By Janardan Subedi

After the Gen-Z-led revolution shook Nepal and the KP Oli coalition finally fell, seventy-eight children tragically died. The country’s restless youth then turned their collective gaze toward Kathmandu’s mayor, Balendra Shah — the accidental philosopher, rapper-engineer, and certified heartthrob of a disillusioned generation. Naturally, they demanded he become Prime Minister.
He smiled, shook his head, and said, “Nah — give it to Madam Sushila Karki.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was when the fireworks started. Overnight, he went from being Kathmandu’s cool mayor to the country’s most wanted — accused of burning the city, ruining democracy, taking foreign money, and possibly directly orchestrating the deaths of those seventy-eight children. Amid all this, he still managed to enjoy his “chhoila,” sip his “ailaa,” and groove to his own beats — seemingly the calmest man in a nation losing its mind.

Then one morning, he posted.

And not just any post — “the” post.

“Fuck America, Fuck India, Fuck China, Fuck UML, Fuck Congress, Fuck RSP, RPP, Maobadi; You guys all combined can do nothing.”
Boom. The digital mountains shuddered. The political Himalayas split open. Aunties on Facebook fainted over their milk tea. Every moralist on Twitter suddenly turned into a Sanskrit professor. Five political parties, three countries, and your cousin’s entire

WhatsApp group collectively lost their minds.

The Mayor of Kathmandu had said “fuck.”

And somehow, civilization itself was declared in danger.

Now, for those clutching their pearls at that word — let’s take a quick linguistic side note. “Fuck” isn’t just profanity; it’s one of the most versatile, metaphorical, and democratic words in English. Linguists call this “semantic versatility”— the ability of a single word to express a wide range of emotions. Depending on tone, it can signal anger (“fuck off”), failure (“fuck up”), enthusiasm (“fuck yeah”), or even affection (“you’re fucking amazing”).

It’s not primarily a word of obscenity but one of honesty. It punctuates emotion. It’s the Swiss Army knife of human expression — efficient, universal, and instantly understood. From presidents to paupers, the word levels social hierarchy: it’s the same in every language. In that sense, it’s less a curse and more a cultural metaphor — a linguistic rebellion against hypocrisy, a refusal to sugarcoat.
So, when the mayor said “fuck,” he wasn’t just being vulgar. He was showing a raw, real side of himself — unfiltered and fed up. In Nepalese culture and politics, where decorum and respect are highly valued, his use of the F-word was a bold break from the norm, a rebellion against hypocrisy, and a refusal to sugarcoat the issues.

But here, in the land of the Himalayas, that single syllable caused a nationwide meltdown. Did the mountains collapse? Did the rivers flow backward? No. Yet our collective moral compass spun faster than a washing machine.

You see, the voters who elected this man didn’t choose him because he wore a tie or quoted Rousseau. They liked him because he was authentic. Because he could rap, engineer, and govern — often all in the same sentence. Because he represented a generation that prefers messy truth over polished bullshit. Democracy, after all, doesn’t always pick saints. Sometimes it elects someone who “says it.”

And that’s where the fun starts. The same people who scroll past corruption scandals without blinking suddenly become the Ministry of F-Word Enforcement. Social media turns into a sermon hall. Everyone acts like a moral guardian now. People who can’t spell “bureaucracy” write think-pieces on ethics. Analysts who’ve never fixed a pothole discuss “propriety in public office.” And somewhere, the mayor’s still eating “chhoila” and drinking “ailaa”, wondering why a single word caused an entire civilization to lose it.

Because the truth is — the F-word didn’t ruin Nepal. Corruption did. Bureaucratic paralysis did. Political hypocrisy did. But since those are harder to fix, it’s easier to police language than to fix the country. This societal outrage and hypocrisy should leave us all feeling disillusioned.

The F-word is innocent. The outrage is the problem.

We live in a time when outrage is more about show than substance. People aren’t looking for accountability—they’re hooked on the thrill of judgment. Outrage has become the new national sport. Throw in an F-word, and it instantly turns into a full-contact sport.

And it’s not just Nepal — this is a worldwide issue. Everywhere you go, people act shocked by words they use daily in traffic. They’ll call their boss an idiot under their breath, curse their ex in private, but when a mayor says “fuck” in public, they act like civilization’s last temple just fell apart. This global connection should make us all feel part of a bigger societal problem.

Try explaining that to someone who’s never been online: ‘So, there’s this city in the Himalayas. It’s the mayor who’s a rapper. He said ‘fuck’ on Facebook. And now, the nation is in meltdown.”

You’d sound insane — but that’s the beauty of it.

Because deep down, everyone knows what that word really means: “I’m tired of the bullshit.” It’s a linguistic exhale, a pressure valve for frustration. When the system gets stuck, the word fuck is the only one that feels honest. This need for honest expression should remind us of the importance of authenticity in leadership.

Maybe that’s the real reason people lost their minds. It wasn’t the profanity — it was the truth behind it.
Nepal’s politics today is a strange combination of brilliance and incompetence, with reformers stuck in traffic. Citizens desire progress but uphold decorum. They elect a rapper because he’s authentic — then faint when he acts like one. That’s not democracy gone wrong; that’s democracy discovering its personality.

And while everyone debates the morality of a four-letter word, the roads stay broken, traffic remains the same, and the bureaucracy remains unchanged. After the outrage dies down, the mayor returns to work — same chair, same city, same “chhoila,” same “ailaa.” The F-word briefly echoes, then disappears into Kathmandu’s smog like every other headline.
But as the smoke clears, the questions remain — sharp, uncomfortable, and unavoidable.

Did the mayor truly suggest Madam Karki for Prime Minister, or is that just another political ghost story? Does the Home Minister genuinely represent the mayor, or is he merely hiding in his shadow? Is the mayor responsible for burning public property and the chaos afterward, or are we confusing smoke for fire while the real arsonists walk free?

And the biggest question of all — who the fuck is actually running this country?

Because if no one knows the answer, maybe the mayor’s “fuck” wasn’t profanity after all.

Maybe it was punctuation.

Maybe it was Nepal itself — speaking, for once, without translation.

(Dr. Janardan Subedi is Professor of Sociology at Miami University, Ohio. He writes on political ethics, democratic transitions, and institutional accountability in South Asia.)

@HT