Unfiltered rants from the morning Chiya Pasal to the evening Bhatti.
95 articles
Rabi Lamichhane—the man, the myth, the Subway-sandwich-maker-turned-political-firebrand—must be feeling rather smug. To all the NRNs (Non-Resident Nepalis) currently enjoying your foreign air-conditioned lives while scrolling through Twitter updates, take notes: if you truly want to dive into the murky, sewage-filled swimming pool that is Nepali politics, study our Subway man
So, 70% of our high schoolers have "passed." We take half a million hopefuls through the "Iron Gate" of the SEE, cull them mercilessly, and then ship the survivors through the 10+2 gauntlet. And what is the ultimate prize for this academic marathon? A one-way ticket to the airport.
For 15 years, we’ve watched 15 tourism ministers treat the Civil Aviation Authority of Nepal (CAAN) bifurcation like a bad boyfriend—promising to change, packing their bags, and then conveniently forgetting everything the moment they get into power. It’s a recurring skit in the Nepali political theater: draft the bill, hide the bill, burn the bill, and then blame the "invisible hands" for the mess.
You know you’ve had a bad day at the office when your five-hour performance review ends with a free ride to the police station. Our esteemed Director General, Tirtha Raj Aryal, and Director Sunil Kumar KC of the Passport Department recently discovered that the Prime Minister’s Office (PMO) doesn't just do boring paperwork—they also do surprise arrests. Apparently, spending five hours discussing why you can’t print a simple passport isn't the best way to get a promotion; it’s the best way to get a VIP stay in government custody.
According to our esteemed SSP of Nepal Police, the roads of Kathmandu are destined to become giant, stationary parking lots within two years. Their visionary advice? Start training for an Olympic marathon, because speed-walking is about to become the most efficient mode of transport in the capital. Honestly, it’s a stroke of genius.
Every other week, it’s the same old drama. Our brave police wallahs are out there playing a high-stakes version of whack-a-mole, intercepting cocaine worth Rs 7.5 crore or chasing pill-smuggling speedsters across the border with more lead in the air than a heavy metal concert. It’s almost impressive—if it weren’t so depressing.
Finally, after a social media sabbatical that felt like an eternity, our PM has returned to grace our feeds with a fresh selfie. We aren't talking about pants, fancy footwear, or that viral DDC cheese this time—no, this is the main event. It’s the "Three Amigos" in their natural habitat: the PM, the HM, and the IM.
Why did it take thirty years? Well, apparently, it wasn’t “politically prioritized.” In layman’s terms, someone’s cousin’s uncle’s neighbor might have accidentally parked their mansion on a piece of public land, and who wants to deal with that mess? It took the Supreme Court dropping a heavy “instructional order” in 2067 BS to even remind the bureaucracy that this paper existed.
Our beloved Election Commission (EC) has finally looked at the bloated mess we call our Parliament and decided that, perhaps, 275 lawmakers are exactly 170 too many. Their grand suggestion to the Constitution Amendment Task Force? Slash the House to a lean, mean, 105-member machine.
The 2026 FIFA World Cup has kicked off, and while the rest of the world is busy hyperventilating over goals and offside traps, Nepali football fans are left to watch the spectacle from the sidelines—both literally and figuratively. FIFA, never one to pass up an opportunity to bleed fans dry, has priced tickets so high they might as well be minted in gold.
Harkey, our resident ‘Stone Age’ warrior, clearly thinks he’s the intellectual heir to Machiavelli. In a saner era, the Speaker would have tossed him out for his theatrical outbursts, but Speaker DP possesses a patience that borders on the divine. He treats our opposition nataks with the serene tolerance of Lord Buddha, likely because he’s too busy wondering why nothing actually gets done.
I’ve seen how Mahabir Dai operates in Kirtipur—he sleeps in a tent, for heaven's sake! He’s our own José Mujica, minus the Volkswagen. If he plays his cards right, he’s my pick for President. He has the vision, the belly, and the humility to actually lead. While the rest of the political dinosaur crew is busy counting their kickbacks, Mahabir is busy building the future.