WHY WE NEVER COMPLAIN AT HOME BUT RANT TO STRANGERS
It’s a curious paradox woven into the fabric of Nepali life: the people we live with—our family, our closest kin—rarely hear the full measure of our frustrations. Instead, we save our rants, our sighs, and sometimes even our sharpest complaints for strangers—on buses, in tea shops, or waiting in line at the market. Why is it that the safety of anonymity often feels more conducive to honesty than the warmth of home? At home, relationships are dense and enduring. The ties that bind us are threaded with expectations, obligations, and history. Complaining within these walls risks unsettling fragile balances. A harsh word might be remembered for years; a moment of anger could reverberate through generations. There is an unspoken rule: preserve harmony, swallow the grievances, and keep the peace. To complain at home is not just about airing frustration—it can feel like risking a fracture in the foundation of belonging. With strangers, however, the dynamic flips. Unknown faces offer a ki...