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‘The consumer is the king of the market.’ 

The above quote seems to imply that the consumer holds (almost) tyrannical power over the market.

The quote gives consumer confidence a boost, but not for long against lived experiences, especially in less developed countries and monopoly markets like Nepal where the consumer has remained a paper tiger for long.  

The quote notwithstanding, the situation on the ground is far more sobering in the context of Nepal where consumerism remains an alien concept, where getting cheated in terms of price, quality and quantity has become the norm rather than the exception for the gullible consumer. Here, cartelling, hoarding and black-marketing have become standard business practices and even if one gets caught for resorting to these practices, chances of getting an early release are pretty high, thanks to friends in high places. 

In the name of protecting consumers’ interests, very many organizations have sprouted in Nepal over the decades. But most of these bodies are not independent; they merely are extensions of different political parties. Obviously, they are more interested in pursuing politics in the name of the consumer than taking pains for the protection of consumer rights. 

By the way, what does the Constitution of Nepal, 2015 provide for the (wronged) consumer? 

Article 44 (1) states, in no uncertain terms: Every consumer shall have the right to obtain quality goods and services. 

Article 44 (2) goes: A person who has suffered injury from any substandard goods or services shall have the right to obtain compensation in accordance with law. 

A fitting tribute to consumer rights, right? 

But the consumer needs far more than hollow words, it needs some concrete action to get core concerns addressed. 

For a long time, the conscious consumer has felt the need for a dedicated court to address grievances. The good news is, such a court has finally started operation coinciding with the World Consumer Rights Day (March 15).   

The Consumer Court, established with a mission to expedite legal proceedings and provide swift resolutions to consumer complaints, consists of Kathmandu district court Judge Ram Prasad Sharma as chair and gazetted second-class officers Gehendra Raj Regmi and Ananda Raj Pokharel as members, apart from a registrar for filing cases. 

Now that the long-awaited court has materialized, time has come for the aggrieved people to break the silence and move the court, if need be, for the protection of consumer rights.  

In the lively streets of Malekhu Bazar, where the Trishuli River flows with a soothing rhythm, my childhood memories are filled with the smell of fried fish and the sound of chilled beer bottles clinking. My maternal uncle, Chabilal Marahatta, known as Chap Baje, was a local legend. He started a small stall selling fried fish and aalu chap (spicy potato cutlet fritters), which quickly became a must-stop spot for travelers on the Prithvi Highway. But what made his stall truly unforgettable was the rare appearance of Jala Kapur machha, a fish so special it turned ordinary days into celebrations.

Jala Kapur, meaning “camphor of water,” is known as the king of fish in Nepal. Its buttery texture, few bones, and melt-in-the-mouth quality made it a favorite among those who could afford it. Back then, it was considered a luxury, reserved for the elite. Chap Baje’s stall was a cultural hotspot where travelers, drivers, and officers gathered to enjoy the flavors of Nepal’s rivers.

In those days, there were no mobile phones or fancy electric freezers. Instead, we relied on kerosene-powered fridges, often repurposed from old INGO vaccination programs. These fridges were a rare luxury, and only a few shops in Malekhu Bazar could afford them. Chap Baje was one of them.

Whenever we managed to get a Jala Kapur, it was a big event. The fish, with its delicate texture and rich flavor, was saved for special guests—VIPs, officers, and influential drivers who could make or break a business with their support. I remember the excitement when a Jala Kapur arrived. My uncle would carefully divide it, saying, “This piece is for the Hakim Saab, this one for the driver, and this one for the special guest who might stop by.”

In those days, relationships were built on respect and gratitude. One such tradition was bheti—a small gift or token of appreciation. Whenever we had a prized catch like Jala Kapur or Asala, I would accompany my cousin to deliver these fish as bheti to the homes of officers and influential figures. It was a way of telling them that they were valued and ensuring their continued support.

Jala Kapur, with its firm, buttery flesh, was the star of Chap Baje’s stall. Found in the cold, fast-flowing rivers of Nepal, this fish was a symbol of purity and quality. Its delicate flavor needed little seasoning—just a sprinkle of salt, a dash of turmeric, and a hint of local spices. Whether grilled, steamed, or fried, Jala Kapur was a dish that left a lasting impression.

But Jala Kapur isn’t just delicious; it’s also incredibly nutritious. This cold-water fish is high in protein which is essential for muscle growth and repair. It’s low in fat and thus a healthy choice for weight management. It’s also rich in Omega-3 fatty acids that promotes heart health, reduces inflammation, and supports brain function besides being packed with vitamins and minerals, including Vitamin D, B-complex vitamins, and selenium, which boost immunity and overall health.Its natural diet of aquatic invertebrates enhances its nutritional profile, making it a wholesome addition to any meal.

The term Jala Kapur is a local name used in Nepal, and its scientific classification remains unclear. According to FishBase, the name Jalkapoor is associated with several species, including Pangasius pangasius, Clupisoma garua, Raiamas guttatus, Eutropiichthys murius, and Clupisoma montanum. More research is needed to accurately identify the specific species referred to as Jala Kapur in different regions of Nepal.

Jala Kapur isn’t just prized in Nepal. It’s also significant in neighboring regions like Bihar and Bangladesh. In Bihar, it’s often caught in the Gandak, Kosi, and Ganga rivers and is popular in Mithila cuisine, where it’s prepared in mustard-based curries or smoked and sun-dried for later use. In Bangladesh, it’s considered a delicacy in regions like Sylhet, Rajshahi, and Barisal, where it’s commonly prepared in Shorshe Bata Jhol (mustard-based gravy) or Panta Bhat (fermented rice dish).

One of the most beloved ways to prepare Jala Kapur is in the form of Malekhu Ko Jhol Macha, a tangy and spicy fish curry that captures the essence of Nepali cuisine. Here’s how you can make it at home:

Ingredients (Serves 4-6)

• Jala Kapur fish: 1 kg (cleaned and cut into pieces)
• Mustard oil: 3 tablespoons
• Fenugreek seeds (methi): 1 teaspoon
• Timur (Szechuan pepper): 1/2 teaspoon
• Green chilies: 4-5 (slit lengthwise)
• Tomatoes: 2 medium (chopped)
• Onions: 2 medium (finely chopped)
• Garlic: 6-7 cloves (minced)
• Ginger: 1-inch piece (grated)
• Turmeric powder: 1 teaspoon
• Red chili powder: 1 teaspoon
• Roasted mustard seeds: 2 tablespoons (ground into a paste)
• Roasted sesame seeds: 1 tablespoon (ground into a paste)
• Local Sun kagati or chuk amilo (lemon molasses): 2 teaspoons (for souring)
• Salt: To taste
• Fresh coriander leaves: For garnish

Instructions

• Clean the Jala Kapur thoroughly and marinate it with salt and turmeric powder for five minutes.
• Heat mustard oil in a deep pan until it smokes. Reduce the heat and add fenugreek seeds. Let them splutter for a few seconds.
• Add chopped onions, garlic, and ginger. Sauté until the onions turn golden brown.
• Stir in the chopped tomatoes, green chilies, turmeric powder, and red chili powder. Cook until the tomatoes soften and the oil separates.
• Gently add the marinated fish pieces to the pan. Coat them well with the spice mixture and cook for two to three minutes.
• Add the roasted mustard and sesame seed paste, along with Sun kagati juice or chuk amilo. Stir well with Timur powder to combine.
• Add two cups of water and bring the curry to a gentle simmer. Cover and cook for 10-15 minutes, or until the fish is tender and the flavors blend together.
• Sprinkle fresh coriander leaves on top and serve hot with steamed rice or chiura (beaten rice).

The author is a London-based R&D chef

The Free Student Union (FSU) serves as a unified voice for students throughout their educational journey, empowering them to challenge societal inequities and injustices. Its origins trace back to the Jayatu Sanskritam Movement of 1947, led by students from Rani Pokhari Sanskrit Pradhan Pathshala and Tindhara Pathshala. This movement sought to create a democratic environment against the autocratic Rana regime and revive Sanskrit literature. The first FSU election was held in 1962 at Tri-Chandra Multiple Campus, marking the beginning of student unions' significant role in shaping Nepal’s political landscape.

Since then, student unions have been at the forefront of movements to end ‘Ranarchy’. On 15 Dec 1960, King Mahendra dissolved Nepal’s first democratically elected parliament, jailed then-Prime Minister BP Koirala, and seized executive power through a coup. The subsequent ban on political parties created fertile ground for student politics at the university level, which eventually contributed to the establishment of a democratic system led by elected representatives. In the past, student unions made immense sacrifices—offering their blood, sweat, and tears—to bring about transformative change in the country. However, in today’s context, observing how the FSU operates, it might be more aptly termed a ‘Not So Free Student Union: Political Conditions May Apply’.

While the FSU continues to play a role in national discourse, its primary mission should be addressing the immediate concerns of its academic communities. Redirecting focus toward campus-specific challenges—such as improving educational quality, ensuring timely exams and result publication, upgrading infrastructure, and tackling issues like sexual harassment, bribery, and corruption—would allow these unions to fulfill their core purpose.

Another pressing issue is the ticketing and hierarchical system within student unions. Each college hosts multiple unions, such as NSU and ANNFSU, each with its own central committee. These committees are directly tied to their respective political party headquarters, undermining their autonomy. Movements and initiatives are often controlled by these central committees, as is the ticketing system for FSU elections.

Why should central committees, which are affiliated with political parties, have the authority to handpick candidates? Instead, individuals who wish to stand for election could nominate themselves, and union members could vote to select their candidates. The current system prioritizes money, power, and connections with top leaders over an individual’s skills, experience, and merit.

Historically, education in Nepal was seen as the most powerful tool for change, though it was not accessible to all. Student unions played a pivotal role in advocating for education for the common people. However, today, these unions often deprive students of education, behaving more like stubborn children demanding their wishes be fulfilled at any cost.

Instances of violence during FSU elections have become alarmingly normalized. Padlocking universities, canceling or postponing elections, issuing death threats, throwing stones, brandishing khukuris, splashing black ink on university officials, and destroying polling stations are just some examples. These actions are often justified as the "play of politics," whether to push demands or out of fear of losing elections. Regardless of the validity of their demands, shouldn’t debate, discussion, and discourse be the preferred tools for resolution rather than violence?

While organizing cultural and sports programs by these unions is commendable, these events often devolve into thinly veiled political showcases. Prominent leaders are invited to promote their ideologies while belittling rival unions, turning what should be genuine celebrations into platforms for political grandstanding.

In conclusion, the FSU and other student unions must refocus on their foundational purpose: serving students and addressing their academic and social needs. By fostering autonomy, promoting meritocracy, and prioritizing dialogue over violence, these unions can reclaim their role as true advocates for students and catalysts for positive change.

Spend a few minutes scrolling through social media about Nepal, and you might get an impression that the country is in a state of irreversible collapse. Political instability, corruption, the mass migration of young people, bureaucratic deadlock—these dominate the discourse. The prevailing sentiment: Nepal has no future. Everything is a disaster. But is this the ground reality, or are we trapped in a collective mood—a pervasive atmosphere of despair that shapes how we interpret events? 

Martin Heidegger, the German philosopher, argued that moods are not just personal emotions but collective states that shape how people perceive the world. A mood is not simply a fleeting feeling; it determines what appears possible or impossible. When we are in despair, everything looks hopeless. When we are optimistic, the very same circumstances can seem full of opportunity. The danger is that we mistake the mood for reality.

Right now, Nepal seems gripped by a mood of crisis. Every political event is framed as another step toward collapse. Social media amplifies outrage and negativity, reinforcing the belief that nothing works, that all roads lead to failure. 

Even during periods of political stability, opposition forces often work to undermine it. Even when policies are introduced, bureaucratic inertia slows them down. In such an atmosphere, even genuine progress can go unnoticed, overshadowed by a narrative of dysfunction. Consider the issue of youth migration. Thousands of young Nepalis leave the country every year in search of better opportunities. But this fact alone does not mean Nepal is doomed. Migration is not unique to Nepal—many countries, even developed ones, experience waves of emigration at different points in their history. What matters is how a country responds. Will Nepal create conditions that encourage its youth to return with skills, experience and investment? Or will we resign ourselves to the belief that youth migration is irreversible? 

Our answers to these questions are shaped by our collective mood. 

Political instability is an undeniable reality, but does that mean democracy itself has failed? Nepal has seen frequent changes in government, but it has also witnessed major democratic movements, an engaged electorate, and a growing demand for accountability. Corruption remains a problem, but civic activism, investigative journalism and digital transparency tools are also emerging. The bureaucratic system is slow, but Nepal’s private sector—especially entrepreneurs in digital industries—continues to innovate despite these hurdles. And yet, these positive aspects rarely define the national conversation. 

Instead, the dominant mood ensures that we focus only on dysfunction.

The possibility within breakdown

Heidegger also gives us another lens: breakdown. When things no longer function as expected, when the structures we rely on falter, we are forced to confront possibilities we may not have seen before. A system in crisis is also a system in transition. History shows that moments of instability often precede major transformations. 

Many of today’s thriving economies—South Korea, Singapore, even post-war Germany—went through prolonged periods of political and economic crisis before they found their footing. Their progress was not inevitable; it was made possible because they saw their breakdowns as moments of reevaluation rather than permanent decline. 

Nepal is at a similar juncture. The problems are real, but so are the possibilities. The same youth who are leaving for opportunities abroad are also part of a globally-connected, highly-skilled generation. The same political instability that frustrates us is also a sign of democratic contestation—a struggle to define Nepal’s future rather than resigning to a single, unchangeable fate. The same bureaucracy that slows progress also means that any reform, when it happens, has the potential to be institutionalized for the long term.

If we see only the breakdown and not the possibility within it, we risk deepening our national pessimism. And pessimism is not just an attitude; it shapes action. A country that believes it has no future acts accordingly. Talented people leave instead of staying to build. Entrepreneurs hesitate instead of investing. Policymakers, sensing the public’s resignation, prioritize short-term survival over long-term vision. But the opposite is also true. If we start recognizing the possibilities within this moment, we will act differently. We will invest, innovate, and engage. We will challenge the systems that don’t work rather than accepting them as permanent. Change begins not just with policy but with perception.

Choosing to see possibility 

The power of mood is that it determines what we believe is possible. And what we believe is possible determines what we attempt to build. If Nepal continues to see itself as a country on the brink of collapse, it will act like one. But if it sees itself as a country in transition, in the messy but necessary process of change, then it can begin to focus on solutions rather than just problems. This is not an argument for blind optimism. It is not about ignoring Nepal’s challenges or pretending that everything is fine. It is about resisting the easy, self-fulfilling trap of despair. 

Because in the end, national progress is not just about policies and politics, it is also about belief. Nepal’s greatest challenge today is not just political instability or economic hardship; it is the crisis of belief in its own potential. Just as mood shapes how we see the present, it also shapes what we believe about the future—and that belief, in turn, influences the path we take as a nation, from governance to progress and beyond.