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Many of us have a problem saying no to people. It makes us uncomfortable. Sometimes we have to explain ourselves or make elaborate excuses. So, we end up saying yes to things we would rather not be a part of. I guess it’s one of the most common human conditions—one that we would like to correct but find ourselves unable to most of the time. 

I’m horrible at saying no to people. My default response is always a ‘sure’ or an ‘okay’ even as my mind is screaming otherwise. I don’t want to disappoint people or come across as someone who is difficult. But saying yes doesn’t always guarantee I will follow through on my promises. I will often skip lunches and invites despite having said yes to them. I’ll find ways to back out last minute and feel relieved when someone cancels engagements I’ve agreed to be a part of. I realize if I could only say no to things I don’t feel like doing, I don’t have to be unnecessarily stressed out or eventually do things half heartedly. 

I always vow to do better—to speak my mind and turn down offers I’m not interested in. I’m envious of people who can say no. Every year, it’s one of my top five resolutions. I’m trying to learn how to say no without offending people. But it’s not an easy thing. Whenever I say no (or try to say no) I can clearly see the hurt on the other person’s face and I start to explain myself, sometimes even making up stories as I go. I hate myself for it. But I fall into the trap every single time. 

I have a few friends, colleagues, and mentors who can say no politely and with ease. One thing they all seem to have in common is clearly sorted priorities. They know they won’t be able to give time to certain things and have no qualms about rejecting those offers. I have spoken to a few of them and they have all maintained that how the other person feels isn’t in their control. The best they can do is be direct and clearly state where they stand. It prevents future misunderstandings and complications, they say. 

I have said yes to things that I’ve had to cancel at the last minute and this is even worse than not being able to say no in the first place. I realize it makes me lose face and people aren’t likely to take my words seriously in the future. I can’t remember the number of times I’ve said yes to invitations and engagements knowing full well that I might not be able to make it and then regretted it later. 

I’ve also had people say yes to me only to disappear at the last minute. Once a senior female journalist agreed to participate in a roundtable event I was organizing for research purposes. She even confirmed a week before the discussion. Then she wouldn’t pick up her phone or respond to texts a day prior to the event. I know she wasn’t ill or had had no emergencies and could have responded to the calls and texts as she was out and about town. Some people I knew had even caught up with her for coffee and chitchat. 

Needless to say, I hated being on the receiving end of this kind of unprofessional behavior and I wondered how many times I might have disappointed people in a similar fashion. I would like to say that I’ve always made it a point to cancel if I wouldn’t be able to do something I had said yes to but I must have pulled the disappearing act too a few times when it has been too awkward to cancel. 

This one incident has made me think deeply and seriously about the importance and perhaps kindness of saying no rather than saying yes to seem amicable and nice and then later backing out. Though initially alarming, it gives the other person clarity on where things stand. It’s a nicer thing to do for the sake of the other person and also a kind thing to do for yourself. You will feel better about yourself and won’t be stressed. 

Saying no takes practice and it’s not something I hope to achieve overnight or through resolutions but to start with I’m definitely going to force myself to speak my mind instead of saying yes to everything that comes my way. 

One of my colleagues told me a great way to start saying no is to tell people you will think it through when they ask you something and not give an immediate answer. This allows you space to gather your thoughts and give a dignified answer without offending anyone or without having to compromise. 

Although the use of generative AI has significantly improved efficiency and productivity in the creative industry, it has also raised concerns about reinforcing biased worldviews related to gender, caste, ethnicity, geography and other social dimensions. Against this backdrop, this article begins by presenting findings from this writer’s experiments that reveal how generative AI responds to key gender-related prompts. It then reviews past research to explore whether generative AI perpetuates traditional notions of gender inequality and stereotypes, or whether it represents a more progressive shift. The article then analyzes the root causes of biased outputs, and proposes pathways for more equitable, inclusive and socially responsible AI development.

To examine gender bias in generative AI, I conducted a series of prompt-based experiments using a widely-used generative AI tool. When I asked the tool to write a hypothetical story about a nurse, it immediately assigned a female name and used the pronoun “she.” This pattern continued across other professions. Scientist, engineer, and security guard, Army, Police, were consistently given male names and pronouns, while kitchen helpers, dancers and Early Childhood Development (ECD) teachers were presented as female. Even in the health sector, roles like gynecologist were portrayed as female, whereas doctors were more often assigned male or mixed-gender identities.

Next, I tested how the AI assigned roles in hierarchical professional settings. When prompted to generate hypothetical names of CEOs and their secretaries, the AI consistently provided male names for CEOs and female names for secretaries, reinforcing traditional occupational gender roles. And when asked to list 20 fictional nurses, it provided all female names. A prompt for 20 ECD teachers also resulted in exclusively female names. In contrast, prompts for teachers and head teachers produced a mix of male and female names, though still reflecting gendered assumptions depending on the level of authority or setting.

Across multiple attempts, the results were consistent: generative AI tools tend to reflect and reproduce entrenched gender stereotypes. While they may occasionally offer mixed or neutral outputs, the overall trend favors traditional associations between gender and profession. 

The outcome of the experiment aligns closely with findings from a 2024 UNESCO study titled “Challenging Systematic Prejudices: An Investigation into Bias Against Women and Girls in Large Language Models.” The report reveals that generative AI systems consistently exhibit pervasive biases related to gender, sexuality and race. These systems often associate female names with traditional domestic roles, generate negative or harmful content about LGBTIQA+ individuals, and assign stereotypical professions based on gender and ethnicity.

According to the research report entitled  Gender and Ethnicity Representation of University Academics by Generative Artificial Intelligence Using DALL-E 3 by Currie, Hewis and Wheat (2025), published in the Journal of Further and Higher Education, generative AI tools continue to reproduce systemic biases in visual representation. The analysis revealed that 82.2 percent of AI-generated academic characters were male and 94.2 percent were light-skinned. Women, people with darker skin tones and individuals with disabilities were significantly underrepresented.

This apart,  a recent study in Australia titled Gender Bias in Generative Artificial Intelligence Text-to-Image Depiction of Medical Students by Currie, G, Currie, J, Anderson, S, and Hewis, J (2024), published in the Health Education Journal, examined how DALL-E 3 generates images of medical students. Although more than half of Australia’s actual medical students are women, as claimed by the research report, the AI overwhelmingly portrayed men being 92 percent. 

Another study, which asked large language models like ChatGPT and Alpaca to generate recommendation letters for hypothetical employees, found clear gender bias in the language used. Men were often described as “experts” and “thinkers,” while women were labeled with terms like “beauty” and “emotional, the study revealed. These patterns highlight deep-rooted gender stereotypes embedded in AI systems.

A 2025 study published in Computers in Human Behavior: Artificial Humans offers how AI wrongly represents females in healthcare.  The research, conducted by Ho, Hartanto, Koh, and Majeed, revealed that women’s heart disease symptoms are often misdiagnosed or wrongly linked to other conditions, despite being identical to men’s. Diagnostic AI tools also consistently performed better for male patients, resulting in more frequent underdiagnosis and misdiagnosis for women.

Why biased outputs?

The AI and tech industries remain overwhelmingly male-dominated, with women occupying only a small fraction of development roles. This gender imbalance directly influences how AI systems are conceived and built. As a consequence of this, male-centered perspectives and assumptions into the architecture of artificial intelligence are dominant. This apart, there is the lack of robust fairness testing in many AI tools, especially across gender, race and cultural dimensions. 

Another reason is the quality of the data these systems are trained on. Many AI tools, particularly text-to-image models, rely on massive datasets like LAION-5B—scraped from the internet, where misinformation, sexism and xenophobia are widespread. Without meaningful filtering and oversight, these flawed inputs lead to the replication and amplification of harmful stereotypes and discriminatory narratives.

The digital gender divide further deepens these inequities. Women globally—and in countries like Nepal—have less access to digital tools. They are underrepresented in online spaces, and face disproportionate levels of online hate, algorithmic discrimination, and exclusion from the tech workforce. Cultural and social barriers continue to restrict women’s access to AI education and mentorship, limiting their participation in shaping the technology. As of 2018, only 10–15 percent of AI developers in major tech firms were women; by 2022, over 90 percent of developers remained male. Generative AI tools not only inherit these biases from their training data but also reinforce them through constant user interactions. For example, when prompted about leadership, these systems often emphasize male figures and valorize stereotypically masculine traits like dominance and risk-taking. This happens because the AI reflects dominant cultural narratives found in the training data. Furthermore,  user prompts and feedback—often unconsciously reinforcing existing norms—create a feedback loop that hardens these gendered patterns over time.

The way forward 

In conclusion, as generative AI becomes more powerful and widespread, it is essential that we shape its development in ways that promote fairness, inclusion and accountability. This means going beyond technical solutions and embracing a people-centered approach using diverse and representative data, ensuring transparency in how AI systems work, and involving voices from historically marginalized communities in every stage of design and decision-making. Strong ethical and human rights standards must guide AI governance, with clear oversight and accountability mechanisms in place. If developed responsibly, AI has the potential not only to avoid reinforcing existing inequalities, but also to help build a more just and equitable digital future for all.

In Karnali Province, fatal accidents continue to claim lives as residents are forced to cross rivers using tuins—makeshift cable crossings—due to the absence of proper bridges. Despite repeated tragedies, progress on building safe infrastructure remains slow, putting lives at daily risk.

On 7 Oct 2023, Makar Singh Nepali (38) of Soru Rural Municipality-5, Mugu, died while crossing the Karnali River via a tuin in Sarkegad Rural Municipality, Humla. The cable snapped, sending him plunging into the river. His body was recovered a month later.

Just a day later, on Oct 8, Tula Bohara (55) of Mudkechula Rural Municipality, Dolpa, fell into the Jagadulla River while trying to cross in a canoe—her only option after a bridge was destroyed by floods in 2019. She did not survive.

Another tragedy occurred when Bhuwame Khadka of Junichande Rural Municipality-4, Jajarkot, died after falling from a canoe while crossing the Chhedagarh River. In a similar incident a few years ago, Harisingh Khadka and Bir Bahadur Khadka were seriously injured.

These incidents represent only a small fraction of the accidents occurring across the province. Locals report that injuries, disappearances, and deaths due to unsafe crossings have become tragically routine. Yet, there is no comprehensive record of tuin-related fatalities. The Karnali Provincial Police Office in Surkhet has documented just three deaths and two injuries from tuin incidents since 2018, although locals insist the actual numbers are much higher. “What was meant to be a lifeline has become a symbol of fear and death,” said a resident of Humla.

In Sarkegad and similar areas, both residents and elected officials risk their lives daily crossing rivers on tuins. “There is no bridge here,” said local resident Aiti Phadera. “We cross the Karnali with our eyes closed, praying to our ancestral gods.” From transporting food and firewood to taking the sick for treatment, tuins are still widely used. Children also risk their lives every day on their way to school.

Preliminary data from the Ministry of Physical Infrastructure and Urban Development shows that 55 tuin systems remain active in eight of Karnali’s ten districts. Humla has the highest number (15), followed by Kalikot (12), Jajarkot (12), and Surkhet (eight). Only Rukum Paschim and Jumla have no active tuins. Officials said the data was gathered through public notices and will be verified through on-site surveys.

To address the crisis, the Karnali Province Planning Commission has pledged to construct 496 suspension bridges within five years, increasing the total number from 1,304 to 1,800 by the end of the fiscal year 2025/26. This goal is part of the province’s second five-year development plan.

However, locals and social activists say progress has been slow and uneven. “Some tuins are tied to trees with frayed ropes—disaster can strike at any moment,” said local activist Bindulal Regmi. In some places, people are even charged to cross: Rs 1,000 for motorcycles and Rs 100 per person—an added burden for those already struggling.

Devaki Timalsina, Vice-chairperson of Sarkegad Rural Municipality, emphasized the need for coordinated action. “Our people are dying. This cannot go on,” she said. “The local, provincial, and federal governments must come together to build the bridges Karnali urgently needs.”

Though the region is now connected to the national road network, many remote communities still lack basic infrastructure like bridges. Until that changes, people will continue to cross rivers with prayer on their lips—and fear in their hearts.

Former President Bidya Devi Bhandari is desperately trying to join CPN-UML, vowing to uphold the ideology of her late husband, Madan Bhandari, who advocated for Nepal’s communists to adapt to multiparty democracy. Some argue that Bhandari’s re-entry is justified, while others say it is inappropriate for a former head of state to rejoin party politics.

The UML has officially refused to renew the party membership of Bhandari, blocking her from rejoining active politics. The party clarified that as per the party statute, only the Central Committee can decide on membership renewal. Since the committee has established that there is no requirement for Bhandari to return to active politics, the question of membership does not arise.

Party chair and Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli has long maintained that it is against the constitution for an ex-head of state to resume partisan politics. He contends that the Constitution of Nepal 2015 does not envision the active political stances taken by a ceremonial head of state, a symbol of national unity and neutrality, even after retirement.

Bhandari, who approved two unconstitutional decisions of the Oli-led cabinet to dissolve the parliament, recently said she is aware that this incident will continue to follow her. She, who endorsed the controversial recommendations for parliament dissolution at Oli’s recommendation, however, says that she was not under any pressure while endorsing it. According to her, she just implemented what the cabinet decided, and followed the constitutional provisions.

Once seen as close political allies—supporting his ambitions and him advancing her profile—the Oli-Bhandari alliance is decidedly over. 

Bhandari’s election in 2015 as Nepal’s first female president presented an image of a neutral head of state in line with Nepal’s constitution. But behind the mask of impartiality lay a fraught relationship with the ruling communist force—and its most dominant leader, Oli.

Let’s revisit the principal flashpoints of the contentious choices of Bhandari while she served as president: the National Assembly process delays, the controversial swearing in of her second term, the two dissolutions of Parliament, and the citizenship and financial-governance ordinance standoffs that pulled her further into partisan controversy. It leads up to the present standoff over UML leadership, explaining how the erstwhile united front has since fragmented under pressures of constitutional interpretation, personal ambition, and shifting political norms.

Shortly after the 2017 general elections, the outgoing government led by Nepali Congress President Sher Bahadur Deuba presented an ordinance for calling the first National Assembly elections. Pursuant to Article 129, these elections had to be held within certain timeframes, yet Bhandari left the ordinance hanging for weeks, delaying the formation of the upper house. She was accused by critics of succumbing to UML pressure to slow a process that was Congress-skewed; Prime Minister Deuba condemned openly ‘undue influence’, and the debate ignited a national uproar over government paralysis.

In a surprising twist, Bhandari ratified the ordinance on 29 Dec 2017—but only after retracting the original proposal and replacing it with the Congress‑sponsored version. This abrupt volte‑face cleared the way for a new government, but did little to assuage concerns about her impartiality. The episode hinted at an emerging modus vivendi: Bhandari would delay until political pressure reached fever pitch, then step in to resolve crises on terms that often advantaged Oli’s party.

Barely weeks into Oli’s premiership, a second test of Bhandari’s resolve emerged. In Feb 2018, Deuba’s government nominated three members to the upper house. Bhandari refused to endorse them, deferring action even after Oli replaced Deuba on Feb 15. Once Oli sent his own slate of nominees, she approved them immediately—effectively dismissing Deuba’s choices without public explanation.

By then, crucial weeks had slipped by, delaying the assembly’s functioning. Legal scholars denounced the move as a violation of Article 79, arguing that the president’s discretion must not be wielded as a partisan weapon. Though no formal penalties followed, the episode further eroded Bhandari’s reputation for neutrality—and cemented her reputation within UML circles as a loyal ally.

When Bhandari took office again in March 2018, she was faced with another constitutional impediment. Her swearing-in by Chief Justice Gopal Parajuli took place just a few minutes after a Judicial Council notification had ostensibly retired Parajuli on the basis of having exceeded the retirement age. Legal appeals soon challenged the validity of the presidency as well, arguing that the oath taken unlawfully invalidated her mandate.

Though the Supreme Court ultimately allowed the challenge to proceed, the controversy underscored the delicate interplay between executive and judicial branches. Critics argued that Bhandari’s eagerness to proceed with the ceremony—despite clear legal questions—revealed a willingness to ignore procedural safeguards whenever political expedience demanded.

The apex of Bhandari and Oli’s controversial partnership came in late 2020. After losing a confidence vote on Dec 20, Prime Minister Oli advised dissolution of the House of Representatives under Article 76 (1), and Bhandari issued the proclamation that same night. The suddenness of the move—announced at midnight, without parliamentary debate—triggered nationwide protests and mass legal challenges. Seven ministers resigned in protest, and constitutional lawyers decried the act as a blatant usurpation of popular mandate.

The Supreme Court in Feb 2021 invalidated the dissolution as unconstitutional, ordering the House to convene. Unfazed, Oli instructed—and Bhandari sanctioned—a second one in May 2021, this time under Article 76 (5). Protests and petitions again followed. On July 12, the court nullified the second proclamation and named Deuba prime minister, rebuking the president for serially signing off on acts unconstitutional.

These back‑to‑back decisions—rubber‑stamped with minimal scrutiny—fractured public trust. Observers chastised the president for sacrificing constitutional fidelity to prop up Oli’s political fortunes, and for ignoring warnings about the humanitarian costs amid a surging pandemic.

Beyond parliamentary maneuvers, Bhandari’s role in citizenship law reforms sparked further debate. In May 2021, during the Covid-19 pandemic and political crisis, she promulgated a citizenship amendment ordinance at Oli’s behest, only to see the Supreme Court stay its implementation as “colourable legislation” bypassing parliament. Oli did so to please his coalition partners.

The turning point was in Aug 2022, when a gender‑equitable Citizenship Amendment Bill passed both houses. Bhandari vetoed it with fifteen recommendations, but when parliament flared up at the unchanged text, she let it lapse by failing to sign it within the 15‑day constitutional deadline. Deuba was the prime minister.  Tens of thousands of children, especially those born to Nepali women and foreign men, remained stateless. Opponents branded the move as a ‘pocket veto’ legally equal to constitutional violation; five top ruling-party officials publicly criticized the move and threatened impeachment.

Bhandari defended her action as maintaining the sanctity of the constitution. Nevertheless, her denial of assent to a democratically passed bill involved her in further charges of abusing presidential discretion for political ends while disguising it with ceremonial facade.

Several additional controversies have marked Bhandari’s presidency, painting a portrait of a head of state who often blurred the line between ceremonial duty and political involvement.

In Oct 2017, when then–Prime Minister Deuba had presented an ordinance on medical education to the House of Representatives, President Bhandari retained it in her custody for nearly three weeks. Her delay had come under widespread public backlash, particularly from civil society and activist Dr Govinda KC. She signed the ordinance only on Nov 10—much beyond executive standards—drawing charges that she had exercised presidential discretion for political reasons.

In Nov 2020, Bhandari once more courted controversy by wading directly into the internal struggle of the then-ruling Nepal Communist Party (NCP). She met with factional leaders such as Pushpa Kamal Dahal, Madhav Kumar Nepal, Bamdev Gautam, and Oli to attempt to mediate a solution to the party’s internal crisis. This was seen as a grave breach of presidential impartiality by analysts, some of whom stated that she behaved more like a political patron than as a constitutional head of state.

In Dec 2020, the Oli Cabinet pushed through an ordinance amending the Constitutional Council Act to allow council decisions with minimal quorum. President Bhandari swiftly approved it, enabling controversial appointments across constitutional bodies bypassing parliamentary hearings. Critics saw this as unchecked rubber-stamping of executive excess.

On 21 Sept 2022, Bhandari made a pre-recorded address to a Chinese-funded Global Security Initiative forum in Beijing in contravention of reportedly advised by Deuba government’s Foreign Ministry. Her presence was strongly condemned for being a breach of diplomatic etiquette and risking Nepal’s tenuous foreign policy balance.

Again in Oct 2022, Deuba was the prime minister and President Bhandari refused to promulgate a government ordinance presented to amend several laws—including the Money Laundering Prevention Act and Foreign Investment Act—that were necessary for Nepal’s compliance with Financial Action Task Force (FATF) deadlines. Her inaction was condemned for suppressing vital anti–money laundering reforms and for exacerbating Nepal’s slowing efforts to deliver international obligations. She is also blamed by critics for Nepal’s Feb 2025 gray‑listing, which affected foreign investment and bank costs.

Finally, in March 2023, she was faulted for allegedly renaming the formal Twitter identity of the President’s Office (@PresidentofNP) to her name (@BidyaDBhandari), stripping it of official verification. The move raised public and institutional ire, as her replacement was barred from occupying the verified cyberspace, which was condemned as misuse of official facilities for individual purposes.

Every episode has eroded the myth of politically neutral presidency and strengthened the image of Bhandari as a partisan official instead of a fair-minded umpire above factional turmoil. The same controversies that plagued her government now fuel suspicions regarding the true motives for her actions. In UML ranks, there is skepticism as to whether her ascent predicts yet another cycle of internal civil strife.

Bhandari’s eight‑year tenure was marked by contradictions: sworn to uphold Nepal’s constitution, yet accused of stretching its limits; cast as the ultimate ceremonial figure, yet wielding real—and often decisive—discretion. Her partnership with Oli brought the promise of stable governance but delivered repeated constitutional crises. Now, as she lays claim to lead the very party she served from the ceremonial chair earlier, Bhandari has to face the record of those standoffs: the dead ordinances, the contested oaths, the dissolutions abhorred by the judiciary, and the citizenship reforms balancing.