Will a New Dawn Arrive? Keep Reading the Tea Leaves

March 9, 2025.

Till the proverbial cows come home, shall I be waiting for this proverbial bus in this proverbial land?

In the back of my mind, this question has been playing out for about half an hour since I landed at this small bazaar in Dhulikhel municipality from Kathmandu on my journey further northwards where air is fresher and mountain ranges are much closer—and far more captivating.

You probably guessed it right! I want all those majestic mountains for myself!! Even working journalists can have those mountains, in their imagination of course, as ourall-powerful government has not deployed thought police—as yet.

Quite a relief in this age of all sorts of curbs, isn’t it?  

Tired of waiting after finishing locally-grown peanuts worth Rs 50, I approach a sweet shop hoping to replenish myself as its visible-from-afar menu writ large on its wall draws me.

Eureka! Khuwa Lassi!! Haven’t I been craving for this thing all my life? At this point in time, it seems that Khuwa Lassi has been on my wish list in every birth.

Excited, I approach the young owner and make it clear in no uncertain terms that Khuwa Lassi is all that I want.  

But the guy lets me down as he says: Khuwa Lassi banauna dherai samay lagxa (It will take quite a while to make Khuwa Lassi).

I am like: Is this how you do your business, boy?

While my stomach churns, Nature comes calling and I ask for the permission to use the loo.

Much to my relief, a prompt permission comes from the guy running the no-sweat sweet business and I whiz past a dank, shabby, sun-shadow setting, address the call and return as fast as I can.

Deep inside, I thank the owner—and my stars—for the unfulfilled Khuwa Lassi order.  

While emerging from that place, it becomes clear as daylight to me that those mountains with clouds hanging over them, those natural watch towers from where you get those mesmerizing views of snow-clad or snow-devoid Himalayas cannot wait anymore.

So, I, instead of haggling over the fare, get hold of the lone cabby awaiting his much-sought-after customer and together we shoot with his friend, towards the mountains via a long and winding road.

In our long journey amid the lush woods scarred by landslides in places, politics comes up and the cabby in his 50s inquires about a groundswell of support for the former king in Kathmandu and what course national politics will take in the days ahead.

We rack our brains and part ways as my destination in the woods arrives before our solution to the political imbroglio.

A sumptuous meal later, I take a walk along the countryside dotted with Nepali-style houses and farm-stays.

I strike a conversation with a man surrounded by his chickens and chicks in his farmstead by a dirt road. He tells me about his family—two sons and two daughters—and how he has found happiness in this country itself, without having to touch any foreign shore.

About the presence of some glistening, modern-style buildings amid the woods nearby, he says: Those buildings belong to Tibetan monks. They come here to meditate for years.

Amid the woods, some odd, giant flowering trees not generally seen in Nepal’s forests stand out and I ask my fellow sapien about them. 

He says: They are Paulownia trees. Local people planted them by paying hefty sums after some outsiders told them they yield high profits, in vain.

As the day passes, I leave the woods aware that waiting for the bus will be an exercise in futility. On a bend, I ask a woman the fastest way to get that proverbial bus that will take me back. Following her instructions, I arrive at Patlekhet via a dirt road and concrete steps, leaving behind a sparsely populated and cultivated village dotted with traditional Nepali houses and fertile farms. 

After about half an hour’s wait at the Patlekhet bazaar, a bus bound for Kathmandu arrives from Sindhuli and I embark, albeit hastily.

Let me cut the long journey short from here. After an uneventful journey from Patlekhet, I disembark at a chok-a-bloc Koteshwar at the end of a day that witnessed masses hitting the streets in support of the former king, Gyanendra Shah, and against the current crop of rulers representing major political parties on his arrival from Pokhara with his family.

This scenario reminds me of winters of discontent and summers of unrest that have been a part and parcel of national life for decades. During the winter, when even fish catch cold, people stay indoors suppressing their rising discontent against rising inflation, rising unemployment, rising poverty levels and unabated corruption. Come summer, they hit the streets demanding change.

These days, though, even winters witness protests, thanks to global warming and increasing exasperation. 

Remember, a massive change in a a space of a decade or so has been a constant in Nepal. Each wave of change brings a crop of new rulers, who get filthy rich along with their kith and kin through corrupt, unethical means. As they grow immensely unpopular, another wave rises and topples them, installing a new crop of leaders, who fare no better.

From Dhulikhel, I bring the cabby’s and my own questions before Sagun Sunder Lawoti, spokesperson for the Rastriya Prajatantra Party, which has been at the forefront of royalist rallies. He responds thus: Political change is inevitable. Change is needed to overcome a host of crises. 
 

The ball is in the government's court, more so with the NC, UML and the Maoists. Let them either opt/make way for peaceful transition or let nature take its own course, which could turn violent.

Summing up, Another wave of change, buoyed also by a global wave marked by the resurgence of nationalist elements, may be on the horizon, but will it bring a new dawn for Nepal and the Nepalis?

Keep reading the tea leaves.