Nepalis who once came to India in search of work are now hurrying back across the border, as the nation reels with its worst unrest in decades. “We are returning home to our motherland,” says one man. “We are confused. People are asking us to come back.”
Earlier this week, Nepal’s Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli quit after 30 died in clashes triggered by a social media ban. While the ban was later reversed, Gen Z-led protests raged on. A nationwide curfew is in place, soldiers patrol the streets, and parliament and politicians’ homes have been set ablaze. With Oli gone, Nepal has no government in place.
For migrants like Saroj Nevarbani, the choice is stark. “There’s trouble back home, so I must return. My parents are there – the situation is grave,” he told BBC Hindi. Others, like Pesal and Lakshman Bhatt, echo the uncertainty. “We know nothing,” they say, “but people at home have asked us to come back”.
For many, the journey back is not just about wages or work – it is bound up with family ties, insecurity, and the rhythms of migration that have long shaped Nepali lives. Nepalis in India, after all, fall broadly into three groups.
First, there are the migrant workers who leave families behind to work as cooks, domestic help, security guards, or in low-paid jobs across Indian cities. They remain Nepali citizens, move back and forth, lack Aadhaar (India’s biometric identity card) and are often denied basic services. That is why sometimes they are called seasonal migrants.
Second, those who relocate with their families, build lives in India, and often obtain the identity card, yet retain Nepali citizenship and ties to home, even returning to vote.
Third, there are Indian citizens of Nepali ethnicity – descendants of earlier waves of migration in the 18th to 20th Centuries – who are rooted in India but still claim cultural kinship with Nepal.
Nepal also tops the list of foreign students in India, with more than 13,000 out of some 47,000, according to the latest official data. There are many other Nepalese who cross the 1,750km (466 miles) open border for medicine, supplies, or family visits, eased by a 1950 peace and friendship treaty and strong social networks.
New Nepali migrants entering India’s labour market are typically 15–20 years old, though the overall median age is 35, according to Keshav Bashyal of Kathmandu’s Tribbuvan University. Joblessness and rising inequality drive migration, especially among the poor, rural and less educated, whose labour force participation is already low.
“Most come from poorer backgrounds, working in construction and religious sites in Uttarakhand, on farms in Punjab, in factories in Gujarat, and in hotels across Delhi and beyond,” Dr Bashyal told me.
This steady flow of young migrants feeds into a sizable, though largely invisible, workforce in India.
“Due to the open border, it is difficult to know the exact number of Nepali citizens working and living in India but is estimated to be around 1-1.5 million,” says Jeevan Sharma, a political anthropologist of South Asia at The University of Edinburgh.
Nepal’s reliance on its migrants is staggering.
In 2016-17, remittances made up over a quarter of Nepal’s GDP, and by 2024 they accounted for 27–30%. Over 70% of households receive them. Remittances now comprise a third of household income, up from 27% three decades ago. Most of this comes Nepali citizens working in the Gulf and Malaysia, with India contributing about a fifth. All this makes Nepal the world’s fourth most remittance-dependent country.
“Remittances from India go to the poorest households in Nepal although per capita remittance is much lower than what migrants going to the Gulf or Southeast Asia sent,” says Prof Sharma. “Without it, Nepal’s economy would suffer significantly.”
Yet, for all their economic importance, Nepali migrants in India often live precariously.
A 2017 study in Maharashtra found them squeezed into squalid shared rooms, with little sanitation, often facing discrimination at work and in clinics. Alcohol and tobacco use was high, and sexual health awareness was low. Social networks were found to be both lifeline and liability: they provided jobs, shelter and small loans, but reinforced dependence on a small group of people, restricting wider opportunities.
Another study in Delhi found Nepali migrants were “working for basic survival rather than improvement in their living standards”.
Take the case of Dhanraj Kathayat, a security guard in Mumbai. He arrived in India in 1988, a young man seeking work, and has since been winded through cities – Nagpur, Belgaum, Goa, Nasik – before settling in the western metropolis. He began driving but has spent the past 16 years guarding buildings, a job that offers some security but little upward mobility.
“I haven’t thought much about what’s happening back home,” he told me. “There’s so much joblessness in Nepal, even those with education find it difficult to find work. That’s why people like me had to leave.”
Mr Kathayat’s family remains in Nepal. He has two daughters and a son who are studying. In India, he continues to work as a security guard, just earning enough to be able to eat and send some money to his family, whom he sees only once in a year.
“After so many years, I haven’t had much development for myself. Some migrants have prospered – those who went to Korea, the US, or Malaysia. Not people like us.”
The jury is out on whether this invisibility extends to politics.
Almost every major Nepali party maintains sister organisations in Indian cities, often run through local committees harnessing this diaspora to raise funds, mobilise support, and ferry narratives back home.
“Nepali migrant workers in India remain politically active in their homeland. Though poor and marginal, these migrants play an outsized role in shaping politics back home. Their influence was especially evident during the royal takeover, when exiled leaders in India relied heavily on their support,” says Prof Sharma.
Others like Prof Bashyal are not so sure.
“Before 1990, they [migrants] primarily provided shelter and financial support to political leaders; later, during the Maoist movement, they also offered active backing. Today, their political influence is minimal. Some still cross the border to vote, especially in local elections, but their role in policy debates remains negligible,” he says.
Unlike many migrant workers constrained by economic pressures, Nepali students in India appear more articulate, engaged, and hopeful about the future.
Anant Mahto, a Delhi-based student, told BBC Hindi he would have joined the agitation if he were in Nepal: “The constitution is supreme,” he says, while bemoaning the leadership vacuum but believes now is the time to “rebuild”.
Tekraj Koirala, another student, worries for his family but remains optimistic: “I have hopes for tomorrow,” he says.
“If I were in Nepal, I would have joined my friends in the protests, though I do not support the destruction of private property… We hope for a better leader to emerge,” says Abha Parajuli, another student.
Analysts believe each bout of unrest in Kathmandu swells the flow, pushing youth into India’s informal economy, which offers precarious work opportunities with little protection. For now, many are returning home amid the turmoil, but in the long run, if instability deepens, more are expected to flee Nepal again in search of work, swelling India’s already burdened informal labour market.
As Prof Bashyal says: “This type of political crisis deepens the problems of youth [unemployment] in Nepal. Definitely, the number of Nepali migrants would increase in India. At the same time, it is not easy to get proper employment in India.”
Ultimately, for most Nepalis, the border is more of a lifeline than boundary – offering survival and opportunity in India while keeping them tied to the politics of their home.
