Kathmandu’s PTW paradox: Promise and price on two wheels
Kathmandu, like many other South Asian cities, can be classified as a motorcycle-dependent city, with motorcycles accounting for over 75 percent of the total vehicle composition. Powered two-wheelers (PTWs) are not just another mode of transport in Kathmandu; they are a cultural phenomenon and a growing planning dilemma. PTWs have become both the backbone of urban mobility and the source of some enduring problems.
Kathmandu’s urban form is a blend of ancient settlements, closely knit neighborhoods, and haphazard modern expansion. Development attempted to fit modern demands into an ancient spatial structure, often without careful planning. The old city was never designed for large vehicles. Narrow pathways, dense settlements, and limited right of way made bigger vehicles impractical. Two-wheelers, being compact and flexible, emerged as a natural solution. For many families, a two-wheeler is also the first major asset they acquire, offering independence in a city where public transport is unreliable and often uncomfortable.
Buses are overcrowded, routes are poorly planned, and schedules are unpredictable. Tempos, once the lifeline of the valley, have gradually declined without being replaced by a modern alternative. In this vacuum, PTWs became the default mode of transport not because Kathmandu planned for them, but because the city failed to plan for anything else.
The promise
Two-wheelers have democratized mobility in ways cars never could. A motorcycle allows students living in Bhaktapur to attend college in Kathmandu, jobholders to commute from Tokha to Thamel, and delivery riders to navigate narrow alleys with an efficiency no four-wheeler can match.
They have also supported Kathmandu’s evolving economy. Two-wheelers have enabled the growth of start-ups in e-commerce, food delivery, courier services, and ride-sharing platforms. Thousands of young people now rely on ride-sharing services powered by motorcycles. For many, riding a two-wheeler has become a livelihood.
The price
The rise of two-wheelers has now reached an apex. What was once a solution has become a source of systemic tension. Demand has grown so rapidly that the city’s infrastructure can no longer accommodate it reasonably. The very compactness that made two-wheelers ideal for narrow streets has also become a source of disorder. Riders weave between lanes, encroach on pedestrian spaces, and occupy footpaths, making traffic management increasingly difficult.
Two-wheelers have added to existing congestion. Major intersections during peak hours resemble a transportation system on the verge of collapse.
Road safety is another growing concern. Overspeeding and risky overtaking are common, particularly among young riders. Two-wheelers were involved in around 53 percent of road crashes in the Kathmandu Valley in the last fiscal year. Hospitals routinely treat motorcycle-related trauma, a silent epidemic that rarely makes headlines but affects countless families.
Environmental impacts are mounting as well. Older motorcycles emit high levels of pollutants, worsening Kathmandu’s already poor air quality. Noise pollution from thousands of engines creates a constant urban hum—one residents have learned to tolerate, but should not have to.
Urban sprawl
Urban sprawl has been the invisible force behind the two-wheeler explosion. Over the past two decades, the Kathmandu Valley has expanded outward at an unprecedented pace. Rising land prices in the urban core have pushed settlements toward the periphery—around Bhaktapur, Tokha, Lubhu, and beyond. Residential plots and colonies have emerged faster than infrastructure could follow. Roads were built, but public transport routes were not extended. Services remained centralized, forcing long commutes for work, education, and healthcare.
In this sprawling landscape, two-wheelers became the only practical way to bridge distance. A bus journey from Bhaktapur to Patan can take more than an hour, involve multiple transfers, and suffer unpredictable delays, while a two-wheeler can make the same trip in nearly half the time.
Urban sprawl has also created a negative feedback loop. As more people rely on two-wheelers, the incentive for authorities to invest in public transport diminishes. The result is an urban mobility system shaped not by planning, but by individual necessity.
The path forward
The interventions made today will determine whether Kathmandu becomes more livable or more chaotic in the decades ahead. A sustainable mobility future demands a visionary approach.
Unchecked urban sprawl must be addressed through integrated land-use and mobility planning. Decentralization of services and mixed-use development are no longer optional. When people live closer to workplaces, schools, markets, and healthcare, the need for long commutes declines.
It is also time to seriously invest in public transportation. Mass transit systems such as metro rail and bus rapid transit are not luxuries; they are necessities. Without a strong mass-transit backbone, a city cannot meaningfully reduce its dependence on private vehicles.
Equally important is the development of non-motorized transport. Safe footpaths, cycling lanes, and pedestrian zones can significantly reduce reliance on two-wheelers for short trips.
Two-wheelers are deeply embedded in Kathmandu’s daily life and will remain part of its mobility landscape for years to come. But they should not remain the backbone of the system. The city must evolve from a place where motorcycles are the only practical choice to one where they are simply one option among many.
Kathmandu’s mobility crisis is not a failure of its people, but a failure of planning. By reimagining transportation, the city can become cleaner, safer, and more equitable. The question is whether Kathmandu is ready to shift gears.
The author is a civil/transportation engineer working on transportation planning and management
