Chiya Guff

The Facebook Retreat

How the Sahujis Won the Internet (and Our Wallets)

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S. Gundai

21 July 2026 4 min read 169 views

The Facebook Retreat

PM Balen took to his digital pulpit today, tapping out a Facebook status that shattered the dreams of broke math enthusiasts everywhere. The government has officially folded on the proposed 3% tax on private education and healthcare. Let’s raise a glass of generic, over-priced tap water to the old-school media, the opposition wallahs, and our collective panic.

We did it, team! We successfully bullied a bankrupt government into leaving the system exactly as broken as we found it. The state completely failed to explain why taking money from elite schools to fund community clinics was a good idea, so instead, they surrendered to the algorithm.

The Math of a Bankrupt Paradise

Here is a fun little truth bomb to digest while you look at your next private hospital bill: our government is completely, hilariously broke. Almost every single rupee collected in regular taxes goes straight into the pockets of government employees who specialize in moving paper from Left Desk to Right Desk. To survive, we quietly borrow over US$2 billion every single year just to pay off the interest on a towering US$20 billion mountain of national debt. We are essentially using a new credit card to pay the minimum balance on an old credit card, but hey, at least our timeline looks vibrant.

Muddy Roads and Golden Jholeys

Over the last twenty years, our national debt has quadrupled. But don't worry, the opposition wallahs assure us this is "development." In their vocabulary, development means carving raw, terrifying muddy patches into pristine hillsides that wash away at the mere suggestion of rain. While the state was busy financing these scenic mudslides, past politicians graciously allowed their loyal jholeys to sprout thousands of private schools and hospitals like digital scams in a booming market. Who needs a functioning state hospital when you can have a luxury clinic with a chandelier in the lobby?

The RS 18,000 Class Photo

Let’s look at the beautiful irony of our GDP per capita, which proudly sits under US$1,500. Meanwhile, the average citizen drops about Rs 18,000 a month just to keep their kid in a private school. If you do the math, we are spending our entire annual theoretical income just to teach our children how to pass exams. It’s a spectacular financial circus. The time is ripe for the government to stop writing Facebook captions and actually enforce a rigid price ceiling on these private sahujis before we have to mortgage our kidneys.

Peanuts for the Proletariat

The real dark comedy lies in the payroll. The proprietors of these private educational empires pull in millions of rupees in pure profit every month. Yet, they pay their teachers less than half of what a public school teacher makes. The same grim comedy applies to the heroic, exhausted nurses in private hospitals who survive on peanuts and vibes. We scream at the government for being "anti-poor" the moment they try to tax these institutions, completely forgetting that the sahujis are the ones happily charging Rs 1,000 just for a doctor to look at our tongues.

The Masala Must Go On

Naturally, the fake byaparis who have spent decades minting billions while dodging taxes are ecstatic. They have funded old political parties for years, likely masking their empires in a beautiful web of fake VAT bills. But amidst the sarcasm, there is a glimmer of actual hope. If this government stops trying to tax the consumers and instead aggressively audits these shady empires, we might actually win. By forcing clinics to slash consultation fees back to Rs 500 and banning arbitrary annual school fees, we can fund the state without bleeding the public. The tools are there; we just need to stop yelling at the government and start holding the real merchants accountable.

Jai Nepal!

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S. Gundai

Chief Chiya-Raksi Critic

S. Gundai spends his mornings complaining about the dust over tea and his evenings solving the country’s problems over local raksi, though he usually forgets the solutions by breakfast.