ramana Maharshi, a collection of personal accounts by 202 well-known people, has plenty of testimonies to this fact.

“His [Ramana’s] face is full of inspiration, unearthly serenity and power, of infinite kindness and understanding,” writes M. Sudouski (Mouni Sadhu), a Polish-Australian author. “His eyes glow with a perfect understanding of all the weaknesses, defects and inner difficulties of those who look into them. They had much sympathy, wisdom and understanding. An incredible loving kindness radiated from them.”

“Being near the Maharshi one feels the presence of God–no arguments or proofs are necessary. The greatest miracle is the Maharshi himself,” concludes Sudouski.