OBSERVING SCREEN TIME IN CAFÉS AND PARKS: SOCIAL OR SOLITARY?

If you sit in a café or stroll through a public park in any Nepali city today, you are likely to see a familiar sight: individuals or groups absorbed in their phones, tablets, or laptops. Their bodies are present, but their attention often seems elsewhere. Are these moments signs of a new kind of social behavior—or are they subtle indicators of growing solitude in public life?

This shift raises a critical question: has screen time in shared spaces become a tool for connection, or has it distanced us from meaningful human interaction?

Traditionally, cafés and parks were vibrant spaces of spontaneous interaction. Strangers struck up conversations over shared benches. Friends laughed without filters. People watched passersby, read books, or simply sat in silence, immersed in the world around them. These environments provided both stimulation and stillness—opportunities for casual social bonding and quiet reflection. Today, screens increasingly mediate these experiences.

In urban cafés, it’s common to find groups of young people gathered around a table, each on their own screen. At first glance, it might seem like shared company. But upon closer observation, their engagement often centers more on digital feeds than on each other. In parks, where children once ran freely and adults lingered in conversation, many now scroll through social media, watch videos, or attend virtual meetings on their phones. Solitary behavior now exists side by side with communal surroundings, blurring the line between being alone and being together.

Research supports this shift. According to Przybylski and Weinstein (2013), even the mere presence of a smartphone during face-to-face conversations can reduce the quality of interaction and the feeling of connectedness. In a context like Nepal, where community ties and public interactions have traditionally been strong, this quiet retreat into screens may represent a larger cultural transition—from collective rhythms toward individualized attention economies.

That said, not all screen use in public is isolating. Some people are genuinely using devices to connect—whether through video calls with loved ones, sharing memes with friends, or livestreaming cultural events. Others might be reading, working remotely, or attending online classes. In these cases, screen time is not antisocial but adaptive, reflecting the integration of digital life into physical spaces.

However, intent matters. Are we aware of how screens shape our behavior in public, or are we unconsciously defaulting into digital distraction? The challenge lies in finding balance—using technology as a tool without letting it erode the value of the physical company we keep or the environments we inhabit.

Perhaps we need to reconsider how we use screens in shared spaces. A café could still be a hub of laughter and dialogue if screens are set aside for real conversation. A park could still be a refuge from overstimulation if we allowed ourselves to observe nature or engage with strangers rather than endlessly scroll. These moments of pause and presence are not just luxuries—they are essential ingredients for community well-being and personal mental health.

In conclusion, screen time in cafés and parks reflects both social evolution and social loss. It is neither inherently social nor inherently solitary—it depends on how consciously and purposefully it is used. Public spaces still have the potential to bring people together, but only if we’re willing to look up and notice one another.