ILLUSTRATION: KATMANDU JOURNAL
In the fertile flatlands of Nepal’s Terai, solar panels glint over fallow mustard fields. The sight is novel, but not yet transformative. Earlier this year the government awarded contracts for 960 megawatts of solar generation—nearly nine times the country’s current solar output. Developers were promised 25-year power-purchase agreements and tariffs lower than those for hydropower. But while the announcement made headlines in Kathmandu, electrons have yet to flow.
Nepal is a hydropower country by habit and topography. Its rivers, fast and glacier-fed, are the source of more than 90% of its electricity. But they run thin in winter—just when demand for heating and cooking peaks. India sells power to fill the gap, sometimes at premium prices. The result is an irony visible from orbit: a sun-soaked Himalayan country that imports electricity from a lower, hotter neighbour.
China, by contrast, has built a solar empire at altitude. On the Tibetan plateau, solar parks now generate nearly 17,000MW, with plans to reach 170,000MW. Cold air, high radiation and cheap land make the region ideal for photovoltaics. In Beijing’s hands, solar is not just a fuel source but a tool of statecraft—backing energy security, export dominance, and geopolitical leverage. China produces more than 80% of the world’s solar panels. In Tibet, the industry turns sunshine into soft power.
Nepal has similar geography, sunnier skies and far greater need for electricity. But its bureaucracy is slower, its capital markets thinner and its politics messier. The recent solar tender marked the government’s most ambitious attempt yet to diversify its grid. Eight districts in the sun-drenched Terai are slated to host commercial solar farms. The contracts include fixed tariffs designed to shield investors from regulatory risk. But developers still face land disputes, sluggish permitting and a transmission network optimised for hydro, not decentralised solar.
Much of the new kit will arrive from China—panels, inverters, batteries. Nepal’s solar push has been increasing imports of Chinese components over the last few years, particularly by manufacturers and agribusinesses hedging against power cuts. “It’s the only part of the grid that’s reliable,” says a poultry-farm operator near Birgunj, who recently installed rooftop solar with Chinese panels and Indian wiring.
The strategic consequences are subtle but real. Nepal has long relied on India for electricity imports. It now leans on China for generation equipment. “We’ve swapped one dependency for another,” admits an official at the Nepal Electricity Authority (NEA). Meanwhile, upstream Chinese hydropower projects on the Brahmaputra are expected to alter water flows, adding to downstream uncertainty.
China has also integrated solar with storage and hydro. Pumped-storage projects in Sichuan are linked to solar farms 1,000km away. Nepal’s system lacks such coherence. It has no large-scale battery storage, few flexible hydro facilities and a planning regime still rooted in cascade dams. NEA planners have floated the idea of linking high-altitude solar sites with pumped-storage reservoirs—but feasibility studies remain theoretical. “We have ideas. But we don’t have models, or money,” says a senior engineer at NEA’s renewables division.
Political economy adds friction. In Tibet, herders were relocated to make way for solar parks. In Nepal, land is contested, sacred or both. Communities in districts like Mustang and Dolpa resist large-scale infrastructure. Local opposition can stall projects for years. Nepal’s decentralised governance, a feature of its post-monarchy constitution, means national policy must often defer to ward-level politics.
Still, the solar push marks a shift in tone. The NEA now includes solar in its official capacity planning. The government aims for 5,000MW of renewables by 2030—a figure many see as aspirational, but directionally correct. Solar’s role is no longer peripheral. Its economics have caught up with its physics.
Nepal will not replicate China’s scale. But scale is not the point. A more modest, coordinated rollout—anchored in reliable tariffs, grid upgrades and altitude-aware storage—could smooth seasonal volatility, reduce import costs and make the country less hostage to weather or geopolitics.
The Himalayas receive sunlight in equal measure. But the real constraint lies in policy. ■