OBSERVING GENERATIONAL DIFFERENCES IN PUBLIC CONVERSATIONS

 

There’s a peculiar choreography that unfolds daily in tea shops, buses, hospital waiting rooms, and sidewalks across Nepal. Strangers sit close but speak differently, not just in language but in tone, rhythm, and even purpose. Spend a little time observing these interactions, and a subtle but powerful truth emerges: we are not all speaking from the same time. The generational gaps in public conversations in Nepal are not just about content—they are about what conversation itself is meant to do.

Elders tend to speak in long, winding loops—anecdotes laced with memories, warnings, and lived wisdom. Their public talk often serves as a way to cement shared norms and values. For them, speaking is not merely about information exchange; it is a performance of experience, a subtle lesson in continuity. When they speak in public spaces, they often assume a tone of authority, even when they’re unsure. Certainty is the currency of their era, and silence can feel like surrender.

In contrast, the younger generation tends to engage with greater hesitation—or perhaps discretion. Their conversations often flicker between sarcasm, abbreviations, borrowed English phrases, and glances down at phones. Public space, for many young people, is a place of surveillance rather than comfort. Speaking freely, especially when older ears are nearby, is often tempered by fear of being judged. Even the choice of topics reflects this caution. Where elders might easily speak of politics, religion, or other certainties, the younger ones shift quickly toward safe subjects like music, movies, or memes. Or they remain quiet altogether, speaking only when necessary, often with one foot in the real world and the other in a digital one.

What’s especially interesting is how these differences often go unnoticed by each group. The older generation sometimes views the silence or coded speech of youth as evidence of disrespect or disengagement. Meanwhile, younger people often interpret elders’ vocal confidence as overbearing or outdated. Both sides are, in essence, speaking past each other—not because of disagreement alone, but because they are using conversation for different ends.

There’s also the matter of how people respond to disagreement in public. Older generations often use public discourse to assert dominance or resolve disputes with finality. A loud voice in a bus argument isn’t just noise; it’s a way to draw boundaries and command respect. But among the young, disagreement is more likely to be sidestepped altogether. You’ll notice it in group conversations: a controversial statement is met not with debate, but with a laugh, an emoji, or a quick change of subject. Conflict is avoided not because it’s not felt, but because public confrontation feels unsafe or unnecessary.

And in between these two ends of the spectrum are those in the middle—often trying to balance reverence for age with their own shifting sensibilities. They mediate, absorb, translate. They nod at elders and text under the table. They say “Ho ho, thik chha” to their seniors and “yo ta cringe xa yaar” to their peers. They are conversational chameleons, moving between registers, adjusting tone and topic like diplomats at a fragile negotiation.

What do these generational differences mean for us as a society? On one level, they’re entirely natural—every generation redefines the boundaries of public speech. But in a country like Nepal, where public and private are so closely intertwined, where generations often share homes and futures, these subtle disconnects matter. Misunderstandings begin not with arguments, but with mismatched expectations: the need to be heard colliding with the need to be left alone.

Perhaps we need to look at our public conversations not just as words exchanged, but as reflections of deeper emotional worlds—of what each generation fears, values, and hopes. For the elders, public conversation is a way to leave something behind. For the youth, it’s a tightrope walk between authenticity and self-preservation. And for those in between, it’s an ongoing act of translation, trying to hold both the memory and the moment.

If we truly wish to bridge this generational divide, perhaps we don’t need to speak more, but listen differently. Listen not just to what is said, but to why it’s being said that way. Listen with the awareness that every conversation carries with it a history, a habit, a hesitation. Only then can we meet each other in the space between silence and speech—and maybe, begin to understand.