TIME DISCIPLINE AND DELAY IN NEPALI CULTURE: BETWEEN TRADITION AND MODERNITY

 

There is a quiet tension in daily life in Nepal. It exists between the clock and the moment, between expectations of being on time and the cultural acceptance of delay. We find ourselves caught between two worlds: the strict schedules of modern life and the more relaxed rhythms of tradition. This tension goes beyond just being late or on time; it raises deeper questions about values, identity, and how a society chooses to live.

In most Nepali homes, the day starts not with the sound of a ticking clock but with the sun’s position, the calls of street vendors, or the flow of morning puja. Time feels circular, connected to nature and rituals rather than a linear path. Meals are not served at exactly 8:00 or 1:00; they are enjoyed when someone comes back from the field, when guests arrive, or when the dal is finally done. There is a sense of flexibility, even softness, in how time is viewed in traditional settings. It is more about relationships than strict rules.

However, this fluidity often clashes with the requirements of a modern world that increasingly values precision. Global capitalism operates in seconds. School bells ring sharply. Government offices now talk about "digital punctuality" and deadlines. Flights won’t wait. This has led to a kind of time anxiety that has entered Nepali life, making us aware that we are often late, not just by minutes, but by centuries when compared to the global standards.

Yet, delays are not merely due to carelessness; they often have significant context. A wedding invitation may state 11:00 am, but no one expects the ceremony to actually start before 1:00 pm. A politician might say they will arrive by noon, but crowds start gathering at 2:00. A contractor might promise a building in six months, while villagers already expect it to take a year. Delays are more than just tardiness; they are part of a cultural dance where presence and readiness depend not just on the clock but also on social hierarchy, symbolic timing, and sometimes divine alignment.

Our perception of time is also influenced by geography. In the hills, time flows differently than in the city. Rain delays are not excuses; they are genuine obstacles. A landslide or a flooded river can completely prevent an event from happening. In rural culture, the idea of “lagcha” (it will happen) reflects patience and a belief that things unfold in their own time. The pressure to "hurry up" feels strange in places where life has traditionally been seasonal, not driven by appointments.

Yet, modern life demands something different. Urban Nepal increasingly faces time discipline as a measure of competence, efficiency, even morality. Being late is no longer just a social inconvenience; it becomes a sign of unprofessionalism. Companies aim to run “on time,” and parents now scold their children not just for laziness but for being "not punctual." The term "timepass," once used to describe leisure, now carries a tinge of guilt.

There is also a growing divide regarding time management. Those who can afford to be on time—thanks to reliable transportation, fewer home obligations, and digital devices—often see delays as a lack of seriousness. For many Nepalis, particularly women or workers in unstable jobs, being on time is a challenge. Those who are late often juggle many unseen responsibilities, like caring for children, waiting in gas lines, or dealing with unreliable public transport. In Nepal, time is not equally shared.

Despite all this, delays continue to exist—not just as a hurdle but also as a subtle form of resistance. They push back against the demand for constant productivity. They create room for spontaneity and unexpected moments. They allow for conversations, waiting under a tree, and accepting that not everything needs to be rushed.

To some, this might seem inefficient, but for others, it feels more humane.

As Nepal aims to modernize—digitize, urbanize, and sync with the global pace—it must consider how to handle time. Will we adopt strict schedules and view delays as outdated? Or can we foster a blended culture where time is honored but not idolized, where the values of punctuality coexist with the virtue of patience?

The solution lies not in simply speeding up but in understanding why we move at our current pace. In the space between tradition and modernity, Nepal’s relationship with time reflects a culture in transition and a society finding its own rhythm.