By Dr. Janardan Subedi

It began like most strange things in Nepal do—with a statement that almost sounded profound until you thought about it.

“…................................................................................................................”
The voice, firm and theatrical, belonged to KP Sharma Oli—former Prime Minister, eternal populist, and Nepal’s self-proclaimed guardian of nationalism.

At first, I paused. Then I laughed. Then I sighed. Because if KP Oli’s government is the synonym of anti-corruption, then goats are vegetarians only until Dashain arrives.

There is something uniquely surreal about the Oli phenomenon. A man who spins sentences like ancient sutras but rules like a man writing his own gospel—what I now call the Holy Olipuran: a sacred text on how to institutionalize corruption while waving the national flag.

Scene One: A Pandemic and the Omni Blessing

It was during the early days of COVID. The nation was locked down. Hospitals were running out of beds. Oxygen cylinders were scarcer than common sense in Singha Durbar. But amidst the chaos, a miracle happened.

A little-known company named Omni Business Corporate International was handed a multimillion-rupee contract to procure medical equipment. No prior experience. No transparent process. Just one blessed contract after another.

The result? Overpriced masks, unreliable test kits, and the loud silence of the Prime Minister’s Office.

In Oli’s Nepal, corruption didn’t hide. It marched in through the front gate with a red tika and a daura suruwal.

Scene Two: Budhi Gandaki – The Dam that Drowned Ethics

Then came Budhi Gandaki. The dream project. A hydropower promise as tall as the hills of Gorkha.

But soon, it turned into a geopolitical casino. Contracts handed to Chinese firms, then taken back, then reinstated—every move shadowed by allegations of high-level manipulation. Billions spent on studies, reports, and consultations. Yet, not a single megawatt produced.

We were told it was nationalism. But behind the curtains, it was brokerage. National pride had a price tag, and the bidding wasn’t open to the public.

Scene Three: The Capital’s Heart on Sale – Baluwatar Land Grab

One might think that the Prime Minister’s own neighborhood would be safe from corruption. But under Oli’s watch, even Baluwatar’s public land was not sacred.

Forged documents, fake tenants, and midnight transfers turned government plots into private properties. The Commission for Investigation of Abuse of Authority (CIAA) compiled pages upon pages of evidence. High-profile figures were named. Yet the political response? Silence.

In Oli’s universe, land was not for the people. It was for the political elite. A reward for loyalty. A commodity for cronies.

Scene Four: Wide-Body Dreams and Empty Skies

The Nepal Airlines wide-body aircraft scandal was a masterclass in how to lose billions while pretending to modernize the nation.

The planes arrived—overpriced, underperforming, and surrounded by procurement irregularities. Investigations pointed fingers. But no one powerful enough ever stood trial. Not one.

You’d think an administration serious about corruption control would show some urgency. But under Oli, urgency was reserved for ribbon-cuttings and poetic speeches. Not justice.

Scene Five: Giribandhu—When Tea Gardens Were Harvested by Politicians

Of all the tales, the Giribandhu Tea Estate in Jhapa hits differently. Once a proud symbol of Nepali labor, agriculture, and dignity, the estate fell into the hands of land mafia with direct links to the political elite—yes, including those close to the former Prime Minister himself.

The transfer of the land reeked of insider dealings. Public land was handed to private hands, and those who had toiled there for generations were left displaced, voiceless.

It was land-grabbing with state blessings. If this were a parable, it would be titled: How to Brew Nepali Tea and Political Theft in the Same Cup.

The Gospel According to Oli

These are only a few stories—the highlight reel, really. If I were to document them all, I’d have to write a full book, perhaps titled:

“Holy Olipuran: How to Institutionalize Corruption While Chanting Patriotic Verses”

Yes, it would need chapters.

Chapter One: Omni and the Art of Pandemic Profiteering
Chapter Two: How to Use Public Land as Political Currency (Baluwatar to Jhapa Edition)
Chapter Three: Hydropower Dreams, Chinese Schemes, and Nationalism in Disguise
Chapter Four: Nepal Airlines and the High Cost of Empty Seats
Chapter Five: The Sacred Silence: How to Avoid Accountability with a Smile

And if you think this is satire, I urge you to look outside. The roads are broken, the hospitals are empty, the youths are leaving, and the Prime Ministers—well, they’re busy tweeting about ancient history and foreign conspiracies.

Delusion or Strategy?

One begins to wonder: Does KP Oli actually believe his own words? Or is this all just political theater staged for the masses?

If he does believe it, he is delusional—a man who has confused his own echo chamber for national reality.

If he doesn’t, then he’s a master manipulator—a man who weaponized nationalism to shield a corrupt empire.

Either way, the result is the same: institutional decay. Public disillusionment. Moral bankruptcy at the state level.

A Nation Not Fooled

But here’s the silver lining: the Nepali people are watching.

They watched when Omni laughed its way to the bank.
They watched as Baluwatar turned into a land-laundering hub.
They watched Giribandhu fall into the hands of political profiteers.
They watch, and they remember.

Because Nepalis may be poor, but they are not stupid. And when the day comes—and it always does—they will write the final chapter of the Olipuran not with praise, but with protest.

In the End

KP Oli is no longer just a man. He is a parable. A lesson. A warning. A case study in how a leader with charisma and cunning can turn a republic into a playground of personal and partisan wealth.

We were promised railways to China. We got roads to nowhere.
We were promised dignity and prosperity. We got slogans and corruption.
We were promised transformation. What we got was the most sophisticated, institutionalized, and culturally defended system of political corruption in Nepal’s modern history.

So let me say it clearly:

Mr. Oli, your government was not a synonym for controlling corruption. It was its university, its temple, and its bank. You were not just its enabler. You were its high priest.

And someday, when future generations ask what went wrong with Nepal’s republic, we will tell them to read the Holy Olipuran. Not as a guide. But as a warning.

The author is a Professor of Sociology
Miami University, Ohio; a Nepali by birth, critic by duty.