Born in the Syangja district in 1977, Dipak Thapa belonged to a modest household. As the youngest of 13 siblings, Thapa wore oversized clothes, embraced the outdoors, and spent hours playing marbles and other imaginative games with his friends.

Thapa wasn’t particularly academically inclined. He got enrolled in the SOS Children’s Village, an institution designed for orphan children but also open to those from families with stable incomes. In grade seven, a question paper leak led him and his friends to tear up their certificates and leave the school in defiance. He was forbidden from coming back.

Thapa found himself drawn to dance. His elder sister and sister-in-law performed cultural dances at Lakeside, Pokhara, and they often took him along. By grade seven, he was dancing at two local hotels, earning a modest salary of Rs 700. Over time, he blended dance with comedy, creating a fusion of entertainment that made him stand out.

Comedy became his second language. He connected with various individuals in the entertainment world, and he was particularly influenced by Sandeep Chhetri. He began to craft his own unique blend of comedy, mixing it with cultural dance in a way that resonated with the audience. His performances brought a fresh, engaging twist to traditional humor.

However, Thapa’s journey was not without its dark moments. For 15 years, he struggled with addiction. His descent into substance abuse began with a friendship that introduced him to brown sugar, a drug he knew was dangerous but failed to resist. He remembers hiding his addiction from his family and friends, sneaking away to friends’ houses or hotel rooms to feed his habit. 

Thapa traveled to Hong Kong for six months, where his addiction continued to weigh on him. His battle with addiction lasted 15 years before he finally broke free. He went to a hotel and requested the staff to lock him in his room for four days.

In a bold move of self-expression, Thapa recently went on the popular show Roadies to publicly share his story of addiction. By doing so, he not only broke the silence around his personal struggles but also marked a significant turning point in his life. 

Thapa’s journey took an unexpected turn when he filled out an audition form for Roadies. “I learned that confidence is the key to achieving anything,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how strong or intelligent you are — without confidence, success will always be out of reach.” This realization, he says, came during his time on Roadies, a platform that tested not only his physical strength but also his belief in himself. 

Thapa has strong views on the evolution of comedy dance in the country. He feels that today’s performances often focus too heavily on the comedy aspect, at the expense of the dance itself. “In today’s comedy dance, I don’t really see much dance,” he says. “They tend to focus more on comedy. But what’s needed is both — comedy and dance. It’s only when the two come together seamlessly that you truly have a comedy dance.” 

His breakthrough moment came with the popular song ‘Ye Baa Kinideu Na Bhatbhate’. Fans would often say his dance had a magical quality that made everyone laugh, and indeed, magic had always fascinated him.

His love for magic was born in his childhood, but it wasn’t until he began to feel that his dancing days might be numbered as he grew older that he decided to explore it more seriously. He reached out to one of the well-known magicians of the time, Balram Sarkar, asking him to teach him the craft. To his surprise, Sarkar agreed and invited him to his home to learn. 

The first lesson, Thapa recalls, took place while they were sharing a meal of meat and rice. “Magic is all about hiding things. The more you master the art of misdirection, the better magician you become,” he says. 

In Nepal, magic is often dismissed as ‘fake,’ a misconception that Thapa works hard to correct. Thapa also highlights a troubling trend in the digital age: “YouTube channels are constantly leaking magic tricks, exposing how they’re done, which undermines the true artistry of magic.” He believes this not only disrespects magicians but also diminishes the craft on a global scale.

He also shares the challenges magicians face in Nepal. “The audience here drives us crazy,” says Thapa. “When performing a trick, people often try to figure out the formula behind it, claiming we’re just hiding things here and there. Every magician does this, but if the same happens with foreign magicians, no one dares to question them.” He says that, in many ways, magicians in Nepal are often underestimated.

Thapa urges the Nepali audience to view magic as an art form and respect its integrity. “If you ever learn the tricks, keep them to yourself,” he says. “Don’t spoil the magic for others. The art deserves to be preserved, not exposed.” His call is simple yet profound: To appreciate magic for what it truly is—a performance that takes skill, creativity, and years of practice.

Thapa often reflects on the limitations faced by Nepali magicians when it comes to the resources required for high-level magic. He cites the example of international magician Dynamo, who is known for walking on water — a stunning feat that requires expensive equipment. “To pull off such tricks, you need significant investment,” he says. “The equipment is costly, and as Nepali magicians, we simply don’t have the means to invest in such high-tech setups.” He humorously adds, “I could make the Dharahara disappear, but the investment it would need is just not within our reach.”

As an artist, Thapa wasn’t limited to just mastering dance or magic. He had a teacher who greatly influenced his approach to expression. When learning dance, he often watched his teacher’s performances closely, particularly the facial expressions that brought the dance to life. This influence led him to incorporate exaggerated facial expressions into his own comedy dance routines. “I used to copy the expressions of my guru,” Thapa recalls. “At one point, my parents thought I had gone crazy because I’d spend hours in front of the mirror practicing them.”

Thapa’s journey has been marked by his encounters with some of the biggest names in the Nepali entertainment industry. When he was just beginning to make a name for himself, he crossed paths with the rising stars of the time, including Dhurmus Suntali. Despite this early connection, he never made it to Kathmandu when the opportunity arose. Santosh Panta had asked him to come to Kathmandu to shoot a music video, but circumstances led to the song being released without him, a decision that Thapa doesn’t regret.

One of the most significant moments in Thapa’s career came when he spent five years performing alongside two of the most respected figures in Nepali comedy, Hari Bansha Acharya and Madan Krishna Shrestha. “We shared the stage for five years, and they said  something that really stuck with me,” he says. “They said they couldn’t copy what I did, but I could copy everything they did.” That compliment, coming from such legendary figures, was deeply inspiring.

“Many people told me that if I wanted to do something big, I had to come to Kathmandu,” says Thapa. “But I’ve always believed that success isn’t tied to a specific place. If you have the right mindset and determination, you can achieve your goals no matter where you are.” This philosophy has guided him throughout his career, proving that talent, hard work, and confidence can create boundless opportunities.

Thapa has a bold vision for the future of magic in Nepal. He dreams of a Magic Association House being established in the country. It would be a place where magicians can come together to create shows, hold competitions, and advance the craft. “I believe Nepal needs a dedicated space for magicians to grow, collaborate, and inspire one another,” he says. If no one else takes the initiative, he’s determined to make it happen. “I will take a loan if I have to, but I will surely do it,” he says, adding that his goal is to continue performing magic shows and exploring new tricks, ensuring that the art form flourishes in Nepal.