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The maxim that democracy should not collapse even if the parliament collapses is the essence of a democratic system worth its name. This makes all the more sense at a time when Nepal’s political transition has reached a strange turning point yet again. There was no dearth of people, who expected the dissolution of the House of Representatives, the lower chamber of the bicameral parliament, to give the country caught in a crisis situation a new direction. Contrary to their expectations, Nepal finds herself trapped in a parliamentary paradox where the parliament is simultaneously “in existence” and “non-existent.”

Four ‘constitutional figures’ stand at the center of this paradox or, say, constitutional crisis:

• The Prime Minister, who is not a member of the parliament,
• The Speaker, who continues to hold office even after the dissolution of the House of Representatives
• The National Assembly, the upper chamber of the parliament, is still active, and
• The President, who is constitutionally a part of the parliament, remains in power

All these four figures represent the unstable and constitutionally complex political situation of Nepal.

Government sans parliament

President Ramchandra Paudel, while appointing Sushila Karki as the Prime Minister of the Interim Council of Ministers on Sept 12 as per Article 61(4) of the Constitution, has relied on the provisions of the existing Constitution while setting a deadline of six months for holding elections to the House of Representatives. According to the said provision, the Prime Minister can remain in office for a maximum of six months even if he is not a member of Parliament. However, in the current political situation, that deadline has become more of a political issue than a legal one.

In order to address the peculiar and extraordinary political situation that has emerged in the country and to respectfully address the aspirations and expectations for change expressed by the current young generation, the President has appointed Sushila Karki as the Head of the Interim Government after necessary consultations and discussions with various political parties and stakeholders. This decision has been taken as an attempt to lead the country towards stability on the constitutional path and end the current political deadlock. 

Prime Minister Karki was appointed in the unusual situation arising from the current political crisis, dissolution of Parliament, and lack of executive leadership, in response to the demands for political reform and change that emerged after the GenZ movement of Sept 8-9. The interim government has been formed in accordance with the Doctrine of Necessity as a temporary arrangement to lead the country towards stability and elections before the formation of a permanent government.

Speaker with a limited role

This is not the first time in Nepal’s parliamentary history that the Speaker has remained in office even after the dissolution of the House of Representatives. Even after King Gyanendra Shah dissolved the House of Representatives on 22 May 2002, Speaker Taranath Ranabhat remained in office for almost four years—till 28 April 2006. The first meeting of the restored House of Representatives held the same day, after the success of the Second People’s Movement-2006, steered Nepal’s democratic journey in a new direction.

A situation similar to this seems to be in place at present. Even after the dissolution of the lower chamber, Speaker Devraj Ghimire remains in office, though with a limited role, sparking a politico-constitutional debate.

Half a legislature?

Despite the dissolution of the House of Representatives, the National Assembly still exists, which reflects a kind of institutional continuity. But this continuity is not based on full legitimacy, because when only half of the Parliament is active, the parliamentary system remains only on paper. The National Assembly can discuss and make suggestions, but in the absence of the House of Representatives, it cannot make or pass laws. Therefore, the current situation has become a mixture of an incomplete parliament and a constitutional crisis, weakening the balance of the federal governance structure, where the core spirit of people’s representation—the direct voice of the people and participation in the decision-making process—has become inactive. 

As a result, the people’s control over policymaking and governance—through elected representatives—is eroding, thereby raising questions on the credibility of democratic institutions and the spirit of the Constitution.

A decisive role, limited powers 

Although the Constitution of Nepal grants the President only formal and limited powers, his role can become particularly important in unusual political situations. When both the executive and the legislature are caught in uncertainty, the president has the potential to become the decisive force in maintaining the “constitutional balance.” In the current situation, the president’s decisions, consultations or silence will directly affect Nepal’s political course. The president’s move—either to act in defense of the constitution, democratic values and national unity or to remain inactive—will determine the course of the country’s governance structure and stability in the coming months.

What after 5 March 2026?

Nepal’s political future now seems to depend on the general elections slated for 5 March 2026. If the vote takes place on time and in a free and fair manner, the country can embark on a journey of stability and public trust. The emergence of a new leadership seems possible with the political consciousness of the new generation, the energy of the GenZ movement and the (re)awakening of civil society. But if the election gets postponed again or delayed due to political interests, the country will again fall into a cycle of constitutional vacuum and instability. In such a situation, the crisis of legitimacy will only deepen, raising crucial questions on the roles of the Prime Minister, the Speaker, the National Assembly chair and the President.

An acid test for democracy

Nepal’s democracy is once again facing a serious test today. It is a result of its own constitutional ambiguity and political insensitivity. The Prime Minister must obtain the mandate of the Parliament, the Speaker must preserve the dignity of the office, the National Assembly must show constitutional restraint, and the President must play a decisive role in accordance with the spirit of the Constitution. 5 March 2026 is not just an election date, it is a moment of re-evaluation of Nepal’s democracy. The country is at a critical juncture, where both the maturity of the leadership and the level of public trust will be measured. If this hour passes smoothly, democracy will be reborn, otherwise the republic will plunge into a serious crisis.

In today’s digital age, popular culture has become an omnipresent force in shaping how people experience happiness. From box office movies to viral TikTok clips, from social media trends to celebrity lifestyles, these cultural products create what might be called second-hand happiness: the joy or satisfaction we derive not directly from our own experiences but from observing others. While popular culture offers chances for connectivity, it also creates challenges: it can replace direct experiences with mediated ones, foster dependence on external validation, and generate fleeting satisfaction that leaves us constantly seeking the next emotional fix. Understanding this dual nature—how popular culture both enriches and potentially diminishes our well-being—is essential for navigating modern life consciously.

Consumerism and fleeting satisfaction

One major way popular culture shapes our happiness is through consumerism. We buy not just products but also the promises of happiness they bring. New gadgets, stylish clothes, and trendy lifestyle items create real but short-lived excitement. For example, when a new smartphone is released, it generates excitement, social media posts, and buzz. However, within weeks, the novelty wears off, and many consumers find themselves searching for the next product. This cycle illustrates the hedonic treadmill of consumer culture, where material goods offer real but diminishing returns, gradually teaching us to pursue happiness through external purchases rather than personal growth or meaningful relationships.

Social media: Validation and community

Social media has fundamentally transformed how we experience and share happiness, creating both unprecedented opportunities for connection and new forms of dependency. Platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter quantify social interaction through likes, comments, and shares, which can serve as both meaningful feedback and shallow validation. Content creators who share their creativity on TikTok and receive thousands of supportive reactions experience real encouragement that can fuel their imaginative progress. Yet the same metrics can become addictive, training us to measure our self-worth through digital approval and creating anxiety when expected validation doesn’t materialize.

This duality is crucial to recognize. For marginalized groups such as youth struggling with identity, individuals with rare illnesses, or people with unique interests, online platforms can be transformative. They offer access to support networks, role models, and communities that might be impossible to find locally. To illustrate, a teen exploring identity may find acceptance and understanding online, profoundly improving their mental well-being. Yet, connections often coexist with a culture of superficiality, where users curate idealized versions of their lives for external validation.
The challenge is not the digital validation itself but our overreliance on it. We tend to replace real relationships and personal growth with online approval. The question becomes not whether to engage with social media, but how to maintain agency over when and how it shapes our emotional lives.

The political economy of manufactured desire

Understanding popular culture’s relationship to happiness requires examining the economic structures that produce it. Marx’s analysis of capitalism offers useful insights here: under market systems, our emotional lives increasingly become sites of profit extraction. We don’t simply consume entertainment; we become what might be called ‘affective laborers’, generating content, engagement, and emotional investment that platforms monetize. Every Instagram post, TikTok video, or product review we create adds value to corporate platforms while these companies capture the economic rewards.

Also, let us consider the influencer’s economy: they produce lifestyle content that generates genuine entertainment and community while simultaneously functioning as advertising. Followers experience real enjoyment watching their favorite creators, but they are also being subtly directed toward consumption patterns that benefit brands and platforms. The happiness we feel is authentic, yet profit-seeking entities have carefully shaped it. Fashion and beauty industries, for instance, do not simply respond to consumer desires—they actively manufacture dissatisfaction through trends and standards, then sell products as solutions.

This doesn’t mean all popular culture is manipulative; however, it reminds us to stay aware of its economic motives. Industries profit by keeping us emotionally invested, often prioritizing revenue over our well-being. Recognizing this helps us engage critically, asking who benefits from our insecurities and what desires are shaping us.

Reconsidering second-hand happiness

Second-hand happiness deserves a more nuanced treatment than simple dismissal. Shared cultural experiences—watching a movie, celebrating a sports victory, following a beloved content creator’s journey—can generate authentic joy and meaningful connection. When we laugh at a comedy show or feel inspired by someone’s success story, that happiness is real, not illusory. Humans are fundamentally social creatures who naturally derive pleasure from collective experiences and from witnessing others’ achievements.

The issue is not vicarious experience itself but the balance and awareness with which we engage in it. Problems arise when observation replaces participation. To illustrate, when we watch travel vlogs instead of exploring our own surroundings. Difficulties also emerge when external validation becomes the main source of our self-worth. We may begin to spend more time following the lives of others than nurturing ourselves. Moreover, the constant comparison encouraged by social media often leaves us feeling inadequate and dissatisfied.

A healthy relationship with popular culture means enjoying shared experiences and digital communities while maintaining direct engagement with our own lives. It means appreciating an influencer’s aesthetic without feeling our home must match it or celebrating friends' achievements online while also pursuing our own goals offline. The goal isn’t to eliminate second-hand happiness but to ensure it complements rather than replaces first-hand experience.

Moving forward

Happiness remains fundamentally personal, rooted in direct experiences, relationships, and a sense of purpose. Popular culture can enrich these aspects by providing inspiration, facilitating social connection, and offering entertainment and meaning. However, it functions optimally as a complement to direct experience rather than a substitute. The most fulfilling lives likely integrate both: engaging with shared cultural experiences while actively cultivating personal goals, relationships, and creative expression.

Maintaining balance within systems designed to capture attention and shape desires toward consumption requires deliberate effort. This includes setting boundaries with technology, reflecting on what genuinely satisfies us, investing in meaningful relationships, and engaging with cultural products critically rather than passively.

As popular culture continues to evolve, awareness of its mechanisms allows individuals to enjoy its benefits without yielding their well-being to external validation or manufactured desire. The objective is not to choose between first-hand and second-hand happiness, but to ensure that engagement with culture enhances, rather than diminishes, personal well-being. In this way, individuals can participate fully in contemporary culture while preserving the internal sources of satisfaction that sustain them.

China’s Fourth Plenary Session of the 20th Central Committee and the Xi–Trump meeting in Busan took place only days apart. On paper, one was a domestic political gathering and the other a diplomatic encounter on the sidelines of a multilateral summit. They were not linked in official statements, and neither attracted feverish global commentary. Yet, taken together, they offer a glimpse into how Beijing is adapting to a complex international environment.

Fourth plenums traditionally focus on governance questions, party discipline and institutional direction rather than dramatic policy launches. This session followed that pattern. The messaging centered on maintaining steady political control, ensuring policy continuity and fostering cautious confidence. It suggested a leadership that sees no benefit in abrupt moves, either domestically or externally, at a time of uneven economic recovery and external pushback. Three themes stood out.

First, the reaffirmation of party-led governance was not performative symbolism. In Beijing’s worldview, political cohesion and long-term planning are assets in a period marked by technological disruption and geopolitical frictions. The leadership continues to believe that diffuse decision-making would leave China vulnerable to external pressure. Second, economic language emphasised pragmatic adjustment. China did not deny its financial challenges, ranging from corrections in the property sector to demographic shifts. However, rather than promising a sudden return to high-speed growth, the plenum signalled an acceptance that the next phase will be steadier, more industrial policy-driven, and oriented around the security of supply chains and financial stability. 

Third, technology remains the core battleground. US-led restrictions on advanced chips, export controls and scrutiny of Chinese tech companies have clearly been internalized. The Plenum’s language underscored ongoing efforts to reduce reliance on foreign tech inputs and build resilience in critical sectors. This is not isolationism; it is preparation for a world where access to advanced technologies is increasingly politicized. None of this was presented as a crisis response. It reflected a system that was preparing for long-term competition, rather than one that was overwhelmed by it.

The Xi-Trump meeting in Busan fit into this context of calibrated pacing. The discussions did not produce groundbreaking agreements, nor were they expected to. Tariffs, agricultural purchases and fentanyl precursors figured in public remarks. The more telling aspect, however, was tone—measured, practical and devoid of the sharpness seen in earlier phases of US–China confrontation. For Beijing, arriving in Busan after the plenum mattered. It allowed Xi to approach talks from a position of internal consolidation, not defensive anxiety. For Washington, under a Trump return that values transactional gestures, a calmer exchange made tactical sense too.

The meeting illustrated a shared recognition: neither country benefits from sustained escalation at this moment. China is navigating an economic transition and rebuilding confidence, while the United States is focused on industrial reshoring, alliance repair, and domestic political contests. Strategic rivalry continues, especially in technology and security, but uninterrupted confrontation is costly, and both sides appear willing to slow the tempo. This was not détente. It was a way to test whether channels can stay open without implying softness.

If one looks at global alignments, markets and diplomatic behavior since these events, the picture that emerges is not sudden stability but a more predictable cadence. Supply chains are diversifying, not breaking. Export controls evolve, but trade persists. Security partnerships deepen, yet complete economic decoupling remains improbable. The US–China rivalry remains as real as it was a few years ago. It simply appears to be settling into a slower, steadier phase one, where each side tests its structural endurance. This rhythm benefits nobody spectacularly, but it also harms nobody dramatically. It suits countries that want time to build capacity, especially powers striving for strategic autonomy, including India and the European Union. 

For New Delhi, the Plenum-Busan period did not signal a change in thaw with China or a weakening Western alignment. Instead, it reinforced an approach that India had already adopted: steady engagement with the West on critical technology and defense, alongside measured management of the China relationship to avoid avoidable shocks.

India’s border concerns with China have not lessened. Military deployments remain robust; infrastructure development in border regions continues. At the same time, diplomatic channels remain open, and senior-level military talks continue. People-to-people and business-to-business ties have also begun growing in the past few months, signalling that both countries are understanding and navigating turbulent geopolitical spaces. 

India is not repositioning away from the United States. Strategic cooperation on supply chains, advanced manufacturing, space and maritime security has only deepened. The expectation that any external partner, even the United States, will perfectly align with India’s priorities has faded. Statements from Washington after Operation Sindoor served as a reminder that every partnership has its chafing points. So, India is doing what rising powers with long memories do: building capability, banking partnerships, and keeping options open. Instead of dramatic swings, we see incremental strengthening in areas such as semiconductor policy, defence co-production, digital infrastructure exports, energy corridors, and tighter coordination with Europe and the Indo-Pacific. 

Ultimately, neither the Fourth Plenum nor the Busan meeting reveals the future. What they tell us, instead, is how major powers behave when they don’t fully trust the world and aren't entirely sure of themselves, either. China tightened its seams before it stepped onto the diplomatic stage. The United States played along, not because it suddenly believes in strategic harmony, but because endless confrontation is exhausting and expensive. And India, watching both, is quietly filing away lessons. Nobody is “winning” here; nobody is collapsing either. This is a moment of political adulthood where states learn to live with discomfort, ambiguity, and the slow grind of structural rivalry. It’s not dramatic, and that’s precisely the point. The future is being shaped in paperwork, quiet conversations and long-term investments, not in summit fireworks.

For India and the region, the task is not to predict which way the wind blows, but to build so that whichever way it blows, you don’t get swept off your feet. Great power politics right now is less a game of grand moves, more like distance running: steady breathing, keeping pace, occasionally accelerating, never collapsing from your own adrenaline. In the years ahead, we can expect headlines, crises, breakthroughs, and provocations again. But these quieter phases matter too.

The author is a PhD candidate at the School of International Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. He is also a life member of the International Center for Peace Studies

The study titled ‘The immortality of too much money’, published in PNAS Nexus in June 2025 by Jackson Trager and Mohammad Atari, looks at how people around the world judge those who have far too much money. It clearly separates excessive wealth when one person holds a huge share of money from economic inequality, the overall gap between rich and poor in a society. The Gini coefficient measures this gap, with 0 meaning everyone has the same and 1 meaning one person has everything.

Across 20 countries and over 4,300 people, most do not see extreme wealth as very wrong. But views differ greatly. In rich and fair countries like Belgium and Switzerland, people are more likely to call it immoral. In poorer and less equal places like Peru and Nigeria, they accept it more, seeing it as a sign of hope or survival. The research uses Moral Foundations Theory, which says we make quick moral calls based on six basic feelings: care for others, equality, reward for effort (proportionality), loyalty to groups, respect for leaders (authority), and purity or avoiding things that feel dirty or wrong.

People who value equality and purity most strongly say too much money is bad. Those who focus on effort, loyalty and authority are more okay with it. A smaller study in the United States with 315 people showed that purity concerns go beyond money—they also make people judge too much ambition or pleasure as wrong. This explains why we call some rich people “filthy rich.” The study matters because as the world’s wealth gap grows, understanding these moral views can shape laws on taxes and fairness. In equal societies, people worry more about the harm of excess. In unequal ones, they often defend the system.

Shadow of plutocracy

The world’s richest one percent now hold more wealth than 95 percent of humanity combined. Oxfam  described this as “the shadow of global oligarchy” looming over multilateral decision-making. According to Oxfam’s report, over a third of the world’s 50 largest corporations—collectively worth $13.3trn—are now controlled by billionaires, either as CEOs or principal shareholders.The imbalance is particularly stark between the Global North and South. Countries in the Global South, which account for nearly 79 percent of the global population, own just 31 percent of total global wealth. The concentration of extreme wealth is not just an economic issue but it’s a moral and political crisis that undermines democracy and fuels inequality worldwide.

A 2014 survey in 44 countries found most people see the rich-poor gap as a big problem. It links inequality to poor health, more crime, less trust and lower happiness. Early lab tests with US students showed they prefer to share equally, even if it means less for all, and get angry at unfair sharing.

But some experts say people actually like unequal results if the process seems fair if effort and skill decide who gets more. This is procedural fairness (fair rules) versus distributional fairness (same amounts). However, Moral Foundations Theory splits fairness into equality (same for all) and proportionality (more for those who deserve it). Western studies focus on harm and justice. Other cultures add respect for leaders and purity. These ideas connect with purity, giving real meaning to“filthy rich.” Nepal’s Hindu and Buddhist roots also teach balance and clean living, stressing the need to keep the self and society clean from corruption, and treating greed as a demon.

A wave against filthy rich

At first glance, the recent GenZ protests might seem like a reaction to the Oli government’s decision to ban 26 social media platforms. But to call it just that would be missing the point entirely. What we’re seeing is not merely digital outrage—it’s a moral uprising.

For many young Nepalis, the ban was the last straw. Years of frustration over corruption, unemployment, impunity and the politicization of state institutions had already created a boiling pot. The social media ban was simply that one extra degree that made the water boil.

Let’s be honest—this anger isn’t just about losing social media. It’s about a political system that has long rewarded power over principles. It’s about leaders who preach sacrifice but live in luxury, often funded by public money. It’s about “Nepo kids” flaunting privilege while young people with talent and degrees struggle to find opportunity.

If the political class still believes this movement is about social media, they’ve missed the heart of the issue. What GenZ is demanding is course correction—a cleansing of the system, not a cosmetic fix. Corruption has become so normalized that even small acts of honesty now feel revolutionary.

And here’s where a new lens becomes important. Recent research based on Moral Foundations Theory shows that people’s moral sense is grounded in six values: care, equality, proportionality, loyalty, authority and purity. The study found something fascinating—those who value equality and purity are more likely to view excessive wealth as morally wrong. The equality link is obvious. But purity? That’s usually about cleanliness or sanctity. Yet, it gives us new meaning to the phrase “filthy rich.”

This insight hits close to home in Nepal. Corruption here isn’t just a governance issue—it’s a moral one. Our failure has been to treat it purely as a legal problem, not a cultural or ethical one. Until we rebuild our moral foundation—individually and collectively—no law, commission, or anti-graft body will be enough.

The GenZ movement, in essence, is calling for that moral reset. It’s telling every political party, leader, civil society group and citizen: clean your own house first. Because real change won’t come from outside; it will come when we restore integrity as a national value.

Nepal’s youth are not just demanding better governance; they are demanding a cleaner conscience from those who lead. And that’s a revolution worth standing for. Nepal’s Gen Z revolt  isn’t just protesting a social media ban but they’re demanding a moral reckoning.

Building a cleaner future

To end corruption, Nepal should make purity a daily rule. Require all officials to show their money and spending openly online. Use digital technology to watch government buying and stop secret deals. Prosecute the big theft cases quickly and fully. Pay honest workers much more to reward real effort.

Teach school children about these six moral feelings. Help them see how too much of anything, especially stolen money, harms everyone. Give young people real roles in anti-corruption offices. Their fresh eyes can keep the system honest.

The study warns that without change, old habits return. But Nepal’s youth have shown moral fire. By treating corrupt wealth as a stain on the country’s soul, leaders can build trust, close the wealth gap and create fair rules for all. This is the path to lasting good governance.

The author is an advocate