In the bustling heart of Kathmandu, both landlords and tenants have their own struggles—but rarely do their stories meet in such harmony as they do in “Ke Ghar Ke Dera: Ghar No. 2.” This Nepali film, directed by Dipendra K. Khanal, is more than just a sequel; it’s a layered portrayal of urban living where homeownership and tenancy are not just statuses, but emotional journeys.
Set in the aging yet ironically named “Raunak Nivas” (literally “House of Joy”) in the Babarmahal area of Kathmandu, the film brings together an ensemble of characters—each carrying the weight of their own life’s burdens. Aryan Sigdel plays Raunak Thapa, a landlord desperately trying to protect the legacy of his father’s dream home. His wife, played by Keki Adhikari, however, sees the crumbling house as a liability that must be sold. Their constant arguments reflect a deeper disconnect—one between nostalgia and practicality.
Among the tenants is a debt-ridden businessman (Prakash Ghimire), his daughter Pooja (Upasana Singh Thakuri), and Diwakar (played with raw authenticity by Nischal Basnet), a meter-loan victim whose life crumbled during the pandemic. When fate brings Rajaram Bhandari (Khagendra Lamichhane) into the same house, the web of human experiences becomes even richer.
What sets Ghar No. 2 apart is not just its socially rooted narrative but the way it binds these seemingly disparate lives under a single roof. Director Khanal presents a microcosm of Kathmandu’s society—class divisions, economic distress, generational conflicts, and the invisible threads that tie strangers together.
The film thrives on its performances. Lamichhane, Basnet, Sigdel, Adhikari, Thakuri, and Ghimire deliver nuanced portrayals that make it nearly impossible to pick a standout—each actor deeply inhabits their role. The writing, adapted from a story by celebrated novelist and poet Buddhisagar, ensures every character feels real, flawed, and relatable.
Ke Ghar Ke Dera: Ghar No. 2 is not a loud social critique—it’s a quiet, emotional unraveling of ordinary lives. It finds beauty in the mundane, strength in vulnerability, and connection in conflict. It’s a reminder that beneath every rooftop in the city, there are untold stories—sometimes tragic, sometimes redemptive, always human.