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Nepal’s democratic journey over the past seven decades has been neither linear nor easy. From autocracy to democracy, from monarchy to constitutional monarchy, from civil conflict to republican federalism—and four constitutions between them—the country has continuously reinvented its political system in search of legitimacy, inclusion, and stability. Though all the constitutions marked their own milestone, the 2015 constitution was a historic milestone by institutionalizing inclusion, secularism, federalism, and republicanism, forethought to be correcting centuries of political exclusion and autocracy. Yet two decades later, a hard truth confronts us: Nepal has achieved representation, but not governance stability; inclusion, but not delivery.

The frustration is most visible among Nepal’s youth especially after the Sept 8 uprising. Their demand is not ideological. It is practical and the voices of the people. The Nepali people seek a state that governs competently, delivers services, and plans beyond electoral cycles. The message is unmistakable: representation alone is no longer enough.

Democracy isn’t the problem

Nepal’s political instability is not a failure of democracy itself, but of its institutional design. Since Nepal became a federal republic in 2008, it has seen significant political instability, revealing around 13 to 14 different governments formed by shifting coalitions, none completing a full five-year term, highlighting frequent leadership changes, alliance breakdowns, coalition fragility, and executive paralysis. Prime Ministers rise and fall not due to electoral verdicts, but due to internal party bargaining, shifting alliances determined more on expanding autocratic behaviour for power rather than people’s need and national priorities. Ministers are often selected for loyalty rather than competence. Parliament is crowded yet weak, while oversight institutions are politicized.

This instability has damaged Nepal’s credibility—both domestically and internationally. Policy continuity is weak, capital expenditure remains chronically low, and administrative morale has eroded. In such an environment, inclusion risks becoming symbolic rather than transformative.

The answer, however, is not authoritarian nostalgia nor democratic rollback. Nepal does not need less democracy; it needs better-designed democracy.

A hybrid governance model

Nepal must now transition from a transitional constitution to a performance-oriented democratic state. This requires a hybrid governance model—one that preserves parliamentary accountability while ensuring executive stability and professional administration.

First, Nepal should consider a fixed-term Prime Minister, elected by Parliament for a full five years and insulated from premature no-confidence motions except under extraordinary constitutional circumstances. Such a provision would allow governments to govern, not merely survive. To reinforce neutrality, the Prime Minister should relinquish party office upon election, separating state leadership from factional control.

Second, executive professionalism must be restored through a professional cabinet. Ministers should be appointed from outside Parliament—drawn from academia, civil service, business, public policy, and national security. This is neither radical nor undemocratic; it is practiced in many parliamentary democracies. By breaking patronage networks, Nepal can replace political loyalty with performance accountability.

Third, Nepal’s legislature must be leaner and more effective. A unicameral Parliament of 165 representatives comprising the current First Past the Post members would be better suited for lawmaking and oversight than today’s bloated bicameral structure. Fewer legislators, properly resourced committees, and stronger oversight would enhance both efficiency and public trust.

Fourth, the Head of State should remain ceremonial but constitutional—a neutral guardian of constitutional balance, elected through an electoral college, not a political competitor.

Finally, Nepal should revisit its federal design. A Union model of administration—preserving strong local governments while eliminating redundant provincial layers—could deliver services more efficiently. Countries like Japan and France demonstrate that decentralization does not require multiple political tiers; it requires empowered local administration and fiscal clarity. 

It would install institutional reinforcement by, first, strengthening Parliamentary Committees—particularly the Public Accounts Committee, the National Security Committee, and an independent Ethics Committee. Second, it would uphold judicial independence through transparent, merit-based appointments to constitutional bodies. Finally, it would introduce clear performance metrics and enforceable ethics codes across the civil service to ensure professionalism, accountability, and public trust.

The PR debate

As Nepal’s interim government, Election Commission, and political parties move toward finalizing a modality for proportional representation (PR), it is time to pause and ask a difficult but necessary question and confront another uncomfortable reality: Has PR, in its current form, strengthened Nepali democracy—or weakened it?

PR was introduced to correct exclusion—and it succeeded in the purpose. Women, Dalits, indigenous nationalities, Madhesis and minorities—limited in state power—gained more visibility in Parliament.

But today, PR increasingly produces representation without accountability, legitimacy without competition, and inclusion without voter consent.

Without internal party democracy, PR becomes a tool of patronage, Members of Parliament (MP) enter the Parliament not through public trust, but through party lists—rewarding loyalty over leadership, not downward to voters, proximity over performance. Inclusion turns symbolic, and democracy thins out. The result is a Legislature where presence is inclusive, but power remains centralized and insulated. This is not an argument against inclusion. It is an argument against unaccountable inclusion.

Comparative democracies offer a clear lesson. In countries such as Germany and New Zealand, PR functions because political parties are internally democratic, transparent, and institutionally disciplined. Party lists are regulated, leadership is accountable, and institutions enforce standards. The result is legitimacy without competition, inclusion without voter choice. Nepal adopted the mechanism—but not the safeguards.

A smarter path forward is not abandoning inclusion, but embedding it directly into the electoral contest. Instead of allocating representation through party lists, Nepal should require political parties to meet mandatory, percentage-based inclusion thresholds within the 165 First-Past-The-Post (FPTP) seats. Let women, Dalits, indigenous nationalities, Madhesis, and minorities contest, campaign, and win elections through political party’s nominations. This approach would ensure that inclusion is not a nomination—but a mandate.

It would move our democracy: From nomination to election; from protection to participation; from symbolism to legitimacy. Such a reform would also justify reducing Parliament from 275 members to 165—making it leaner, more accountable, and directly answerable to the people.

Inclusion must mature as a Parliament that represents Nepal’s future must be chosen by its people—especially its youth. Democracy deepens when every MP knows they owe their seat to voters, not party headquarters. Inclusion is not a favor granted by elites. It is a right—earned through votes.

Nepal can no longer postpone this debate. A smarter Parliament begins when every MP is directly accountable to the people.

A safer path: Inclusion thru polls

The solution is not abandoning inclusion. That would be both unjust and politically destabilizing. The solution is to embed inclusion directly within the 165 First-Past-the-Post (FPTP) seats.

Political parties should be legally required to allocate candidates in percentage terms—ensuring women, Dalits, Indigenous nationalities, Madhesis, and minorities contest elections across constituencies. Let inclusion be achieved through ballots, not appointments.

This approach preserves diversity while restoring accountability. Candidates must campaign, engage voters, and win mandates. MPs gain legitimacy not from party lists, but from public trust.

Inclusion must evolve: from nomination to election, from protection to participation, from symbolism to legitimacy.

A Parliament that claims to represent Nepal’s future—especially its youth—must be chosen by the people.

Why this moment matters

Nepal stands at a strategic crossroads. Economic vulnerability, demographic change, geopolitical pressure, and public disillusionment converge at a moment when incremental tinkering is no longer enough. Governance reform is not a technical exercise; it is a national necessity.

Reducing Parliament from 275 to 165 members, streamlining administration, professionalizing the executive, and reforming PR together form a coherent strategy: stability with inclusion, authority with accountability, and democracy with delivery.

Conclusion: From transition to coherence

Nepal’s credibility will ultimately be measured not by who governs, but by how the state performs. A democracy locked in perpetual transition cannot fulfill the aspirations of a young, ambitious nation.

The task ahead is to refine Nepal’s democratic architecture—without abandoning its inclusive spirit. A hybrid model that is stable in structure, professional in operation, and accountable in spirit offers a pathway out of political survival and toward strategic coherence.

This is not a debate Nepal can afford to postpone. Inclusion is not a favor. It is a right—earned through votes.

The expected outcomes arrive for a structural stability that enables long-term policy continuity. Second is professionalism over patronage in executive decision-making. Third is the fiscal efficiency through reduced bureaucracy and institutional duplication. Finally, to renewed public trust and strengthened diplomatic confidence in Nepal’s governance integrity.

The concept ca be implemented through a roadmap. Firstly, by convening a National Governance Reform Dialogue for Constitutional reforms to build consensus and draft reform principles. Secondly by establishing a Constitutional Review Taskforce to recommend structural and procedural reforms. Lastly by adopting a Governance Compact 2040—a multi-party and civic commitment prioritizing stability, merit, and accountability as national objectives.

Nepal’s future credibility rests not on who rules, but on how it governs. By embracing a hybrid model—stable in structure, professional in operation, and accountable in spirit—the country can move decisively from perpetual transition to coherent, credible democracy.

The author is Major General (Retd) and a strategic affairs analyst based in Kathmandu. He writes on South Asian geopolitics, national security, and the intersection of governance, diplomacy, and stability

Soil erosion and slope instability have long been major challenges in Nepal. The country’s steep topography, intense rainfall, and fragile geological conditions contribute to frequent landslides, erosion, debris flows, rockfalls, riverbank cutting, and slope failures. Human activities within the natural environment have further aggravated these problems, often triggering mass movements that lead to slope instability. As a result, Nepal has suffered significant losses of life, property, and infrastructure, particularly roads and bridges.

The natural ground gradually loses its initial strength and becomes unstable due to both natural and human-induced activities. Natural processes include landslides, mass movement, soil erosion, and the slow weathering of rocks. Human-induced activities include blasting in surrounding areas; construction of roads, dams, and high-rise structures that generate ground vibrations; haphazard cut-and-fill operations on otherwise stable ground; and the addition of excessive loads on soil masses. From a soil protection perspective, civil engineering structures are often constructed to protect unstable soil from weathering. However, building such structures is not always feasible or cost-effective.

As an alternative or complementary approach, living plants are systematically planted using standard methods to gradually improve soil strength over time—either alongside or independent of civil engineering structures. This approach is known as bio-engineering. Large-scale civil engineering solutions are often expensive and sometimes socially unacceptable. Bio-engineering, as a low-cost slope stabilization technique, offers an efficient alternative for controlling shallow-seated slope failures. In Nepal, which has active geomorphology, steep mountain slopes, intense rainfall, and limited economic resources, bio-engineering plays a particularly important role and should be more widely adopted.

Bio-engineering refers to the partial or complete use of living vegetation, with or without civil engineering structures, to stabilize soil in its natural setting. The proportion of vegetation to civil structures depends on site-specific conditions and engineering requirements. The core principle of bio-engineering is to provide initial support through civil structures, where necessary, while allowing vegetation to progressively strengthen the soil mass. Over time, as vegetation matures, the contribution of civil engineering structures becomes minimal, with the overall stability largely maintained by plant root systems.

It must be emphasized that bio-engineering cannot entirely replace civil engineering structures in terms of strength, economy, or durability. Instead, bio-engineering requires appropriate support from civil structures depending on site conditions. However, bio-engineering is more flexible, environmentally adaptable, and resilient to variable loads than rigid civil structures. It is therefore particularly effective for small-scale sediment control on steep slopes, habitat restoration projects, and landslide mitigation in seismic regions. Studies have shown that vetiver grass is one of the most effective bio-engineering plants when compared to other vegetation types. This article focuses on the valuable bio-engineering plant known as vetiver grass.

Nepal’s first application of bio-engineering dates back to 1980 during the Dharan–Dhankuta road project, where it was used to protect roadside slopes.

Typical bio-engineering applications in Nepal include soil bio-engineering at Krishna Bhir, bio-terracing along roadsides, bio-engineering measures along the Dipayal–Mellekh road, roadside bio-engineering on the Muglin–Narayanghat road, the Dhangadi–Dadeldhura section, and slopes in Dhankuta, among others.

Vetiver grass is an inexpensive, fast-growing, and highly versatile plant capable of withstanding a wide range of environmental conditions. Since the 1980s, the World Bank has promoted vetiver grass for preventing landslides and soil erosion through slope stabilization. As a vegetation-based system, vetiver is environmentally beneficial from the outset. Its exceptionally long and dense root system reinforces soil and makes it highly resistant to erosion caused by high-velocity water flow. The deep and rapidly developing roots also provide excellent drought tolerance, making vetiver suitable for stabilizing steep slopes.

Vetiver can withstand extreme weather conditions, including prolonged droughts, flooding, submergence, and temperature variations ranging from –14°C to 55°C. It also shows high tolerance to soil acidity, salinity, and acid sulfate conditions, outperforming many conventional vegetation types. Moreover, vetiver can regenerate once adverse conditions are removed.

Vetiver is widely used to consolidate cut slopes, primarily by reducing erosion caused by surface runoff that would otherwise damage downslope areas. It effectively prevents shallow surface failures, thereby reducing the likelihood of deeper slope failures. Even in rare cases where deep failures occur, vetiver helps reduce the volume and velocity of sliding material. Additionally, it preserves the natural and aesthetic character of road corridors.

In Nepal, bio-engineering has long been practiced for erosion control along riverbanks, unstable retaining structures, sloping terrain, road batters, and agricultural land protection. Native species such as bamboo, kans (wild sugarcane), kush (halfa grass), amriso (broom grass), and khayar (black catechu), often combined with non-living materials like wood and stone, have traditionally been used. However, due to limited scientific understanding of bio-engineering principles and applications, its use in infrastructure development remained limited until conventional civil engineering structures proved inadequate.

Vetiver systems can also be effectively combined with conventional structural measures such as retaining walls, rock protection, and concrete riprap. For example, vetiver hedgerows may protect the upper portion of a slope while civil engineering structures reinforce the lower section. Key characteristics—such as tolerance to temperature extremes, rapid root growth, deep anchorage, low cost, longevity, high survival rate, and minimal maintenance—make vetiver one of the most successful bio-engineering plants in comparative assessments.

Comparative studies consistently show vetiver to be superior to many other bio-engineered vegetation types. Its suitability for steep slopes highlights its strong potential for application along hill roads in Nepal. In conclusion, multiple studies demonstrate that the use of vetiver grass on slopes has significantly enhanced bio-engineering practices in Nepal and holds great promise for future slope stabilization efforts.

Let’s admit it. As parents and educators, we spend a lot of time worrying about children’s safety. Every scrape, fall, or bump feels like a risk to be managed. And yet, those very experiences are often the ones that teach children courage, judgment, and resilience. Risky play is not reckless. It is thrilling and exciting, engaging children with uncertainty and challenge while allowing them to test their limits and learn from minor failures.

During my years as an educator, and in my interactions with parents and fellow educators, I have found that most adults trace their happiest childhood memories not to a worksheet or a screen, but to moments of play, often outdoors, that carry a hint of danger. Climbing trees without knowing how high was too high. Racing bicycles down uneven roads. Exploring the long way to a friend’s house, heart pounding with both excitement and uncertainty. These moments were thrilling not because they were reckless, but because they demanded judgment, courage, and trust in oneself.

This type of play once formed a natural part of childhood. Today, those experiences are quietly disappearing from children’s lives. Across the 1980s and 1990s, a global cultural shift moved parenting toward curating a childhood that has become increasingly supervised, structured, and risk-averse.

The shift did not happen without reason. Traffic increased. Urban spaces changed. Parental anxiety rose alongside social and legal pressures. Notably, what has changed is not only how much freedom children have, but also how adults interpret injury itself. A scraped knee, a fall, or a bump was once seen as an expected part of growing up. Today, the same incident is often viewed as a failure of supervision or care. Injury, even minor, is increasingly unacceptable. Risk is equated with danger, and danger is expected to be eliminated.

Yet risk and hazard are not the same. A hazard is something a child cannot reasonably see or assess. Risk, by contrast, is visible and negotiable. It allows children to make judgments, feel fear, adjust behavior, and learn limits. Removing all risk in the name of safety removes the opportunity for children to develop the very skills that help them stay safe.

In Nepal, as in many other contexts, parents are increasingly fear-driven, hyper-cautious, and intolerant of accidents, particularly in the care of someone other than themselves. Schools, responding to this fear, are pushed to design environments that are “risk-proof.” Yet in making childhood safer, we may be stripping it of something essential.

Risky play is thrilling and exciting, involving uncertainty and the possibility of manageable dangers. It includes climbing to heights, moving at speed and impacts, rough-and-tumble play, exploring spaces where children might get temporarily lost, using tools considered dangerous, interacting with elements like water or fire under supervision, taking chances in unfamiliar situations, and even watching other children take risks. This last form, called vicarious risky play, lets more cautious children engage cognitively with risk without direct participation. 

A growing body of research shows that risky play supports the development of executive function, emotional regulation, risk assessment, and resilience. Studies led by researchers such as Ellen Beate Sandseter in Norway and Mariana Brussoni in Canada have found that children who engage in risky play show lower levels of anxiety, better ability to manage fear, and stronger problem-solving skills. Large-scale reviews indicate that while risky play may result in minor injuries like scrapes or bruises, it does not increase the likelihood of serious injury.

In fact, the opposite may be true. Children who are denied opportunities to assess and manage risk early often lack the skills to do so later. Risk competence is built gradually, through repeated exposure to uncertainty, decision-making, and recovery from mistakes. Risky play also fosters emotional growth. When children test their limits, feel fear, and then realize they can cope, they build resilience. They learn that discomfort is temporary and manageable. These lessons are foundational for mental health.

This is especially relevant today, as rates of childhood anxiety and emotional distress continue to rise globally. Research suggests that avoiding risk may actually increase fear, as children never develop the confidence that comes from facing and overcoming challenges. Risky play offers children a safe space to practice handling uncertainty, something life will inevitably demand of them. We must allow children to experience uncertainty, not because it is comfortable for us, but because it is essential for them.

The question is no longer whether risky play is beneficial. Research has answered that. The question is whether parents and educators are willing to confront their fears and trust children’s own capacity and appetite for challenges to guide the risks they take. Implementing risky play is not simple, especially in school settings. One accident, even a minor one, can quickly lead to questions of blame or legal complications. Under such pressure, the instinct to remove all risk feels logical. I have personally established and run a school for almost two decades, and even as an educator who understands the importance of risky play, I struggle with confidence in integrating it. This tension is real, and it cannot be ignored.

Childhood was never meant to be perfectly safe. It was meant to be deeply formative. The goal is to keep it as safe as needed, not as safe as possible. So, I leave you with a question: can we create a culture, at home and in schools, that values children’s ability to navigate uncertainty, while still protecting them from genuine hazards? Can we truly normalize risky play and allow children to grow through the very challenges we often fear?

Many people may have heard the term PCOS, which stands for Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, although its exact cause is still not fully understood. Today, PCOS is recognized as the most common hormonal and metabolic disorder affecting women of reproductive age, impacting 6-20 percent of women worldwide. PCOS is mainly characterized by high levels of male hormone (androgens) in women, irregular or absent ovulation, and the presence of multiple small cysts in the ovaries, which can be detected through ultrasound.

Originally described in 1935 as Stein-Leventhal Syndrome, PCOS was once viewed only as a reproductive problem, causing missed periods, irregular menstruation, and difficulty in becoming pregnant. However, decades of research have revealed that PCOS affects far more than fertility. It is now known to be a serious whole-body condition, closely linked to weight gain, abdominal obesity, high blood pressure, abnormal cholesterol levels, insulin resistance, and chronic low-grade inflammation—all of which significantly increase the risk of diabetes and heart disease.

The most widely used diagnostic method for PCOS is the Rotterdam criteria, which requires the presence of at least two of the following: excess male hormones, irregular ovulation, and polycystic ovaries.

In Nepal, limited studies indicate that about 5-7 percent of women aged 20-30 are diagnosed with PCOS during medical checkups, while data on other age groups remain scarce. Unfortunately, public awareness of the condition is still very low, and access to reliable diagnostic services is limited. As a result, many women are diagnosed only when they seek medical help for infertility. Once pregnancy is achieved, follow-up care often ends, even though the health risks associated with PCOS continue throughout a woman’s life.

What is most concerning is that long-term exposure to high androgen levels in women with PCOS can lead to serious metabolic health problems over time. Emerging research also suggests that these effects may even influence the health of children born to mothers with PCOS, highlighting the need for further studies.

PCOS is therefore not just a fertility issue; it is a lifelong health condition that requires early diagnosis, continuous care, and greater public awareness to protect the long-term health of women and future generations.