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We are often told by our leaders and analysts toeing the “line” that we are on our way to pros­perity. With democracy, a federal set-up and a young demographic, there is no way to stop us from achieving our dream of a prosperous Nepal. And before you could question them how exactly these factors influence economic growth, they will be quick to add that we will become a vibrant bridge connecting India and China and benefit from their economic growth. This is all humbug.First, we are pinning our hopes on oth­ers—India and China—for our economic growth. It is no different to expecting your rich neighbor to give you money to renovate your house. You need to have money or the ability to make money yourself to get things started and if you run short of it, then your neighbor may loan you some if you ask for it. But you cannot be certain of it as your neighbor’s generosity or lack of it depends on many factors. It is the same with nation states. But we seem to forget this simple fact.

To further trick us into believing that they know what they are talking about, our leaders and scholars often invoke the trickle-down effect—that we will reap benefits from the growth of our neighbors, even if we do nothing. It’s like dreaming that part of the interest earned by your neighbor on his huge bank deposit is going to automatically seep into your account. No, that’s not going to happen. So there goes the mon­ey-will-follow-even-if-we-stand-idly-by argument. No country helps another develop without considering its own interests. If we want development, we need to bury our desire to become a bridge connecting the two and the non­sensical equidistance idealism. We need to wisely choose one of our neighbors to be our strategic partner. Then, develop­ment will likely follow.

Misguided optimism about neighbors aside, another huge impediment to our economic growth is our total disregard for the rule of law, which is a polite way of saying we are quite lax when it comes to the morality of our leaders and bureaucrats. We have come to accept bribery, embezzlement and nepotism as part and parcel of our democracy. While we may accept all these as normal, it distracts foreign investors. And without Foreign Direct Investment (FDI), a coun­try like Nepal has no way of embarking on economic growth. Since many lead­ers and analysts ether benefit or harbor dreams to benefit from the present cha­os, it is no surprise that hardly anyone is serious about upholding the rule of law.

While the prevalent narrative is that all the previous systems were feudal, unfavorable for economic growth and couldn’t manage affairs with the neigh­bors, we seem to forget we entered a new system over a decade ago. And what are the signs of development or of better things to come? Ten years is a long time during which many constructive things could have been done.

China, for example, made economic reforms in 1978 after the decade-long Cultural Revolution (1966-1976) and was bidding to host the Olympic Games in Beijing in 1998. Japan was bombed to ashes during the Second World War, but it hosted the Olympic Games in 1964. They could do so as their leaders under­stood the importance of a strategic ally or development partner and of the rule of law for their country’s development.

Although we are more than a decade into a new and “better” system, we are still dependent on aid and remittance, while forgetting the importance of major infrastructure projects. We are yet to reconstruct the fallen monuments even almost three years after the earthquake.

Yet our leaders and analysts are optimistic. They must be smoking something.

Despite so much skepticism and uncertainty, in 2017, what was almost-impossible suddenly became the rather easily possible. Nepal successfully held three tiers of elections: local, provincial and federal—a feat most Nepalis and anyone else who cared to watch were perplexed by. In a real sense, successfully conducting three elections in a year would have been a giant pat-on-your-back accomplishment for even the most developed of democ­racies. For this reason, in the eyes of history, 2017 will go down in the books as one that opened up a chapter that no one was confident was even written until we turned the page to find it was.

Perhaps what drove these elections more than anything else was an elu­sive promise of stability. The past two decades were defined by the contrary ‘political instability’, a buzzword inter­nalized by most, often as an excuse for larger state incapacity, incompe­tency, rampant corruption and poor governance. Political instability was unanimously blamed for everything by everyone. As such the dream of a state of ‘political stability’ was one that, in our collective psyche, we considered a precondition to overcome all social, economic and political evils.

The announcement of the Left Alli­ance in the run up to elections, in tan­dem with their message of stability and prosperity, really thrust the public into a mindset that saw for the first time in a good long while, a glimmer of hope. You have two major political forces, i.e. the UML and Maoist Center, put aside their differences to ‘unite in favor of stability and prosperity’. Nothing could sound better for the ravaged and beat Nepali psyche. It seemed that all at once, Nepali politics had changed in an unprecedent­ed way and wiggled in a tiny space for positive governance.

However, there are no clear signs that things are indeed changing. In fact, the forecast shows more of the same. For example, the Nepali Congress and its democratic alliance, who badly lost the elections, are still running the gov­ernment. Instead of making way, step­ping back and going through a process of introspection, Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba is happily steadfast in passing one populist (under-researched and unbudgeted) decision after the next. Albeit a caretaker government, Deuba has so far done little to bring his reign to a close and continues to act as though he has just walked into office with a fresh and popular mandate.

Meanwhile, the victors in this elec­tion are spending the majority of their time squabbling over power sharing compromises instead of focusing on a real plan to deliver on their promised ‘prosperity’. So far, no concrete plans or agendas have been set on how ‘devel­opment’ would be achieved, how these promised railways and industries will be built and sustained and how the income of average Nepalis will be three-fold over 10 years, as promised in the election manifesto. The reality is so dire that two months after already having won on the promise of stability and pros­perity, the leaders are now discussing drafting ‘plans for development’. One can only guess that most of us will have entered old age by the time the discus­sions are finalized, the plans drafted and approved and finally implemented!

Deep down there is an understanding that the promise of stability was just a coy to coax the public to relent in favor of the Left Alliance and that Leftist merg­ers are most often simple temporary opportunistic endeavors. As for the promise of prosperity, a cursory look at the UML and Maoist Center ‘plans’ or lack thereof speak volumes about the superficial and illusive nature of the idea of prosperity. Yet, the promise of both stability and prosperity will undoubted­ly be best tested in the months to come, after which that tiny glimmer of hope which was seen through the year of elections will likely be little more than a memory.

Two things I notice when I wake up—the neighborhood is unusually quiet, and the sound of rain. Rain in Kathmandu also means two things—the roads will become both dust-free and muddy, and no one will be on time for any appointment. In fact, in my experi­ence, this phenomenon is reflected across the whole of Nepal and South East Asia. Whether the roads be dusty/muddy tracks or tree-lined boulevards, Asia just slows right on down when it rains. I guess that’s because in countries like Nepal where really it doesn’t rain that often—yes, yes, there is the monsoon of course when it does for around 90 days—people just aren’t used to moving around in the wet. Being from Scotland, where it must rain 365 days a year (Google says its 265 but I’m quite sure that’s an under-estimation) we are hardened to going out in the rain, winter, spring, summer and autumn.

Meantime in Nepal, children are late for school, parents are late for work, and appointments are can­celled across the board the moment the skies open. Eventually, during the monsoon months, we do seem to get used to the idea of having to go out in the rain and unless it is a heavy downpour, Kathmandu does get moving. But should it rain ‘off-season’ so to speak, then for­get about anyone getting out of the house.

We all know the rain causes flood­ing that makes it impossible to drive or walk down some of the roads. Several times I have had to choose between walking through knee-deep water to get out of my street or stay­ing at home. Although I know what holes lurk under the water in my street, I’m in despair if I’m faced with wading through overflowing sewage and rainwater on a road less familiar.

Missing manhole covers, unex­pected collapse of the top tarmac, and newly dug holes for whatever reason can mean there are hidden traps under the water. We have all seen the footage and read the horror stories of children falling into ditch­es and sewage channels. It makes me shudder.

But if there is no reason to go out, I love winter rain. Because it reminds me of home. It’s the perfect time to huddle up with a hot drink and listen to the patter of rain on the roof. Somehow it feels ‘cozy’ even if it’s cold outside. I imagine all over the city families and groups of friends are sitting around chatting over a steaming cup of tea, a brief respite from the usual daily winter routine.

However, the summer monsoon rains are a different animal alto­gether. If you have to go out on foot, it’s impossible to wear a proper rain coat because it’s generally too hot. I have, over the years, had a variety of ponchos but why do they all leak around the neck? If a ‘hands free’ approach is required then the hood is also required. But the water always manages to snake its way in through the seam between the hood and the body of the poncho. What’s with that?

Thus, aside from when my hands are full, an umbrella is my constant companion from around March till November. The umbrella is both sun-shade and rain protection. Unfortunately, umbrellas seem to die young here. Something about Kathmandu affects the longevity of these essential items and they are all left broken, with limbs poking out and exposed, on rubbish heaps. RIP trusty friend.

For those who drive a scooter, motorbike or cycle, the situation is much worse. Avoiding pot holes and gushing sewers becomes daily routine. I’m sure helmets provide some protection from the rain and those interesting ponchos that are somehow attached to the bike come into play. But I will never get used to seeing women sitting on the back of a bike trying to keep dry under an umbrella which is being pulled this way and that by the jet stream wind.

Okay so perhaps ‘jet stream’ is a little overkill given the slow pace of traffic here, but you know what I mean. I feel sorry for those women; why do they never seem to have a rain jacket or poncho? Sometimes I want to shake their husband/son/brother and ask them why they don’t buy extra rainwear for their female passenger. Of course I also want to ask them why they don’t spend a little cash on a crash helmet too…

With provincial govern­ments coming into being in the past few days, fed­eralism is actually here. But it will be several years before all levers of devolved power structures are in place, as over 100 laws need to be written. Even in the best-case scenario—as examples from other countries suggest—it will take at least four years to fully phase-in a functioning federal structure. This waiting period may sound long and even appear frustrating, but it is in fact a perfect opportu­nity to enact sweeping reforms that do away with the dysfunction of erstwhile unitary system of governance. For clarity’s sake, let me dwell on one reform issue in each column.

Health, first. Under the devolved power arrangement in the new constitution, delivery of basic health services falls under the jurisdiction of the local gov­ernment. The provincial govern­ment, meanwhile, is responsible for overall health services—of course, leaving aside broader national policies and standards to the federal government. In the­ory, the provincial government is free to shape health policies within its jurisdiction so long as it complies with the broad contours of national policy.

But in reality, health system requires an integrated approach and should not be bracketed into different boxes with competing jurisdiction. Righting the wrongs of the current health system that perpetuates unequal treatment and preys upon patients’ vulner­ability requires substantial poli­cy reforms at the central level—backed by strict implementation and monitoring at the provincial and local levels.

The problem with Nepal’s health system is obvious: public health system suffers from short­ages of hospital beds in urban areas, while in rural areas there are inadequate doctors and shortfall of essential medicines and diagnostic facilities. There are also no financing priorities for different needs of different areas and sometimes global agenda (malaria and TB eradication, for instance) take precedence over local needs. This is the reason hospitals serving the Tharu com­munities, for example, have no stocks of drugs to treat sickle cell anemia—a common condition in this community.

Despite spending millions on public health system every year—roughly Rs 41 billion this year—poor patients still forced to seek basic services in the private system. That puts the per capita government health spending at approximately Rs 3,000 a year. But this number belies the much higher out-of- pocket spending by individuals. A complicated pregnancy can cost a family, on an average, half a million rupees in a private hospital.

Private health system is over­priced, highly exploitative and under-regulated. Anecdotal evidence points to a disturbing exploitation.

Last year, an acquaintance developed typhoid fever. Upon visiting Patan Hospital, she was referred to intensive care unit (ICU) in other hospitals, as there was no empty ICU bed in Patan Hospital. She ended up being admitted at a nearby pri­vate hospital. Five days later she was slapped with a bill of over Rs 100,000, including medicines. She was moved to the general ward after the hospital adminis­tration sensed she might not be able to pay.

Two days after being dis­charged, the fever came back, and she had to be rushed back to another private hospital. She came home after spending anoth­er Rs 35,000 and three days in treatment. In total, she spent a year’s worth of earning, not sav­ing, for the treatment of just one illness. That is a representative picture of our health system, which disproportionately affects the poor.

To address the problem in our health system, the incoming gov­ernment will have to revisit the flawed fundamentals while insti­tuting a mechanism to strictly monitor health services—both public and private. Instead of hav­ing hundreds of scattered health schemes, it should raise the cov­erage amount of the government insurance scheme and simultane­ously curb the runaway private healthcare costs.

Conditions have to be creat­ed such that government issued health insurance card is accred­ited in private hospitals so that patients aren’t refused treatment or forced out of hospital before the completion of treatment.

One of the signs of development is that poor families in the coun­try do not have to take out big loans to take care of their sick. I hope the incoming government with its agenda of shared prosper­ity will pay heed to this cause of recurring poverty.

The author is a Kathmandu-based journalist who tweets @johnparajuli