Random hits on the keyboard

What a week we all witnessed. A week of fire, fury, and hope. My heart still aches for the lives lost in the chaos. The news media, and mostly the social media, showed the clash, grieving families, and the price for the demand to end corruption. They should never have died. It was a cruel, desperate act by a government that had lost its way, its legitimacy, and its soul. To those families, I can only offer my deepest, most heartfelt condolences. Sept 8, when I first heard about the Gen Z-organised protest for September 8th, I was cynical. My initial assumption was that hardly 500 students would gather, they would shout some slogans, wave some flags, and then disappear. Life would go on, as always. We, including protestors, would vent about the corruption at a tea shop gathering. We would demand to resume the social network sites, using a VPN and using pseudonyms. The usual corrupt machinery would grind on, undisturbed. I was wrong. I (we all) underestimated the depth of the anger, the ...

When I see a muddy street in Kathmandu, I wonder when it will be fixed. The potholes have been a part of my city's identity. I have been waiting for my whole life, expecting to be fixed soon. "K garne!" It’s easy to sigh and say, “This is just how things are.”  But, that acceptance and our quiet tolerance of mismanagement are precisely why the problem persists.  Instead of demanding that it be fixed, many of us have adapted. We wear masks to survive the pollution, and accept potholes as part of our city. This normalisation of dysfunction is dangerous. It lowers our expectations of what our city and our leaders should deliver. When I go around Bhaisepati, the minister's quarters appear as a symbol of hate. I can't see those buildings made by the sweat of the citizens. The mud and waterlogs shadowing the lavish buildings made for the families of provincial heads is a reflection of what we deserve. The provincial heads are supposed to work in provincial capitals, an...