During my master’s thesis, I studied soft power and explored how Nepal’s culture and traditions shape its image in the world. What began as an academic project gradually turned into a personal realization. In conversations with bureaucrats, political activists, young entrepreneurs, social leaders, and lawmakers, one idea consistently stood out: our culture, language, traditions, and heritage are our greatest strengths.

They are not just symbols of identity—they reflect how we were raised and what we continue to share across generations.

Nepal’s stories and traditions extend far beyond its borders. One story that has always fascinated me is that of Sita and Ram from the Ramayana.

Sita, born in Janakpur, and her marriage to Ram of Ayodhya is more than mythology—it represents a deep connection between people and traditions. Even today, that bond is reflected in the Roti-Beti Sambandh—a relationship maintained through shared food and intermarriage between families across the Nepal-India border.

Our cultural similarities with our southern neighbor are especially visible in the border regions. The festivals we celebrate, the songs we sing, the food we eat, and even the way we dress share the same rhythm. From Dashain to Tihar/Deepawali, and especially Chhath, these celebrations bring people together. Every year during Chhath, I see families gather by rivers and ponds, offering prayers to the setting and rising sun. The faith, discipline, and gratitude in those moments show how deeply our values connect us—not just as Nepalese or Indians, but as people who share a way of life.

Nepal’s culture also stretches far beyond the southern plains. In the north, our traditions blend with Tibetan and Chinese influences. Across the globe, Nepali communities carry their roots with them. Wherever there are Nepalis, a part of Nepal lives on—through food, music, language, and faith.

Culture doesn’t stop at borders. It travels with people, lives in stories, and constantly reminds us of where we come from. Our upbringing, shared values, and festivals teach us unity, simplicity, and respect.

In today’s world, where everything is available at the tap of a finger and life moves faster than ever, we are slowly drifting away from our roots.

We wear global fashion, follow international trends, and often celebrate festivals that are not our own more enthusiastically than the ones that are. It is not wrong to learn from other cultures—on the contrary, appreciating diversity is beautiful. But the problem begins when we start neglecting our own.

The true essence of cultural exchange lies in learning from others while proudly sharing what is ours. Our heritage, stories, and traditions carry generations of wisdom. They teach us gratitude, respect for nature, and harmony in community life. Yet in the rush toward modernity, we have begun to see these lessons as outdated or irrelevant. We forget that what we are often searching for in the outside world—peace, connection, and belonging—already exists within our own culture. The festivals we celebrate, the songs we sing, and the blessings of our elders all carry meanings that tie us to something pure, grounding, and enduring.

As I continue exploring the idea of culture beyond borders, I often wonder: are we truly evolving—or simply replacing depth with convenience? Have we started losing the essence of who we are in the name of becoming global?

When I think back to my childhood, I realize how little we were actually taught—or even spoken to—about our own culture. Most of what I know today comes from observing festivals, listening to elders, or simply being part of the community—not from anything I learned in the classroom.

Throughout our education, there was barely any meaningful space for cultural learning. Our textbooks may have listed a few names or festivals, but rarely did they explain the values behind them, the emotions they carry, or the sense of belonging they create.

It’s surprising—and a little worrying—because today’s world speaks more about culture than ever before.

Many nations use it as a foundation for understanding, identity, and even diplomacy. In this global conversation, a country like ours—so rich in tradition and heritage—should naturally stand out. Yet we rarely talk about it seriously: not in education, not in policy, and often not even in our homes.

This makes me wonder again: why don’t we give more space to our own culture, when the rest of the world is learning to celebrate theirs? Are we waiting for others to tell us how valuable our roots are before we realize it ourselves?

In small nations like ours, where political instability often overshadows long-term vision, important aspects of culture and identity rarely become priorities. We wait for others to teach us what we already know. We forget that we come from the land of Buddha, who gave the world the teachings of peace, compassion, and balance.

From this same soil come stories like that of Sita, who not only embodied devotion but also strength. Her training in warfare in Mithila and her endurance through hardship make her one of the earliest examples of a strong, independent woman—still worshipped as the supreme feminine power. Likewise, our history is filled with figures and traditions that reflect courage, wisdom, and resilience.

We have tales of King Janak, remembered not just as Sita’s father, but also as a philosopher-king, a symbol of knowledge and simplicity. The legacy of Araniko, who carried Nepali art and architecture to China, reminds us that our creativity once influenced civilizations far beyond our borders. Even today, our festivals—whether Chhath, Tihar, or Buddha Jayanti—continue to celebrate light, gratitude, and humanity.

These are not just parts of mythology or history; they are reflections of who we are and the values that shaped us. And yet, the question persists: if we come from such a rich legacy, why are we still looking outward for inspiration instead of recognizing the wealth we already carry within?

These thoughts often surface during the festive season. Since childhood, Dashain has been a time of reconnection with family—sharing stories, laughter, and living as if time has paused. I remember flying kites, playing cards, waiting for tika from elders, and soaking in the rare feeling of togetherness.

Being with our elders, listening to their stories, and observing their calmness teaches us things no classroom ever could. It grounds us. The lessons of respect, patience, and unity were always embedded in our upbringing—yet in today’s fast-paced world, we seem to be forgetting them.

And just as Dashain ends, Tihar (or Dipawali) arrives to fill our homes with light and meaning. Tihar is more than decoration and celebration—it is about cleanliness, respect, and renewal. We prepare our homes and welcome Goddess Laxmi, the symbol of wealth and prosperity.

But our culture teaches us not to chase wealth blindly, but to respect it. In a world obsessed with accumulation, Tihar reminds us that true prosperity lies in purity, gratitude, and balance.

Each day of Tihar carries its own emotion. We honor crows for delivering messages, dogs for their loyalty, cows for their nourishment, and brothers and sisters for their love and bond. The lights we place are not only to brighten our homes—but also to illuminate our hearts. Tihar celebrates love, respect, and relationships, reminding us that real wealth lies in harmony and affection.

Then comes Chhath, perhaps the most spiritually profound of all. Celebrated primarily in the southern plains, it is a festival where women fast for nearly 36 hours—without food or water—praying for the well-being of their families. The devotion and discipline it requires are beyond words. People gather at rivers and ponds, offering prayers to the setting sun on one evening and the rising sun the next morning.

As a child, I remember carrying the dauri—a wooden basket of fruits and offerings—alongside the elders as we walked to the pond. The air was thick with devotion, filled with Chhath geet, the soft footsteps on sand, and the flicker of diyas reflecting on the still water. In the early morning, wearing the same clothes from the night before, we’d return to offer prayers again.

Those simple moments held a depth of purity and togetherness no words can fully capture. They were more than rituals—they were life lessons in love, respect, and connection.

The act of worshipping both the setting and rising sun carries a powerful message: to respect not only power when it rises but also when it fades. Ours is a culture that values beginnings and endings, strength and surrender. This reflects a deeper philosophy—one of balance, humility, and unconditional respect.

From a scientific standpoint, fasting during Chhath promotes cellular regeneration, strengthens the immune system, and improves mental clarity. What began as tradition aligns with science—reflecting harmony between body, mind, and spirit.

Emotionally, Chhath connects us to ancient roots. In the Mahabharata, it is believed that Karna, son of the Sun God Surya, used to perform Chhath Puja. Despite being abandoned at birth, Karna remained devoted to his father. Every year, he offered prayers to the Sun, seeking strength, courage, and guidance. Chhath thus honors not only nature and purity, but also parental love—both maternal and paternal.

We often speak about a mother’s love, but Chhath reminds us of a father’s silent strength. When Karna died, it is said the heavens wept—the Sun grieved the loss of a devoted son. That moment teaches us about loss, devotion, and the enduring bond between parent and child—a bond we honor during Chhath each year.

When I witness Chhath, I see more than rituals—I see a living philosophy of love, endurance, and gratitude. It reminds me that our traditions are not relics of the past—they are guides for how to live meaningfully today.

As I reflect on Nepal’s cultural richness, one truth stands out: our traditions and stories transcend borders. The concept of Roti-Beti Sambandh—sharing food and marriage ties across the Nepal–India border—illustrates a long-standing form of diplomacy rooted in empathy and shared values.

Nepali communities across the world carry this legacy forward—celebrating festivals, preserving language, and sharing culture. From the reverence of Sita and Ram in Sri Lanka to Ramayana-inspired traditions in Indonesia, from Buddhist festivals rooted in Lumbini to diaspora celebrations of Dashain, Tihar, and Chhath, our culture travels with us, connecting people globally.

Yet, at the official level, we often fail to use this cultural wisdom. While our people build connections through tradition, formal diplomacy relies more on treaties than on the power of human connection. But our festivals, stories, and cross-border ties are more than symbolic—they are instruments of soft power, rooted in respect, community, and empathy.

In Bali, the Ramayana and Mahabharata inspire dance and temple ceremonies. In Thailand, Japan, and China, the teachings of Buddha, born in Nepal, shape spiritual life. Vesak, celebrated globally, connects millions to values rooted in Nepali soil.

Diaspora communities in Europe, North America, the Middle East, and Australia act as cultural ambassadors. Whether it’s worshiping in makeshift temples, singing folk songs, cooking traditional food, or sharing stories, they create invisible threads that connect nations and hearts.

If we truly value our roots, we can stand proudly—not just as a country of mountains and temples, but as a people whose culture inspires and connects. From Chhath’s devotion to Buddha’s teachings, from Sita’s resilience to cross-border kinship, from Araniko’s legacy to Ramayana-inspired rituals abroad—Nepal’s living heritage has a global influence. That is the power we already hold—waiting for us to fully recognize and embrace it.