Nepal’s electoral politics currently stands at a strange turning point. Crowds surging on the streets, excitement dominating social media, echoes of slogans, and the dazzle of live broadcasts. Together, these activities create the illusion that public opinion is at its peak. But the question is: Is the surge of the crowd itself the decision of the vote? Will the thunder of applause still be heard in the calm of the polling booth? Or are we in a transitional phase where the psychology of the crowd and the psychology of the voter have begun walking on separate paths?

This time, elections have become less of a festival of ideas and a celebration of cameras. On stage, leaders speak less and pose more. The crowd raises fewer slogans and lifts more mobiles. In every rally, what matters more than the presence of thousands of faces is the number of angles the photos are taken from. Democracy is now considered legitimate only after passing through the lens. In the politics of the selfie era, the crowd itself becomes the certificate.

On tractors, on rooftops, on trees, under the stage; wherever space is found, democracy stands there. The candidate smiles, waves, and the next day the newspaper exaggerates it as a ‘Historic crowd’. But the real drama will unfold on polling day. That same crowd, which rose like waves in front of the stage, will fall silent in front of the booth. There will be no DJ, no stage, no slogans; just a queue and, inside, a ballot paper. Selfies won’t work here.

When discussing electoral politics today, we must understand the difference between the psychology of the crowd and the psychology of the vote. In the crowd, the individual becomes the crowd. At the booth, that same individual becomes alone. In the crowd, a voter shouts with enthusiasm while at the booth, they think quietly. In the crowd, one comes with friends and at the booth, one goes with conscience. This is the ‘era of silence’ where democracy decides not through noise, but through quiet. The leader of the selfie era assumes that whoever is with them in the photo will also be with them in the vote. They forget that the camera is momentary, but the mark on the ballot is permanent.

The psychology of the crowd is fleeting. It is driven by excitement. It is drawn to the shine of faces, the sharpness of speeches, the drama of the stage, and the energy of opposition. In the crowd, the individual feels bigger and not alone, but part of a group. One feels they are making history. This is why, when a new face challenges ‘established’ politics, the crowd quickly gravitates toward them. But the psychology of voting is different.

In Nepal’s politics, this conflict has sharpened over the past few months. Traditional parties like the Nepali Congress and the CPN-UML have seen various forms of power over decades. The people hoped for stability, looked for the path of development, but political instability, coalition arithmetic, and endless power struggles exhausted that hope. As a result, the search for alternatives intensified.

Amid this search, new and ‘alternative’ faces emerged. Personalities like Balen Shah made urban voters realise that leadership is possible outside traditional structures. Meanwhile, the Rastriya Swatantra Party, emerging under the leadership of its chairman Rabi Lamichhane, generated a new energy within the crowd. This energy was not just about personality, but about opposition to the system.

But here the question becomes a complex one. Is this alternative standing on a solid ideological foundation, or is it merely a flow of anger? The psychology of the crowd is often driven by an ‘anti’ sentiment and less in favour of someone, more against someone. This opposition provides energy, but can it build a permanent structure of governance?

It is an indisputable truth that the common people are seeking alternatives. However, this search for alternatives can sometimes push them into a new quagmire. When the alternative is limited to just changing faces and policy clarity, organisational stability, and long-term vision remain absent, democracy turns into a laboratory. The psychology of the crowd wants immediate justice. It wants the roads to be built even if the contractor is tied to a tree. It wants to see results instantly. It is irritated by slow processes.

Someone might argue against hanging the contractor from a tree, but for reforming the law to speed up work. This democratic process will naturally be slow. Leadership that believes in democracy operates on dialogue, debate, consensus and institutional balance. When the gap between the crowd’s expectations and democracy’s pace widens, disappointment is born. This disappointment sometimes makes anti-system sentiment even sharper.

In a society like Nepal’s, where the history of political change has been rapid and tumultuous, this situation is even more sensitive. The people have witnessed the journey from monarchy to republic. They endured the long process of constitution-making. In such a context, if democracy is reduced merely to electoral spectacles and swapping faces, its moral strength can weaken.

The biggest danger arises when the power of the crowd is taken as the mandate itself. The number of rallies, trending lists on social media, viewership of live videos, etc. can be indicators, but not the decision. If political parties take these indicators as the final truth and neglect grassroots organisation, policy-making, and institutional strength, democracy will become superficial. On the other hand, if traditional parties assume that the surge of the crowd is momentary and can be ignored, that too would be a mistake. The psychology of the crowd is a mirror of the suppressed discontent within society. It is necessary to listen to it. But it is even more necessary to transform it into a permanent structure of governance.

The quagmire into which the common people are being pushed into is one of unstable expectations and incomplete alternatives. On one side, there is a disillusionment with old politics and on the other, a lack of maturity of new politics. This contradiction confuses the voters. A voter goes to every election rally with hope but returns with doubt. Its impact on democracy can be long-term. If the search for alternatives keeps turning into continuous disappointment, citizens will start distancing themselves from politics. Voter turnout may decrease, or voting may become a means of revenge. Both situations are challenges for a healthy democracy.

Ultimately, in this situation, the voter’s role is also that of a moral guardian. A voter decides whether politics will take the path of opportunism or of principles. If the voter remains alert, questioning, and demanding accountability, then no matter what the election results are, democracy’s inner strength will remain secure. But if a voter gets swayed by disappointment or anger, or remains indifferent, the same situation can weaken democracy. Therefore, today Nepal’s voter is not just a voter, but the maker of the future. The ink on their finger will determine the direction of this nation.