I am writing this blog just hours before the silent period for the March 5 election begins. By the time you read this, campaign speeches will have stopped, party flags will flutter quietly, and candidates will retreat from microphones and mass rallies. But the conversations—those in tea shops, buses, college canteens, and family dinner tables—will continue.
This blog is not an endorsement of any political force. It is an attempt to capture the people’s mood—what I have seen, heard, and felt over the past months—through my tea-shop gossip sessions, and through countless conversations with ordinary voters across the country. In 2024, I began spending hours at local tea shops, simply listening. To capture the conversation that takes place in a tea-shop, I started a weekly column in Annapurna Express titled: Tea-Shop Gossipwhich is available online.
What struck me most was the depth of resentment toward traditional political parties, particularly the Nepali Congress, CPN-UML, and the Communist Party of Nepal (Maoist Center). Before that, I had no clear idea that public anger toward these parties had reached such intensity. People were not just disappointed; they were exhausted. The frustration was layered—broken promises, recycled leaders, familiar faces, and the feeling that power circulates within a closed circle.
When the Sept 8–9 protests erupted, I was not surprised by the anger. What shocked me was the scale of destruction. My own office was burned, forcing me to work from home for several days. That moment reminded me that public frustration is not theoretical—it is real.. Sept 8–9 was a mixture of accumulated public anger and destruction carried out by some organized groups. It was a burst of frustration that had been building for years.
Following what many now call the GenZ wave, I deliberately changed my daily routine. I avoided private vehicles, walked more, used public transport, and engaged more directly with ordinary citizens. Friends found it unusual. But I wanted to feel the pulse of the electorate firsthand. Across conversations, one pattern was unmistakable: frustration is at an all-time high. Many voters say they want to support new parties. Yet that does not automatically translate into full trust in any single alternative.
Among college students aged 18–21, I observed something fascinating—a political tug-of-war within families. Parents try to pass down party loyalties; children resist. Traditional alignments are no longer guaranteed. Political parties have sensed this shift. For example, CPN-UML has circulated short videos in which parents attempt to persuade their children to remain loyal to traditional forces. But persuasion today meets skepticism.
One striking sentiment among GenZ voters is this: they want change and new leadership, yet they cannot fully trust those presenting themselves as alternatives. They are equally frustrated by speeches and by what they perceive as evasive responses from new political actors. Their demand is simple—clear answers and accountability.
Over the past few weeks, I have visited several places and closely followed reports from journalist friends across the country. Many of them have spoken to 500 to 700 voters in their respective constituencies. Bound by journalistic codes of conduct, they cannot be explicit in their projections, but their reporting and subtle social media hints suggest an environment increasingly hostile to traditional political parties. Outlets such as Setopati have been relatively more vocal in amplifying public sentiment. Even when some journalists remain restrained, the underlying message is clear: the political landscape feels different this time.
The GenZ voters I interacted with believe change is inevitable—regardless of which party wins. They argue that political survival now depends on reform. Yet they are equally critical of new faces. Transparency and accountability are central concerns. They question bold claims made by emerging leaders and remain wary of personality-driven politics.
Interestingly, many youths appreciated parts of the manifesto of the Nepali Congress, but they remain skeptical about its performance over the past two decades. Their thinking is nuanced. They are neither blindly anti-old nor blindly pro-new.
There is a growing perception that momentum may be building around a single party. Some compare the current mood to the Maoist wave of 2008. Whether that comparison holds true remains to be seen. What is undeniable, however, is that this election feels psychologically different. Still, it is not a one-sided race. Traditional parties retain strong organizational structures, loyal voter bases, and institutional experience. The competition remains open.
Certain issues have deeply influenced voters’ thinking. The Bhutanese refugee scam, the Baluwatar land controversy, and other corruption scandals frequently arise in conversations. People ask: Why were stronger efforts not made to control corruption?
In rural areas, empty homes stand as silent testimony to youth migration. Elderly parents question what forced their children to go abroad. Why have successive governments failed to create opportunities at home? Remittances sustain the national economy, but families demand sustainable domestic employment and a conducive environment for investing the money sent by their loved ones.
People are also concerned about accountability for the Sept 8–9 protests. Many believe those responsible for the killings of 19 students, arson and violence must be held accountable. As a result, some senior leaders and ministers are facing intense scrutiny in their constituencies.
My strongest impression is this: citizens no longer underestimate their own power. They demand tangible results, not lengthy speeches. The culture of treating political elites as untouchable is weakening. This election feels less like a routine democratic exercise and more like a referendum on political culture—a contest between continuity and change.
In the past, senior leaders of the major parties used to spend very little time in their constituencies. This time, however, they spent months in their constituencies and faced very tough and blunt questions from the people. Ordinary citizens are now more empowered and are asking direct questions to these senior leaders: Why haven’t you delivered until now? Why did you make false promises? Why didn’t you return to our constituency after winning the election?
Whether new or old forces prevail, governing will not be easy. Public scrutiny has intensified. Tea-shop conversations are sharper. Youths are more assertive. Families are politically divided. Trust is fragile.
Perhaps that vigilance—more than any party’s victory—is the strongest sign that democracy is alive.
At this point in time, it is impossible to predict which party will win. If what I have sensed and observed represents even a reasonable sample of the broader electorate, the outcome could be significantly different from previous elections. Yet waves of sentiment do not always translate into votes. This time, prediction is particularly difficult because of the range and depth of issues shaping voter behavior. The ballots will reveal the final verdict. Until then, the tea shops will continue to debate—and democracy will continue to breathe.
