If there's a perennial truism for South Asian diplomacy, it is this: Size matters, but so does subtlety. For much of its post-independence life, India has oscillated between a benevolent big brother and a reluctant regional policeman. Meanwhile, its neighbours-be they atolls or Himalayan citadels-have finessed an entire genre of diplomatic theatrics. And if recent history teaches us anything, it is that the Maldives, with its dramatic volte-face in foreign policy, has written a case study that Nepal might do well to borrow.

Let's start with the other side of the Indian Ocean, where America, ever the elephant in many diplomatic rooms, has delivered New Delhi a trademark Trumpian surprise in the form of tariffs. While Indian analysts bristle and officials polish their skills in the ancient art of 'lesson learning', perhaps it's time for Kathmandu's foreign ministry to draw inspiration a little closer to home, from the coral shores of Malé.

A glance back will refresh jaded memories. Not so long ago, in the golden age of electioneering, certain Maldivian politicians discovered a convenient villain for all occasions: India. There, on the campaign trail, no stride was too long to be taken over the imagined shadow of India's influence; no accusation too grand for the rally stage. Then, riding on these manufactured grievances, came the ascent to power. What followed was less a careful recalibration and more a diplomatic free-fall-public snubs, finger-wagging at Delhi, and a sudden, rather conspicuous, embrace of Beijing. The optics were precious: a new friend in China, who arrived bearing infrastructural gifts and saccharine talk of 'mutual respect'.

But euphoria, like monsoons, is seasonal in the archipelago. The Maldivian government, having chomped cheerfully on Beijing's cheque book, soon discovered a few uncomfortable realities. The brief dalliance with the Dragon brought with it a mountain of debt, a whiff of sovereignty erosion, and the stony realisation that the Chinese don't do warm, fuzzy security assurances. Suddenly, the villain of previous campaigns began to look awfully indispensable. So, like a prodigal child, the Maldives government rediscovered India.

Fishermen's festivals saw Indian envoys beaming in attendance; airports were sprinkled with tricolour bunting; and New Delhi was once again the 'special friend' to be flattered in official communiqués. The U-turn was so brisk, it would make even the most hard-boiled Kathmandu politician slightly dizzy.

Enter Nepal, ever the grandmaster of neighbourly brinkmanship. For decades, its politicians have sung the same raga. India is cast as the imperial meddler-a bogeyman whose nefarious reach explains all of Nepal's woes. Yet, come victory night, the New Delhi circuit is mysteriously popular: phone calls flow, garlands are exchanged, laddus consumed, and promises to 'reset' the relationship abound. Post-election, there is a brief flirtation with the 'other' Asian giant, China, fueled by tales of alternate development models and highways to prosperity. But much like in the Maldives, the promises soon lose their sheen. Topography, trade imbalances, and the sticky reality of open borders render any anti-India rhetoric not just illogical but self-defeating.

What's blindingly apparent is this: the regional playbook is growing thin. The manufactured cycle of using India as the campaign scoundrel, then as an ATM-cum-bodyguard in office, is a stunt too transparent for today's world. Voters-yes, even in South Asia-aren't infinitely gullible. And while the great game of balancing between Beijing and Delhi may make for compelling television, it rarely produces sustainable national outcomes. The China Option, so temptingly dangled, comes with non-negotiable strings and too many zeroes for small countries to ignore. The Indian embrace, awkward as it sometimes is, at least carries the legacy of cultural kinship, historical inevitability, and near-instant assistance in times of trouble. The Maldives' sudden urge to return to the Indian fold wasn't cooked up in a PR kitchen; it was raw survival instinct, learned painfully by stepping on Beijing's toes-and bills.

Nepal's politicians, if they are listening, should take notes. The world is neither as patient nor as easily manipulated as it once was, and power has a funny way of exposing campaign hypocrisies. Nothing pleases a powerful neighbour less than being dragged through the electoral muck by a would-be partner. And nothing irritates voters more than seeing their government lurch from one foreign capital to another, hat in hand, promising allegiance to whichever benefactor underwrites the next tranche of loans. The lesson from Malé is not merely to avoid burning bridges with Delhi, but to appreciate the unique geography and history that make India not just a 'strategic partner,' but a structural inevitability in regional success stories.

So, perhaps the time has come for a more grown-up diplomacy in Kathmandu-one that recognises the difference between election slogans and external threats, and that treats relations with India not as something to be periodically sabotaged and then mended like an old bicycle chain, but as the central axle on which Nepal's fortunes revolve. After all, if the Maldives, having tasted the risks of misadventure, can perform a screeching U-turn and rediscover Indian friendship, surely the Himalayan republic can muster a little less theatre and a little more realism in its foreign policy 'nritya'.

Summa summarum, good neighbours are not the ones you roast in public and embrace in private, but those you learn to live with, warts and wonders included. And if Nepal is to avoid the Maldivian misadventure, a healthy respect for history, and some humility, might be the only real lesson to learn.

Prof Peela is a South Asia and Pacific regional geopolitical and security expert