For generations in Nepal, the arrival of Asar, the monsoon month, meant more than just planting rice. It was also a time for singing. Farmers in muddy fields would sing Asare Geet, a style of folk song that turned the labor of farming into a joyful event. These songs brought rhythm to the hard work and created a bond among the people in the fields.
The songs were not just music. They were a tool for easing physical stress and building social unity. Planters, locally called ‘Ropar,’ and ploughmen known as ‘Bause’ often splashed mud at each other while singing. Laughter filled the fields. The sound of nearby streams and irrigation canals added to the melody, making the moment even more lively.
Today, this rich tradition is fading. Fewer and fewer people sing these songs, and the new generation often does not know them at all. Once heard across the country in Asar, Asare Geet has now nearly gone silent.
Renowned folk singer Haridevi Koirala believes these songs need urgent protection. She says they are part of Nepal’s deep agricultural roots. Asare Geet are not just entertainment—they reflect culture, emotion, and identity. Koirala argues that the media and cultural institutions should do more to preserve these songs. She also calls for research and archiving efforts.
She recalls that the planting season once felt like a festival. People would eat early, rush to the fields, and spend the day in joy, song, and mud. Today, the same work feels more like a routine. Even the way of working has changed. Instead of excitement and group effort, it has become mechanical and isolated.
With this change in lifestyle, the tukka—short, rhyming lines that are part of the Asare style—are also vanishing. These verses were fun, poetic, and rich in local knowledge. Now, even old recordings of them are hard to find.
The problem is not just lack of interest. It’s also about cost. New artists focus on songs that sell. They turn to commercial music instead of seasonal folk styles. Without financial support, Asare Geet is left behind.
The structure of Asare Geet is also unique. In the eastern parts of Nepal, people call them Rasiya, while in the west, they are known as Kanthe Bhaka. Each song starts with a long opening line, called the legro. This is followed by short rhyming tukka and ends with a final line. Each line usually has 16 syllables, with a short pause after the tenth syllable. The tunes are long, smooth, and emotional.
Purushottam Neupane, former head of the folk song organization Rastriya Lok Tatha Dohori Geet Pratisthan, says that Asare Geet rarely get recorded. He explains that since these songs are only played during one month of the year, investors do not want to take the risk. “It’s not a smart business move,” he says.
He adds that the month of Asar is a vital time for farmers. It’s when they prepare the land that will feed them all year. In the middle of this hard work, they use songs to lift their mood. Many of the songs talk about seeds, ploughs, love, and hope. Sadly, very few original Asare Geet are left today. Even fewer artists are willing to spend large sums—often Rs. 150,000 to 200,000—to create songs that will only be heard for a few weeks.
Still, some classic Asare Geet continue to stir emotion. The song Hariyo Danda Mathi Halo Jotne Sathi by the late Dharma Raj Thapa remains a favorite. It was later re-recorded by Ramchandra Kafle and is still played during the planting season.
Other songs like Rimi Ra Jhimi Pani Hai Paryo Asarai Mainama, sung by Nabin Kumar Khadka and others, showcase the eastern version of the style. Rato Ma Rato Asare Phulyo Ban Ra Pakhama by Padma Raj Dhakal and Sabitri Shahi is also widely loved. Narayan Rayamajhi’s Chhupu Ma Chhupu remains a familiar tune during this season.
These songs, once passed from one generation to another in the fields, now face extinction. Without conscious efforts, Asare Geet may become just a memory. They are more than just music. They are a mirror of Nepali rural life, deeply tied to land, labor, and love.
Unless steps are taken to preserve them through education, media, and funding, this treasured folk tradition may vanish completely in the coming years.
