If you’ve ever lived in Kathmandu, you know exactly what pushed me to start Taximandu — the daily war of finding a cab that doesn’t overcharge you, ignore you, or disappear the moment it starts drizzling. I didn’t begin as a tech founder. I was just another guy stuck on Ring Road, watching people argue with taxi drivers over a few extra rupees and thinking, “Why are we still doing this in 2020-something?”

I didn’t come from a Silicon Valley background or a family business legacy. I grew up around the kind of people who work hard and don’t complain much. My father woke up at 5 a.m. every day for 32 years and never took a day off unless the doctor forced him to. My mother still thinks “apps” are things you eat before dinner. So when I told them I wanted to build a taxi-booking platform, I’m pretty sure they thought I meant I wanted to become a taxi driver.

The idea didn’t hit me in some epiphany. It built up slowly, the way traffic builds up in Thapathali — painfully and predictably. Every friend had a taxi complaint. Every foreign tourist had been overcharged at least once. Every local had a different “taxi hack.” And drivers had their own stories: bad roads, bad days, bad earnings. It wasn’t a villain-versus-customer problem; it was a system that didn’t work for anyone.

So I started small. I mean really small. My “office” was a tea shop in Lazimpat where I sat for hours with drivers, listening more than talking. Their complaints weren’t what people assumed. They wanted stable rides, clear fares, safer shifts, and less uncertainty. They didn’t want to hustle every customer; they wanted to work without the daily drama. That’s when I knew Taximandu couldn’t just be a “customer app.” It had to be a system that respected both sides.

When we launched our first version, it was honestly a mess. The UI looked like a school project. Half the map didn’t load. The OTP worked only on its good days. But the thing people underestimate about Nepal is how patient and supportive the community can be when you’re sincerely trying. Drivers gave feedback. Riders gave second chances. The city let us breathe.

Over time, Taximandu became more than an app — it became a small rebellion against Kathmandu’s daily chaos. We introduced fair-meter rides, trust-based ratings, women-driver onboarding, and a transparent system where no one felt cheated. Slowly, the arguments at taxi stands became fewer, the complaints became shorter, and a small part of the city started running smoother.

I’m not building Taximandu to compete with global giants. I’m building it because my city deserves a service that understands its dust, its hills, its patience, its stubbornness, and its rhythm. This isn’t a startup created in a boardroom; it’s something built between traffic jams, tea stalls, and endless conversations with drivers who kept this city moving long before apps existed.

Taximandu is my attempt to give Kathmandu back a little of the sanity it deserves. One fair ride at a time.