In the heart of the federal capital, a young woman has been sitting in protest for 54 days. Her name is Deepa Nepali. She is a student, and all she is asking from the government is a place to live.
Deepa came to Kathmandu with a simple dream: to study, to build a better future, and to make something of herself. She is like thousands of young people from across Nepal who come to the capital every year in search of education and opportunity. To do that, she needed a place to stay. She found a room, paid her rent, and was a quiet tenant.
Then, suddenly, one day her landlord asked her to leave. Deepa was shocked by the landlord's words. Everything had seemed fine; in fact, she had done nothing wrong. She was neither unable nor failing to pay her rent. The sole reason for her eviction was her caste and her surname, Nepali—a name that is still treated with untouchability by some in Nepal.
In Nepal, caste-based discrimination has been illegal for years. The Caste-Based Discrimination and Untouchability (Offence and Punishment) Act of 2011 clearly states that no person can be denied access to a place, service, or opportunity on the basis of caste. Yet, the law and reality still walk on different roads for many people, especially for Dalit women like Deepa who face the double weight of caste and gender in their daily lives.
When her landlord forced her out of her room, Deepa did not stay silent. She did what any citizen is supposed to do—she went to court. The case against her landlord is currently being heard in the High Court. It is a brave step, and it is the right step. But the wheels of justice, as many Nepalis know too well, turn slowly. While her case sits in court waiting for a hearing date, Deepa has no room to sleep in, no safe place to study, and no guarantee of when things will be resolved. So, she came to Maitighar. Alongside her supporters, she stood under the open sky and held up cards carrying a simple, clear message of humanity. Day after day, she has returned. As of today, it has been 54 days.
Standing at Maitighar, a place that has long been a symbol of peaceful protest in Nepal, Deepa and those who stand with her are not asking for luxury. They are not asking for charity. They are asking for what every citizen of this country deserves: the right to live with dignity, and the right to not be turned away from a door because of the family they were born into. Their protest signs are simple and their words are peaceful, but their message is powerful.
The case has not gone completely unnoticed. Some members of parliament have raised Deepa's issue on the floor of the House. They have asked the government to pay attention, to act, and to stand by the laws that already exist on paper. These voices in parliament are important, but voices alone have not been enough. The government, so far, has not taken any concrete steps to address Deepa's situation. There has been no official response, no temporary living arrangement made, and no announcement of support for her. She remains outside.
The silence and muteness from the government is not just a failure toward one young woman. It is a discouraging signal to every Dalit student in Nepal who is trying to find a place to live—to every person who faces a landlord who looks at them and sees their caste before their humanity. When the state does not respond, it tells people that the law may be written, but it does not always reach them.
Deepa's story is not rare. Across Nepal, Dalit students studying in cities continue to face quiet, systemic discrimination in the rental housing market. Many landlords simply refuse to rent rooms to Dalit tenants. Others provide rooms but create hostile conditions that make staying unbearable. Because many students fear losing their shelter, being without connections in a new city, or being left alone in a legal battle, they often stay silent and move on. Deepa chose not to move on.
There is profound importance in that choice. Sitting in protest for 54 continuous days is exhausting. It takes immense physical endurance and emotional courage. It means missing classes, disrupting studies, and spending day after day under the open sky asking for something that should never have been taken away in the first place. Deepa is doing all of this while simultaneously fighting a legal battle in the High Court.
Nepal has committed, in its constitution and its laws, to building a country free from caste discrimination. The Constitution of 2015 guarantees the right to equality, the right against untouchability, and the right to live with dignity as fundamental rights. These are not just words written in a document—they are binding promises made to every citizen, including every Dalit student who comes to Kathmandu hoping for a better future.
The government must respond to Deepa Nepali's case—not next month, not after the next committee meeting, but now.
It must ensure she has a safe and secure place to continue her studies. It must also send a clear, unequivocal message to landlords across the country that caste-based discrimination in housing is a crime and will be treated as one.
Deepa is still sitting at Maitighar. Her supporters are still holding their cards. The question is no longer just whether she will get a room. The question is whether this country will keep the promises it has made to its most marginalized citizens.
