The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled a busy cafe; in New Baneshwor on a recent afternoon. At one corner, four people sat around a table, cups untouched as politics dominated the conversation. They began on a positive note. “In terms of good governance, the Balendra Shah-led government is doing well,” one of them said confidently. “At least it has shown seriousness in controlling corruption and improving public service delivery.” The others nodded, but the optimism did not last long. “But where is the improvement in the economy?” another interrupted impatiently. “Inflation is climbing again. It had come down to around two percent, but now it has reached nearly five percent.”
The discussion quickly shifted to the prime minister’s recent interaction with the business community. One participant pointed out that Finance Minister Swarnim Wagle had been absent from the meeting, reviving speculation about differences between the prime minister and his finance minister.
“There are reports that the two are at odds over several policy issues,” one remarked. They were of the view that the meeting could have been more effective if the Finance Minister was there. A woman at the table joined in. “The prime minister is reportedly unhappy with the finance ministry’s handling of insurance policies and the decision to impose taxes on education.”
Soon, the conversation moved to another controversial issue—the parking of vehicles outside the entrances of several media houses by unidentified individuals. It was later reported that those involved were close to the government and intended to send a message to media organizations over their criticism of unforgiving traffic fines imposed by Nepal Police and the Kathmandu Metropolitan City.
“The idea of protesting media content isn’t necessarily wrong,” one man observed. “But the method certainly was. If they disagreed with the reporting, they could have demonstrated peacefully outside the media houses or publicly expressed their concerns. Blocking entrances sends the wrong message.”
Despite their criticism, the group largely agreed that the media should allow the Shah government enough space to carry out its work while continuing to hold it accountable.
The discussion then turned to the government’s newly-introduced regulations for educational consultancies. Judging by their familiarity with the issue, it appeared that some members of the group worked in the consultancy sector and were anxious about their future. “If students can’t go to the traditional destinations, they’ll look elsewhere,” one of them said. “India, Thailand and Malaysia could become the new alternatives.” Another participant broadened the discussion. “Every young person wants to leave Nepal. I rarely meet a child who says they want to stay here.”
Surprisingly, the group agreed that youth migration would continue even if Nepal created more jobs and educational opportunities. Going abroad, they suggested, had become an aspiration in itself.
Politics returned to the center of the conversation after a while. One participant predicted that cracks had already begun to emerge within the Rastriya Swatantra Party. “The rift between Prime Minister Shah and Rabi Lamichhane has already started,” he claimed. “In Nepal, strong political parties rarely remain united for long.” As evidence, he cited the collapse of the Nepal Communist Party that was formed amid much fanfare in 2018.
With that, the group paid their bill and left the café. I returned to my Americano and picked up The New York Times. An essay titled There Is an Ancient Solution to Our Modern Crisis of Attention by SJ Murray caught my eye. The article argued that concerns about shrinking attention spans are hardly new. Nearly 2,000 years ago, the Roman philosopher Seneca warned that an abundance of reading material—made possible by the wider availability of papyrus—could overwhelm the human mind. Long before smartphones and TikTok, people were already worrying about distraction.
About fifteen minutes later, another group entered the café. Three men settled at a nearby table and immediately launched into a discussion about delayed government payments to construction companies. Judging by their conversation, they appeared to be contractors working on projects in the Kathmandu Valley. Their voices were noticeably louder than those of the previous group. “The government’s delay in releasing payments has put many contractors in serious trouble,” one complained.
Another directed his frustration at Physical Infrastructure Minister Sunil Lamsal. “Threats won’t build roads,” he said. “Projects will only be delayed further if the government continues this approach.” As they spoke, one of them glanced at his mobile phone. “The prime minister has just arrived in Parliament,” he announced after reading a news alert. The others burst into laughter. “That’s news in itself,” one joked, suggesting that the prime minister’s appearances in Parliament had become quite rare. Another quickly added, “And Balen left Parliament after just twenty minutes.” The discussion then took an interesting turn.
“One thing you have to admit,” one participant said. “Balen doesn’t waste time attending ceremonial functions. He hasn’t even visited his constituency in Jhapa-5 since the election.” Whether accurate or not, the remark reflected a perception that the prime minister operates differently from Nepal’s traditional political leaders. “Even the Maoists accepted conventional political practices after entering mainstream politics in 2008,” another said. “But Balen’s style remains very different.”
Before long, banking and the economy became the next topic. “There has been no real improvement,” one man observed. “The banking sector isn’t collapsing, but neither is it showing signs of a strong recovery.” Another blamed the finance minister’s budget."The government has presented an unrealistic budget,” he argued. “Revenue projections don't match economic realities.” The others largely agreed, suggesting that economic expectations remained disconnected from the country’s actual fiscal situation.
As conversations flowed from governance to inflation, media freedom, youth migration, party politics, construction, Parliament and the economy, the café became something more than a place serving coffee. It became an informal public forum—a miniature portrait of contemporary Nepal. In Kathmandu’s cafés, politics is rarely far from the table. Between bitter sips of Americano and glances at mobile phones, ordinary citizens debate government performance, question official decisions, speculate about political rivalries and voice anxieties about the country’s future. Whether their conclusions are right or wrong, these conversations reveal something important: the public mood is constantly being brewed alongside the coffee.
