THE NEPALI HABIT OF SAYING “THIK CHHA”—EVEN WHEN IT’S NOT

Ask a Nepali how they are doing, and chances are the answer will be a quiet, almost automatic: “Thik chha.” Ask if the food was good, if the day went well, or if the service was acceptable—and again, you’re likely to hear the same two words: Thik chha. On the surface, it seems like a harmless phrase, a casual acknowledgment that things are acceptable. But dig a little deeper, and it reveals a complex cultural pattern—one that masks discomfort, avoids confrontation, and quietly maintains the status quo.

In Nepali, “thik chha” literally means “it’s fine.” But in everyday use, it often means far more—or far less. It can mean “I don’t want to argue,” or “I’m not okay, but I’ll manage.” Sometimes it means “I’m tired of complaining,” or “I don’t believe anything will change, so why bother?” It is a verbal shrug, a safety net, and sometimes, a silent surrender.

This habit of defaulting to “thik chha” is deeply embedded in our cultural wiring. From a young age, we are taught to be agreeable, to avoid conflict, and to prioritize harmony over honesty. Children are expected to be obedient rather than expressive. Students are discouraged from questioning authority. Employees are rarely encouraged to give honest feedback. Even in families, difficult emotions are often brushed aside with a nod and a “thik chha.” In this context, the phrase becomes a social lubricant, smoothing over the jagged edges of disappointment, dissatisfaction, and dissent.

But what happens when “thik chha” becomes a reflex rather than a real response?

For one, it can create a culture of silence. Problems—whether personal, institutional, or systemic—remain unspoken and unresolved. A student struggling with a mental health issue may say “thik chha” to avoid being seen as weak. A worker underpaid or overworked may say “thik chha” to keep their job. A citizen unhappy with local governance may say “thik chha” simply because they don’t believe complaining will lead to change.

Worse, the phrase can often protect power. When people are too polite—or too weary—to speak up, those in authority rarely feel the need to listen or improve. “Thik chha” becomes an unintentional shield that prevents progress, accountability, and dialogue. It masks real emotion and real need.

Yet, it’s also important to understand why people say it. “Thik chha” is not just avoidance; it is often survival. In a society where expressing dissatisfaction can be seen as disrespectful, where complaining can invite blame, and where many feel unheard, the phrase becomes a soft boundary. It allows people to protect themselves from judgment, escalation, or vulnerability. And in that sense, it’s not just cultural—it’s deeply human.

But perhaps the time has come to reexamine our relationship with these two words. What if we encouraged people—especially the younger generation—to say what they actually feel? What if “I’m struggling,” “I need help,” or “This is not okay” became as acceptable as “thik chha”? What if institutions, workplaces, and families began to treat honesty not as defiance but as a doorway to improvement?

Changing this habit doesn’t mean abandoning politeness. It means deepening it. Because true respect includes truth. And real harmony comes not from pretending everything is fine—but from working together to make it better.

So the next time someone says “thik chha,” maybe we should pause and gently ask: “Are you sure?” Because beneath those two words might lie a story that’s waiting—quietly, patiently—to be heard.