TIKTOK IN TEMPLES: WHERE DO WE DRAW THE LINE?

In a temple courtyard in Bhaktapur, a young woman dressed in a traditional saree films herself gracefully twirling to a Hindi remix. The golden bells jingle in the background, incense smoke curls in the air, and behind her, an elderly priest watches quietly—confused, perhaps disapproving. This scene is no longer uncommon. Across Nepal, from the sacred grounds of Pashupatinath to the rural shrines of Palpa, the collision of TikTok and temple culture is becoming both a spectacle and a controversy. The question is no longer whether it is happening—it is how we feel about it, and where we draw the line between reverence and performance.

Temples in Nepal have historically been places of spiritual grounding, collective rituals, and silent contemplation. For generations, they served as sanctuaries—where the divine was accessed not through spectacle, but through silence and devotion. Now, with the rise of platforms like TikTok, these same spaces are being transformed into sets for short-form content, often blurring the line between devotion and digital display. For some, this change is empowering and creative. For others, it’s an act of disrespect.

At the heart of this tension is a generational and cultural shift in how public spaces—especially religious ones—are perceived and used. Young Nepalis are not just passive consumers of digital culture; they are creators. Platforms like TikTok offer them visibility, voice, and often, economic opportunity. A 30-second video filmed on temple grounds might get thousands of views, followers, or even brand attention. For many young women, especially those from conservative backgrounds, TikTok becomes a form of expression, style, and self-assertion. To them, temples are not just religious places; they are aesthetic, historical, and symbolically powerful backdrops. The architecture, lighting, and ambiance are ideal for visual storytelling.

Yet, this digital enthusiasm often collides with deeply held religious and communal sentiments. For elders and traditionalists, the temple is not a backdrop—it is a sacred site. To pose, lip-sync, or dance in front of a deity, to them, crosses a line not of fashion but of faith. The very idea of treating a religious space as a stage for entertainment feels like a violation of sanctity. Some even see it as a form of desecration—especially when temple rituals are interrupted or the content becomes overly performative, flirtatious, or vulgar.

This conflict reveals a deeper discomfort: what happens when private faith meets public performance? In a culture like Nepal’s—where religious identity is closely tied to national heritage and social cohesion—temples are not just about personal belief. They are cultural markers, symbolic repositories of history, art, and communal identity. Filming within them therefore raises not just religious concerns, but questions about cultural dignity and collective ownership. Who gets to decide how a temple space is used? Is it the priest? The local community? The state? Or the individual with a smartphone?

There’s also a class and regional dimension. In rural areas, temple TikToks are sometimes seen as a harmless pastime, even a point of pride. In cities like Kathmandu and Pokhara, where digital content creation is more commercialized, the same behavior may attract harsher scrutiny. The gender aspect is equally complex: young women creators are more likely to face online shaming, even when their content is modest. Accusations of “characterlessness” or “disrespect” are often gendered, revealing how moral policing is unevenly applied.

But not all digital activity in temples is disruptive or disrespectful. Some creators use TikTok to highlight the beauty of heritage, to document lesser-known shrines, or to share devotional songs and stories. These videos, when done with intention and care, can bring awareness to Nepal’s rich religious diversity and encourage tourism or cultural preservation. The platform itself is neutral—it is how it is used that determines its impact.

That said, Nepal lacks clear guidelines on what is acceptable filming behavior in religious sites. Unlike some countries that enforce strict bans on photography or regulate digital usage in sacred spaces, Nepal’s temples exist in a legal and cultural grey area. The Department of Archaeology may protect heritage buildings, but who protects sacred ambience? Individual guthis or temple management committees may impose ad-hoc restrictions, but enforcement is inconsistent. As a result, tension brews not only between individuals, but between generations, between spiritual ideals and technological habits.

So, where do we draw the line? The answer may not be singular. Respect does not have to mean prohibition—but it does demand awareness. A young person filming in a temple should ask: Am I interrupting a ritual? Am I mindful of the people praying around me? Am I objectifying a sacred space, or sharing it meaningfully? Similarly, elders and temple authorities must recognize that today’s youth express themselves differently—not out of malice, but out of a changed media reality.

Perhaps the future lies in dialogue, not division. Communities can create digital codes of conduct for sacred spaces—encouraging documentation, but with decorum. Creators can use temple spaces not just for views, but for meaningful storytelling. And most importantly, we as a society can begin to ask more nuanced questions—not simply “Is this right or wrong?” but “What does this say about us?” and “How do we want to balance sacredness and self-expression in a rapidly changing world?”

Because temples have always adapted—surviving conquests, earthquakes, modernity. Now, they must find space for a new kind of visitor: one who comes not with flowers or incense, but with a phone—and perhaps, a purpose.