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You might have first heard the name Tikapur on the radio. You may have also heard about the sudden arrival of the king in a helicopter.
I was in the service of politicians. Politics had its own goals, but I never engaged in politics myself. I played a supportive role. When Girija Prasad Koirala was the Prime Minister, I had the opportunity to travel to various parts of the country. That was when I first visited Tikapur.
The name Tikapur evokes images of a new city, a new settlement, a developing town.
In recent times, when we talk about Nepal’s federalism taking a new turn, we remember the ethnic tensions that arose in Tikapur. As new places emerge, we must always consider how to understand them. The names Tikapur, Mahendranagar, and Rajbiraj immediately bring to mind Nepal’s patterns of urbanization and settlement.
Standing in Tikapur and reflecting on these aspects, one might ask—who are the real Tikapur residents? Looking at its history, the name Tikapur itself is not very old. Tikapur represents infrastructure, roads, and urban planning, yet it remains incomplete. No city is ever truly complete. Look at Varanasi—Narendra Modi is still trying to transform it into Kyoto. But the Varanasi we imagine no longer exists. Cities evolve over time. True homes take time to be built.
I have personally experienced the difference between a house and a home. We build well-designed houses, but when we start living in them, we may find the kitchen inconvenient. The alignment may feel off—the east doesn’t feel right, the west doesn’t align. A house takes time to truly become a home.
Tikapur, in its 60-year history, is still in the process of becoming a home from just a house.
I believe Tikapur is only now entering its third generation. Over time, various festivals have played a role in giving this place a sense of belonging. A lifeless town is gradually becoming a living community. However, our society is changing at such a rapid pace that generational shifts bring increasing desires and aspirations.
Even today, administrative complaints can be heard:
“We are deliberately sent to Karnali, Humla, or Jumla to make our work difficult.”
Historically, even during the Rana regime, when conflicts arose among their own elites, they were given land and titles—but those deemed undesirable were exiled to Karnali or Palpa. People move for various reasons. What if King Mahendra had never traveled from Dhangadhi to Tikapur? What would have happened to this place and its people?
Every event, location, and environment gives birth to new identities. The same applies to individuals—we meet new people along the way, new connections are formed.
Our perspective is shaped by our position. The essence of democracy is that everyone sees things differently. Even if we stand in the same place, our viewpoints may differ slightly. Zero remains the same, but the angle from which we view it changes its meaning.
Looking at Tikapur from here,
How do the hills appear?
How does the Madhesh look?
What does the community look like?
How do the past, present, and future appear?
These are crucial questions. The various festivals happening this month in Falgun—I call them “mini-democracies.” What happens in Parliament may not matter as much. But here, in our local towns and cities, we must discuss:
What is our language?
What are our inter-community relationships?
How do we relate to gender, caste, and creativity?
What are the key concerns of our society?
Democracy is not strengthened by Parliament alone. Conversations like these strengthen it too.
A respected friend once asked me—
“How long are we going to keep talking, Hari Ji?”
But the truth is, we have only just begun to talk! Ten years ago, we didn’t even have this space for discussion. Until recently, we lived in fear—afraid of the two groups wearing green uniforms.
People migrate in search of identity. Those who arrived here first came with energy and determination—they even had the capability to clear forests. But even before that, there were already people living here.
Democracy should strengthen the dialogue between those who came before and those who arrived later. Arguing over who came first is pointless. They are already here—that is a fact. What matters is reconciliation. People of all languages should be able to express themselves here. But for that, equality must be the foundation.
A society without desires and aspirations is a dead society.
Desires drive societies forward.
Aspirations can be managed.
If aspirations rise too high, frustration may follow—but even that can be managed.
However, if nothing happens in a society, it falls into despair. Looking at Nepal’s current wave of migration, it seems we are heading towards hopelessness. But can a society that once crossed mountains, cleared forests, and settled rivers so easily give up?
Individuals may be defeated, but societies never lose.
This is why every society holds the possibility of revival.
The solution is not to suppress problems—it is to create a space for open dialogue.
During the 2006 movement, we all believed we were united under a common cause. But those who carried the agenda abandoned it. That is why we now feel uncertain.
However, this is not a time for fear—it is a time to rebuild trust.
Tikapur is searching for a path forward.
It has been 40–50 years.
A person might retire and sleep after such a long time.
But cities do not sleep—they evolve.
Tikapur is changing.
Cities need identity.
A city’s growth should happen organically, but Tikapur is a planned city.
Consider Chandigarh, India. It was also a planned city, but in some ways, it failed. It was built for bureaucrats, not for ordinary people.
Nepal is still transitioning from villages to cities. This creates a different kind of social tension. If we imagine the future of cities, we must preserve public spaces.
Do not demolish places like Maitighar Mandala.
Even if something displeases you, allow it to exist.
That is the beauty of democracy.
(Edited excerpt from analyst Hari Sharma’s keynote speech at the Tikapur Literature Festival.)
