Abroad dreams, divorce, politics and more

Dec 12, 

Shantinagar, Kathmandu

When I entered the teashop, five young boys in their early twenties were seated at a corner table. Two of them were busy filling out forms, seemingly immersed in their task. After observing for a while, I realized they were preparing documents to apply for a loan from the microfinance next door, as they were planning to fly abroad for employment.

Their intentions became clearer when a staff member from the microfinance joined them, assisting with the paperwork. A young woman from the same office reassured the boys that their loan would be approved within a day if they submitted all required documents immediately. Over cups of tea and light snacks, the boys began discussing their future plans once they started earning abroad.

“I need to support my two brothers with their education,” one said. “So, I might not save money for the next five years.” Another shared his priorities: repairing his house and preparing for marriage. These boys, hailing from Madhes province, had arrived in Kathmandu two weeks earlier, chasing the dream of better opportunities abroad. Their candid conversation painted a picture of aspirations entwined with familial responsibilities.

As I listened to their discussion, two men walked into the teashop. They were familiar with the owner, who greeted them warmly. Their conversation veered into an unusual topic: the divorce case of a mutual friend. The man in question, aged 72, had remarried three months ago but had divorced only days earlier. The tea shop owner shared that the man had since stopped visiting the establishment, and the conversation quickly turned to rising divorce rates.

“At a time when divorces among young couples are increasing, it’s hardly surprising to see it happening among older couples too,” remarked one man. They discussed possible reasons behind these trends but focused disproportionately on blaming women. I refrained from delving deeper into their views, noting the deeply entrenched gender bias that lingered in their comments—an issue pervasive from tea shops to workplaces.

The four boys had left by this point, heading to the microfinance, and the two men exited shortly after, leaving just me and the shop owner. The owner struck up a conversation, commenting on the bitter cold and how it doubled the time needed to prepare tea. Then, out of the blue, he asked, “Sir, what’s going to happen to Rabi Lamichhane? Will the court free him or convict him?”

I replied cautiously, “There are multiple allegations; it’s hard to predict the outcome.” He nodded, adding, “Today, Kantipur reported allegations about misappropriated funds meant for charity. Do you think the news is true?” His curiosity was palpable, but I had no definitive answer for him. The case had clearly piqued public interest.

As I sipped my tea, two men entered and began discussing the stagnant real estate sector. From their conversation, it was clear they were investors struggling to sell land and meet their interest payments. The market slowdown had left them in distress, their voices heavy with worry.

Soon, five morning walkers entered the teashop, their familiarity with the owner evident. They didn’t bother specifying their tea preferences; the owner already knew their choices. One of them brought up former President Bidya Devi Bhandari and Vice-President Nanda Kishor Pun rumored plans to re-enter active politics.

“It’s absurd,” one of them exclaimed. “After holding such high offices, why would they join party politics?”

This sparked a lively debate. Some cited examples from India, the US, and other countries, pointing out how rare it is for former presidents or vice presidents to return to party politics. “If they join,” one argued, “it’ll cast doubt on their neutrality while in office and weaken the presidency’s integrity in the future.”

Another participant added, “They should follow the example of former President Ram Baran Yadav, who hasn’t rejoined party politics. Instead, they could focus on philanthropic work, like American presidents do after retirement.”

The conversation shifted to CPN (Maoist Center) Chair Pushpa Kamal Dahal. One of the men speculated that after signing the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) agreement with China, the government was under pressure. “Dahal is supporting Rabi Lamichhane to form a new government,” he claimed.

Another participant countered, suggesting there wouldn’t be a new government but rather a cabinet reshuffle. “Youth leader Gagan Thapa might become deputy prime minister and finance minister,” he predicted. The room fell silent, except for one man who expressed concern over the potential impact on the stock market.

Their discussion reminded me of a conversation I’d had earlier in the week with a senior Rastriya Prajatantra Party leader. He had hinted at murmurs within political circles about a potential government change and the need for his party to be ready to take a role if invited.

Returning to the teashop chatter, the focus shifted to the government’s decision to take a concessional loan from the Asian Development Bank (ADB). Someone pointed out the irony: “The Nepali Congress had said it wouldn’t take loans under the current circumstances. Now, they’ve changed their stance.”

This triggered laughter among the group. One man quipped, “Our politicians care more about commissions than loans or grants.” His comment drew nods and chuckles before everyone began leaving to start their day.

By then, it was already 9 am. I finished my tea, paid Rs 20, and stepped out. The mix of conversations I witnessed at the teashop was a microcosm of Nepal’s society. From aspirations of young men seeking opportunities abroad to discussions about real estate woes and political dynamics, it reflected the concerns, challenges, and debates shaping the nation today. Even the lighthearted moments and humor, like the comment about politicians’ commissions, underscored a deeper truth about public perception of leadership and governance.