The country's chronic detours and dead ends are the handiwork of a political class. These are leaders who can barely read a map, let alone chart a course for the nation
There's a growing chorus among Kathmandu's self-appointed intellectuals, a trend that's become almost fashionable in certain circles: the assertion that Nepal's destiny lies northwards, that the future is to be found in a pivot away from the familiar southern plains and towards the promise of the high plateaus beyond the Himalayas. It's a narrative peddled with great conviction in panel discussions, op-eds, and after a few drinks at the city's more expensive watering holes. The idea is simple, almost seductive-Nepal must break free from its southern moorings and chart a bold new course to the north.
But like most fashionable ideas in Kathmandu, this one wilts under the harsh sunlight of reality. For all the talk of new roads, railways, and corridors of opportunity, the truth is that Nepal remains, and will likely continue to be, a sandwich country. Hemmed in by two giants, the notion that all roads can or should point in a single direction is not just naïve but borders on the absurd. The very geography that makes Nepal unique also makes it impossible to ignore the south, no matter how many times the capital's chattering classes declare otherwise.
Scratch beneath the surface of these northward dreams, and the numbers tell a very different story. Nepal's trade with India dwarfs its trade with China: exports to India hover around $1.3 billion, and imports are at $13.7 billion, compared to exports to China of about $0.1 billion and imports of $0.5 billion. The trucks that bring food, fuel, and medicine to Nepali households cross the southern border, not the northern passes. The highways that matter, the ones that keep the country running, snake down to the Indian plains. Even the much-touted trans-Himalayan corridors remain, for now, little more than lines on a map and talking points in diplomatic communiqués.
When it comes to education, the numbers are equally telling. More than 115,000 Nepali students are currently studying in India, while approximately 5,000 are studying in China. The instinct of Nepalis is as clear as day: when in need of opportunity, head south. The same pattern is seen in healthcare. Each year, an estimated 20,000 Nepalis seek medical treatment in Indian hospitals, compared to about 1,000 who travel to China. When illness strikes, it's the hospitals of Delhi and Lucknow that see the influx, not the clinics of Lhasa or Chengdu.
The story repeats itself in labour and remittances. Over 1.5 million Nepalis work in India, compared to a few thousand in China. This massive workforce is not just a statistic-it is the backbone of Nepal's economy, contributing to remittances that account for nearly 30% of the country's GDP. The southward flow of labour and capital is a tangible testament to the real direction Nepal's roads lead, no matter what the latest intellectual fashion might suggest.
There's a delicious irony in the fact that many of the loudest advocates for a northward turn built their credentials on the very roads they now deride. The experts who return from years in Delhi or Mumbai, flush with degrees and experience, are often the first to pen impassioned essays about the need to look northwards.
Culture, too, refuses to be redirected by intellectual fashion. Attend a wedding anywhere in the Kathmandu Valley and you'll see the real direction of Nepali aspiration. After a respectable run of Nepali songs, the DJ inevitably succumbs to the gravitational pull of Bollywood. The dance floor comes alive, the crowd sings along, and for a few hours, the only border that matters is the one between the kitchen and the buffet. Bollywood's cultural influence is so pervasive that roughly 70% of movies shown in Nepali cinemas are Bollywood productions. The south, for better or worse, is where the music-and the mood-comes from.
The southern border towns, such as Birgunj and Bhairahawa, are bustling hubs of commerce and industry, far outpacing any northern trade posts. These towns serve as critical gateways for goods entering and leaving Nepal, reinforcing the economic gravity of the south. The north, with its challenging terrain and limited infrastructure, remains a distant dream for large-scale trade and transit.
In the realm of tourism, while the Himalayas to the north attract adventurers and trekkers, the majority of tourists enter Nepal through southern airports and travel southward in search of cultural and religious experiences. This further underscores the multifaceted nature of Nepal's connections, which cannot be reduced to a single directional narrative.
Yet, for all the evidence pointing everywhere but north, Nepal faces a far more insidious risk: the risk of all roads ultimately leading nowhere. This is not a matter of geography, but of governance. The country's chronic detours and dead ends are the handiwork of a political class. These are leaders who can barely read a map, let alone chart a course for the nation.
They are experts only at constructing diversions-both literal and figurative-that keep the country circling in place. Under their stewardship, grand plans are announced, studies are commissioned, and foreign junkets are undertaken. Yet, potholes multiply, projects stall, and the average Nepali finds themselves stuck in the same old traffic.
All of this would be amusing if it weren't for the fact that the narrative of unidirectional roads is not just misguided but potentially dangerous. In a world that is more multipolar than ever, the idea that Nepal's future lies in a single direction is a recipe for irrelevance, if not disaster. The country's best hope lies in keeping every road open, in hedging bets, and in refusing to be trapped in a one-way street of someone else's making. The lessons of trade, employment, education, and health are clear: Nepal's interests are best served by looking in all directions, not by succumbing to the latest intellectual fad.
Prof C.K. Peela is a geopolitical and security expert on South Asia and Asia Pacific
